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anonymouslyangsty · 3 years

Note

What do you think Assassin!Taka would do if he figured out how much his grandfather was manipulating him? Also, what do you think of an alternative Assassin!Taka where his first kill was his grandfather?

Very good question and very good concept.

Minor derailment for a sec (i swear it's relevant), but let's talk about Takaaki and Toranosuke in this au.

(warning, it ended up not being 'a sec'. I bolded the part where I ACTUALLY start talking about your question)

I feel like Torano's downfall was a bit of a slippery slope. He needed to gain some momentum before he went to murder and child grooming, as ya do. And I think the major step towards extreme corruption came through Takaaki.

I feel like those two have a rather tense relationship early on in the au. Takaaki knows that some of his father's dealings are fishy. Perhaps not criminal at that point, but not exactly clean either.

But Takaaki is still human. He's got a wife and young son to care for. If his father's slimy actions got out, they'd ruin the Ishimaru name. Plus, he isn't hurting anyone, right? So Takaaki leaves it alone.

That kind of dismissal only lasts for so long however, especially when you're as honest as Takaaki. Eventually, he's not going to be able to turn a blind eye, even if acting puts himself and his family at risk.

Perhaps Torano does something that goes a bit too far, that actually hurts people and ruins lives. Takaaki wouldn't be able to stand for it and, even if he cares about his father, he isn't going to deny his duties as an officer because of it.

But I think that Takaaki would make the critical mistake of trusting the goodness in his father just a BIT too much. He thinks he can talk sense into Torano, get him to change his ways without ruining his whole career. All Takaaki does is give him ample warning.

Torano cares about his son. Takaaki is a decent man, hardworking and honest. But he'll be damned if he lets his soft heart get in his way and ruin his legacy. So when Takaaki threatens to release info on Torano's illegal activities, he knows he has to keep his son quiet.

Toranosuke is very careful with how he does it. He can't just kill the man. If Takaaki shared his suspicions with anyone, his sudden death would be damning.

So he does the next best thing. Torano gets Takaaki declared clinically insane and locked in an asylum. He weaves this detailed, damning story, bribing as many people as he needs to to create a false narrative. Takaaki attacked him in his office, spouting conseracy theories and accusing him of murder!

Toranosuke deeply cares for his son, so he obviously wouldn't send him away unless it was for his own good, right? And if Takaaki's wife suddenly finds herself overwhelmed with life under the camera's eye, well. What kind of grandfather would Toranosuke be if he didn't care for Taka while his mother was away visiting family? He's just looking out for his family after all.

So that's all to say that Takaaki is alive in this au, locked away from crimes he didn't commit. After so long of being told he's insane, he slowly begins to believe it. Maybe he was becoming paranoid, seeing crimes where there weren't any. Maybe he had overreacted. Did he attack his father? He didn't recall doing so, but there was video evidence, so it has to be true.

It takes years for Takaaki to be deemed sane. By that point, he's convinced himself that he really had made up all those accusations. Taka's already gone at this stage, off training for his grandfather's purposes. But Takaaki thinks he's just off at boarding school.

Now I'll get to the point of this 'little' tangent. I think Takaaki's the one who proves to Taka that he's being used. Takaaki's an officer, likely far higher in standing than in canon. So it's plausible that he'd be employed to investigate a string of strange deaths that's caught the eye of a few officials.

It would be quite interesting for Takaaki to realize that the 'string' of murders is actually far longer than they'd realized. It'd be even more interesting for him to realize that his son is the one behind the deaths.

Takaaki is a father first and an officer second. There's no way he'll allow his son to take the fall, especially not once it becomes clear that Torano placed him into the role. Takaaki would absolutely try to make his son see reason, which means making him see that he's being used.

Okay NOW I'll actually get to the point.

If Taka found out he was being used by his grandfather...Well it sure wouldn't be a pretty sight. We already know how Taka responds to his world being destroyed: denial, unresponsiveness, and manic behavior. That's how he responded upon learning that a guy he was friends with for 3 days was a killer.

Assassin!Taka doesn't see himself as a murderer. He sees himself as an executioner, dealing out capital justice to those who abuse their power. He kills those that are irredeemable, who harm others without any empathy.

But if that was all a life, if he was working for the corrupt rather than against...He'd be just as bad as the corruption he sought to destroy. He'd be a murderer.

Put that revelation onto the realization that the man who raised him since his parents left, the man he looked up to as the pinnacle of greatness, is himself corrupt. Has himself committed the same crimes Taka killed to stop. That Taka was nothing but a tool for that corruption.

Literally everything that Taka is in this au would be a lie. He's not killing for justice, his mindset isn't the correct path, his grandfather isn't fighting for justice.

I honestly think Taka would have an extreme, violent response to that revelation. He'd see both himself and his grandfather as irreparably tainted, absolutely dripping in the blood of the innocent. And Taka has known no means of removing such blots on human society but to personally wipe them out. So that's exactly what he go out to do.

Now I'm thinking about Taka and Takaaki hunting down Torano for some vigilante justice. All while Takaaki subtly tries to convince his son not to kill both Torano AND himself. It would be very hard for Takaaki to convince Taka that he was a victim of his grandfather, and not equally as guilty.

(this is also making me think of an au where Taka's hired by the FBI for his skills in a Black Widow situation)

Speaking of that, let's get to the "Taka's first kill is his grandfather" au.

The first and biggest question is: who the heck puts Taka up to it? It would not be easy. I'm thinking that, in the normal Assassin!Taka au, Torano spends YEARS grooming Taka into accepting killing. Nobody else would have that kind of extended access to Taka except his parents.

...

Except his parents. I'm literally having ideas as I type this. New idea! I'm going to make Taka's mom relevant (and evil)! Also I'm calling her Nori because I just need a name.

Perhaps Takaaki's marriage was arranged for political reasons more than love. He had to marry wealthy, and ended up marrying the daughter of a wealthy businessman.

And that's a very useful position, isn't it? Nori is in a perfect place to learn the intimate details of the Ishimaru family. She can learn what little squabbles the family has amongst one another, what weaknesses there are, anything she could need.

Her parents are well acquainted with several politicians, all of whom are more than willing to act in favor of her family's company. All of whom are itching to become Prime Minister.

So a plan is made to leave the position of PM vacant. Assassinate Takaaki, frame Torano, get someone who'll act in favor of the company in control. Maybe throw in some Yakuza connections for flavor.

Nori is nothing if not a good actor. So when a bullet comes through a window during a banquet, going straight through Takaaki's skull and spraying the table with blood, she acts just like you'd expect a loving wife to. The event falls into chaos instantly, guards swarming the area. And little Taka, who'd been so excited to wear his new suit to the event, has to be dragged away from his father.

Nori's job at this point is to act the part of the mournful wife, suddenly finding herself a single mother. She also is tasked with beginning the rumor mill, whispering of the animosity her poor late husband and his father had for one another. How she's afraid that Toranosuke is somehow involved and, if she isn't careful, will act against her and Taka.

Somehow Taka ends up hearing about it. And well, Taka isn't the type to hide his feelings as a teenager, and he certainly doesn't do it as a child. It's an unexpected complication to the plan. Taka isn't going to just let the rumor float about. He's ready to go straight to his grandfather and demand answers, which would ruin everything.

They could kill the child, it wouldn't be terribly hard. But perhaps Nori has some attachment to him, even if she knows he was only born as a prop for her role. The only other option is to make him part of the plan.

Why frame Toranosuke for murder when you can convince his grandchild that he's a horrible man? A man so powerful that even the law can't touch him? A man so powerful that only someone truly dedicated to justice can bring him down?

It isn't hard to convince Taka to poison his grandfather. The hardest part is training him to hide his anger long enough to get the job done.

So now Nori has made way for a business partner to become Prime Minister, and she's created a hitman for the company. Taka would be a much more loyal assassin than simple money could buy. He's got a vendetta against corruption and a tarnished faith in the justice system. And Nori is in the perfect position to direct his righteous anger towards those that 'deserve it'. And if her definition of who deserves death is different than Taka's? Well, he doesn't need to know that.

#taka #takaaki ishimaru #kiyotaka ishimaru #danganrompa #talentswap #long post #tw: suicide mention #nothing happens but there's a plan #it's just mentioned in passing #an ask tag

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snowpeawritings · 4 years

Note

Hi, I would like to request a Ren/Akira story where the reader got caught up in the palace transfer thing with PT and unlocks her persona after being told she will never be able to be as strong or of use like the others. Thanks and I really love you work!

yessss always wanted to write an awakening scene!

Reader is female

CW (CONTENT WARNING): Swearing

You wanted to change this rotten world for the better but you were a pacifist.

Your parents raised you to never fight violence with violence, lest it would continue this toxic cycle that will never end. As much as you hated the fact that you can’t do anything to change things physically, just being there emotionally is enough for you. As such, you weren’t easily the most picked on. No one disliked you, but no one particularly liked you.

And you were fine with that.

With the coming of the transfer student, students and teachers were already giving him shit. You knew Kamoshida's… actions in order to become the school’s fan favorite. It honestly pissed you off to no end, having a scumbag like him walk like he owns the place, but you really couldn’t stand up to him and his adoring fans. All you could do whenever the transfer student (you believed his name was Kurusu?) is getting ostracised from the school is giving him your time and becoming his first friend.

And you were fine with that.

Turns out he wasn’t the delinquent everyone made him out to be. He just wanted to have his normal future back and a normal high school life. While you could never grant him that wish, you’ll be his support when people weigh him down. Even the threat of expulsion of him, Ryuji and Mishima would keep him up, you would always be there. Even if there’s nothing more you could do than offer half-empty words.

And you were fine with that.

When news of Kamoshida’s confession spread, you really didn’t know what to think. The calling card that was posted across the school bulletin made you believe these ‘thieves’ but it was a far stretch. You were still Akira’s friend whom he hangs out with from time to time but you never knew that he was friends with Ryuji and Ann. Then the circle grew to Mishima, to a student from Kosei High, to Makoto Niijima–

And you were fine with being outside of his circle.

He certainly looked happier when he was with them. While he rarely smiles, you could see that glint of life in his dark eyes whenever Ryuji makes a corny joke and Ann has to smack him upside the head or when he says something witty that just encompasses how much of a dork he is. He even went so far as to try to serenade his cat when the feline clearly did not want to be held[1] (who knew he had such a great voice?).

He did smile when you were hanging out with him, but you never seen him truly look happy with you. For some reason, you were fine with that.

Akira still tries to hang out with you. You could tell when his eyes winced at his own disappointment when he rejected you spending some time with him. His circle of friends were his top priority as he always goes out with them seemingly every day. As much as you wanted to respect his private life, you yourself had to guess just where the heck they kept going, especially when they were a fairly big group.

You didn’t want to follow them but to be fair, it was sheer coincidence that you were there when the entire world shifted. And no, it wasn’t because you wanted to follow Ryuji because he still hasn’t paid his debt to you to buy that entire pack of Black Thunder chocolate.

The dilapidated and destroyed train station is what you saw when you opened your eyes. You were sure this was the station that you wait for your train but never in complete chaos like this. Honestly, the place isn’t what made you scream. What you screamed was when the weird-looking cat in front of you transformed into a van in front of a group of equally weird-looking people.

When the fellow in the black coat whipped his head, you knew those dark eyes anywhere.

“It’s you!?” You screeched, your voice echoing across the tunnel endlessly. “Y-You mean… this entire time, the Phantom Thieves were you guys!?”

The girl in red who you were sure was Ann waved her hands rapidly. “No, _______! We’re not—”

Her eyes widened in surprise at her mistake before slapping her gloved hands over her mouth. “Wait, no! I mean—”

The blonde boy beside her, Ryuji, stomped his foot at Ann’s glaring mistake. “Great way to eff it up, Panther! Now she knows who we are now!”

The way that ‘Panther’ had smacked Ryuji upside the head proved your hunch right; the ragtag group of vigilante thieves that steal hearts were also your own classmates.

“I mean…” You said shakily, trying to diffuse the fight between Ryuji and Ann. “It’s pretty obvious from your voice and hair. But seriously, w-where are we? What is this place?”

The comment about them being obvious was ignored for now. Instead, the brunette you knew to be Makoto stepped in and explained everything to an extent: the Metaverse, them being the Phantom Thieves of Heart, and a magical cat.

“But please, please keep this a secret.” Makoto-or Queen- pleaded with you. “Our entire work would be gone if you tell anyone else what we do.”

You waved your hand to calm her down. “I’ll keep this a secret, don’t worry. Besides, no one talks to me so it’s all good.”

You looked over to Morgana, the cat bus that seemed to regard you with what you guessed was slight interest. “So… how do you guys normally get out of here?”

Akira-or Joker-answered you. “There’s this app on our phones that lets us go in and out of the Metaverse. And right now, I’m getting you out of here.”

As much as you wanted to stay and see how they do their job, you nodded in agreement with him. He stepped close to you, phone in his hand as his finger hovered over an eerily-looking red eye.

“I promise,” He whispered to you, his breath fanning against your ear which made you shiver, “I’ll explain everything to you once we’re done here.”

Him being so close has your heart churning. And you were fine with that.

But the fleeting moment ended when you heard the sound of metal clanging against each other before Joker had been sent flying from you. Just a second he was standing so close to you. Now, he was sprawled on the floor, Queen healing him as the rest of the Thieves huddled together to protect their leader.

The being that attacked Joker looked like someone from Buddhist lore; its fists crackled with lightning before hurling a large bolt of thunder towards the group. The resounding clap of thunder soon followed, electrocuting everyone who and especially the severely weakened Joker. It was only Skull who was still standing but even he looked like he was about to faint from how everyone couldn’t stand up.

“Th-The hell!?” Skull gasped out, shakily bringing out an iron bat before sizing up the figure. “Where the hell did you come from!?”

Mona groaned out from his spot. “Don’t bother fighting it, Skull! He landed a critical hit on us!”

“Get ______ out of here!” Joker gasped out, his hands inching for his mask. “I’ll hold him back for you two to escape!”

His voice brought you some clarity. The gravity of the situation had just sunk in and right now, you didn’t know whether you wanted to collapse, vomit or both. The rest of the thieves were still trying to stand up in the face of the enemy but with it raising its fists, you don’t think they could dodge it in time.

With Skull quivering, with Joker yelling, and with you panicking, you had to move. You had to move you had to move you had TO MOVE–

“And what is this?”

The next moment you blinked, you were standing in front of the large figure with the Phantom Thieves behind you. The blood pumping in your ears muffled your hearing, the sounds you could only make out were your rapidly beating heart and the booming voice of the Buddhist deity.

“Quite a brave one to stand up to me,” he said to you, “you’ll be the first to die.”

You swallowed in your bile. “I… I can still hurt you, you know!”

He slowly moved down his fists and crossed his arms below his chest. “And what good will come out of it? Your comrades are down–”

Your ears cleared for a bit, only to hear the group’s desperate shouts for you to move.

“This one is still shaking–”

Skull was already heaving at this point.

“And you can do nothing about it.”

You can do nothing about it.

That’s always been your entire schtick. You can do nothing about it. You said you wanted to change the world for the better but you were just a teenager who has some social problems. You were always the last choice when all of the good ones are used up. You were always the one in the sidelines–

“And are you fine with that?”

A sharp pain, resounding across your head before battering against your brain like a ram.

“Are you fine sticking to the sidelines, only watching others change while you stay frozen?”

Your hands grasped your head, your saliva mixed with some bile dripping down on the ground as your head pounded. Nothing could be heard except the voice in your head and it felt so goddamn right.

“Nothing will change if you yourself won’t follow through with it. You’re only continuing this tireless cycle that you wanted to desperately break. And you’re fine with that?”

“I’m not…” You growled out. The pain was unbearable but it only fueled your spite you kept hidden all this time. Within your rising rage, you barely registered getting Skull’s bat.

With a roar, you ran towards the beast, raising the bat before smashing the side of his face. “I’m not going to stand still anymore!”

The voice chuckled. “Good. That anger coupled with my power… no one can stop us.”

“I am thou, thou art I… become the winds of change that fuels the rebellion inside people’s hearts! Show them the anger that you swallowed all this time!”

A red mask lined with gold adorned your face, the feather on the left temple danced wildly with the winds blowing from you.

As your fingers gripped the mask, your lips quirked into a smirk. “Sing your heart out… De Beauvoir!”

Everything blew back; the beast, the rest of the thieves, and your self-loathing. The navy blue that adorned your body whipped around from the wind, the coattails behind you gave the appearance of wings ready to take flight. From your hip, you grabbed your sabre and flourished it before pointing the tip at the beast.

The thieves behind you stared in awe at you and the feminine figure appearing behind you. Her ball gown danced about, showing the white petticoat underneath as a pale red veil covered her flowing locks.

“What awesome power…!” Mona breathed out. “I knew there was something special about her!”

De Beauvoir’s face was covered with a masquerade ball mask, a golden band that stretched across the upper part of her face in order to highlight the rage that was building in her azure eyes. Her painted lips parted, and a single note rang out that slowly transitioned into a vibrato as a pale green light shined on the group.

“A healing spell?” Queen questioned, her strength slowly getting back as she stood up.

Yusuke-or Fox-who had been silent since your arrival, gasped at your transformation. “Such form… I never expected her to have this much power.”

“Sorry for blowing you all away.” You called out to the group, your eyes narrowing at the beast. “But with me and De Beauvoir, allow us to thank you for granting us this power!”

You felt movement beside as you turned your eyes to see Joker smirking at you. His dark eyes shone with that same glint of life when you realized that he finally gave that look to you.

“Don’t run away now.” He jested.

You scoffed but your smirk still stayed. “Same to you!”

—————————-

[1] OKOK this was hella inspired by Xander Mobus and Robbie Daymond singing together and im sO ATTACKED BY XANDER!!!!

AND THE THING OF HIM SERENADING MORGANA IS FROM THIS

#requests #scenario #persona #persona 5 imagines #persona 5 #akira kurusu #akira kurusu x reader #akira kurusu imagines #x f!reader #x female!reader #pastelblogsposts

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jessicajonesrp · 4 years

Text

Demise of Dorothy Walker

(continued from previous note)

“Wait…how many times has she jumped out the window today, exactly?” Trish questioned, tilting her head with some obvious confusion. “Jess, are you aware that windows can be opened before you jump through them, if you’re that opposed to doors?”

Jessica ignored her, wiggling out of Trish’s loosened embrace and taking several steps back, crossing her arms over her chest as though to defend herself from any further attempts at being given affection. She nodded stiffly at Luke, attempting to take in what he is saying.

“From what the kid in the apartment said and what I saw on the surveillance film, before he fucking destroyed it, it doesn’t seem like he needs much more than a look. I don’t know, maybe he needs a certain amount of time, or access to his inner rage, who the hell knows. But maybe not. I don’t need anything to jump or punch someone, so why should he?”

“But you might have limitations that you don’t know about, or some sort of kryptonite that you have to avoid,” Trish pointed out, siding with Luke. “I’ve always told you that you should be doing more to understand your abilities. Who knows, Jess, they could be time limited, you could suddenly lose them one day, or maybe if you use them a certain amount of times they just stop or something. They might even be hurting you internally somehow, every time you jump or hit something, and you don’t realize it until you drop dead some day.”

“Cheerful,” Jessica said sarcastically. “I’ll cross my fingers, maybe we’ll all be so lucky.”

“Not funny,” Trish said sharply, narrowing her eyes at her. “I’m serious. You need to understand what has made you what you are, now more than ever. And you need to understand what has made Phillip who he is.”

“He killed the people who made us who we are,” Jessica pointed out. “What am I supposed to do, search for a secret diary? “Dear diary, today I injected Kangaroo Hulk chemicals into a girl and Pyro chemicals into a boy, I sure hope it causes world chaos?” Something like that?”

Trish looked at Luke for help, sighing. “I know you’re upset, Jessica,” she said quietly. “But we’re the ones supporting you. We’re the ones trying to help you, so if you’re trying the pushing away thing you love to do, it isn’t working, and it’s not going to make you feel any better. I’m not asking you to be happy, but save some of the venom for the people who deserve it.”

Jessica’s cheeks reddened, and she swallowed, biting down the inside of her cheeks with shame she didn’t want them to see. She tried to cover it by turning to throw away her now empty bottle.

“Fine. Guess we backtrack. I’ve got the contact information for the woman who started all this, the wife of the third doctor he killed. Let’s see what sort of contacts she might know to put me in touch with.”

Six miles away, Phillip Jones and his long term girlfriend, Rikarah Pallaton, were casually seated across each other at the small kitchen table of Rikarah’s apartment, laptops open side by side. Rikarah’s apartment, although not especially large or fancy, was far more comfortable and lived-in looking in its appearance than Phillip’s rented motel room had been, and there are far more indications of a man’s presence within its interior. Before contacting Jessica at all, Phillip had actually first been living there with Rikarah, and he had kept only enough of his belongings at the motel room for daily, necessary use- just enough to make it appear that he had no other place of residence. Although he had spent most nights there in the past several weeks, just in case Jessica or one of her associates happened to be watching him, it was never intended to be more than a temporary cover address.

The only person he felt himself to belong to was Rikarah, and the only place he wished to reside would be wherever it was she chose. For the past few years he had followed her in her frequent relocations across the country, content to join her and at times assist her in wherever she felt lead to be and whatever she felt lead to do. They had met at a bar some four years ago, on a night that Phillip had intended little more to get drunk and hook up with someone, but it hadn’t been long before he discovered that there was far more to Rikarah, his intended “someone” of the night, then met eye. The dark-haired, pixie-featured beauty with darkly themed tattoos over her torso, barely visible peeking out the edges of her tank top’s neckline, carried far more steely strength and sharply focused intelligence than her slight frame would ever indicate.

Rikarah, much like his sister, was a self-appointed vigilante, Phillip had discovered over time as she gradually let him into her world and her view of her life’s mission. Although she, unlike Jessica or himself, rarely, if ever, used her own supernatural abilities, and rarely did more for a living than bartend, waitress, or sell her own artwork online or in sidewalk sales, she nevertheless carried a power and purpose that Phillip at first was in awe of, then became seduced into emulating. For the first few years of his adulthood he had drifted, aimless, alone, and feeling that there was nothing to his existence that was worthy. Life held little to interest him, and he felt little connection to the world or anyone in it, even himself.

Rikarah had changed that. In her quiet, steely-eyed focus on her view of truth and justice, she had changed his life and forever altered its course. She had opened his eyes to the grade power he possessed and the responsibility this charged him with to use it for the world’s benefit. How could he not, when he had so much potential at his disposal?

Rikarah was physically weaker and smaller, lacked the sort of super powers that could be used on a daily and practical basis for protection or defense, and had no more money or family in the world than Phillip himself; if anything, she had been given far less in the way of advantage. And yet, by the time she was seventeen years old, she had already begun her life’s mission of identifying, and then ending the lives of people too twisted up in their abusive behaviors to deserve them. And she had started out with her very own family.

Over time, Phillip had come to understand and believe in Rikarah’s view of the world, and to accept her view of his responsibility to it. It was she who had urged him to find those who had persecuted himself in his childhood, to take them out before they could harm others. It was also she who encouraged him to find his sister Jessica and insert himself into her life, to begin to know her- and to gradually bring her to understand their view of the world, in hopes of bringing her to join them.

They both saw Jessica’s involvement in the death of Kevin Kilgrave as a very promising sign. If she had killed once, for the good of the world, it shouldn’t be too difficult to bring her into accepting the idea of killing again for the same reasons.

But Jessica had been quicker to catch on than they had expected- too quick, even for the fact of her being a private investigator by living. Phillip blamed Patricia Walker for that. The woman had been interfering with his sister’s life since they were barely teenagers, and now her claws had sunk so deeply into her that Jessica couldn’t seem to separate herself from her influence. Without Trish there, it would be easier to sway Jessica into their way of thinking. And the easiest way to weaken Trish, from what Rikarah and Phillip had come to understand, was to first remove her mother from the picture.

It would have been done anyway, at some point. It was because of Dorothy Walker that Phillip had grown up apart from his sister, living in abusive homes. It was because of her lies that Jessica had thought him to be dead for more than half his lifetime. She was a liar, a con artist, and a child abuser, an opportunist of the worst kind, even towards her own daughter. The world would not suffer for her loss, and its gains would be considerable.

The plan was simple. Rikarah had subtly tracked the woman’s routine for the past several days, and when Phillip let her know that the time had come for them to make their move, they arrived separately at her address, following at considerable distance. They had assumed and been correct to see that Dorothy would disregard Trish’s warning for her to leave town, too arrogant to assume anyone could want her dead or be successful in making it happen. Rikarah waited for her outside of her talent studio for up and coming young actors and models as Dorothy made her way to open for the morning, with Phillip following at a distance. As Dorothy moved to unlock the door, clearly intending to go about her day as usual to bully young girls in the name of “career advice and advancement” all while making considerable money, Rikarah called out to her in a cultivated mix of hesitation and urgency, stepping into her peripheral view.

“Ms. Walker? Ms. Walker- you’re Patsy’s mother, aren’t you? Dorothy Walker?”

She had deliberately used the name that Dorothy preferred to call Trish rather than Trish’s own preference, in a subtle alignment with the woman. Dorothy turned slightly, narrowing her eyes as she looked Rikarah up and down. Finding her to be physically unthreatening and not recognizable, she raised her eyebrows at her.

“Yes? Do you or your daughter have an appointment with me today? I don’t take walk ins, young lady, but if you want an appointment for yourself, let me advise you now that you should consider acting over modeling. You have the figure for it, but hardly the height.”

She turned back to unlock the door, but froze when Rikarah spoke again.

“Please Ms. Walker, it’s Patsy. She’s…I don’t like to do this, go behind her back, but you’re her mother, and I feel like you should know before anyone else. You have a reputation in this town, you’re so respected, maybe you can do something to help before it’s too late for her-“

“What’s happened?” Dorothy demanded, spinning around fast and facing Rikarah fully and with intensity. “Keep your voice down, if she’s doing something to ruin her reputation again- we can’t have this discussion out where just anyone can hear! Just who are you anyway?”

“I’m Emily Oliver,” Rikarah lied smoothly, and when Dorothy looked blank, she added, “I was an extra on It’s Patsy, they used me in party or school scenes a lot. I don’t expect you to remember or know me, Ms. Walker, but I’ve always followed and admired you and Patsy. I hate to see her destroy herself now when you’ve worked so hard to repair her reputation to everyone. That Jessica Jones, she-“

“I should have known it would have something to do with Jessica,” Dorothy hissed under her breath, shaking her head grimly. “That girl has always been a thorn at my side from the day she- but never mind, we can’t have this conversation out here. Emma, was it? Come inside, before the girls start arriving.”

She gestured for Rikarah to follow her, and Rikarah started to, then hesitated.

“Wait- I left my phone in my car. Someone sent me some photos of Patsy, they thought it was funny, I guess, but- maybe if I show you, maybe we can stop them from getting out to the media. Maybe-“

“Yes, yes, go get your phone, make it quick, now,” Dorothy said impatiently, nodding her head and flapping her hand as though to dismiss the younger woman. “Meet me inside. I’m locking the door, I can’t be having clients come in and overhear this. Ring the doorbell when you’re back, I’ll let you in.”

This was exactly what Rikarah and Phillip had been hoping for; they couldn’t have planned a better set up themselves. Nodding, biting her lip theatrically, Rikarah turned to walk towards the parking lot, taking her time about it, even as she watched out the corner of her eye to check that Dorothy did indeed go into the building and lock the door behind herself.

Now it was all up to Phillip. Retrieving her phone, she texted him a single word, “okay,” and he was ready. Exiting Rikarah’s car, even as she slipped inside it, he casually walked past the studio, hands deep in his pockets. To anyone passing by, he would look no more than a person on his way somewhere, uninterested and uninvolved in anything suspicious.

As he passed directly in front of the front door, he paused, looking towards it. With a few moments of intense concentration, he visualized Dorothy, waiting for Rikarah within. Twenty seconds later, screams burst into the air, and the sound of smoke detectors blared forth shrilly as Dorothy Walker’s skin began to burn.

With the same casualness as before, Phillip continued to walk, bypassing the dying woman as Rikarah pulled out of the parking lot. Several blocks later, as she stopped at a prearranged stop sign, he slid into the passenger seat beside her. Mission accomplished.

#jessica jones roleplay #Jessica Jones #Luke Cage #luke cage roleplay

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wordsablaze · 6 years

Text

Serendipity

When the cat is away, the mice will play. When the Avengers are away, Peter will introduce Loki to Bowser, plan a magical prank, and figure out how to unite the team with the world of Mario. Enjoy!

A/N: I'm sorry, I just really love these two and basically could not function until I wrote this. Plus, I saw the new Infinity War posters and my brain went 'yup, we're going to obsess over marvel again' so that's that...

Peter has prepared himself for many things in life. For example, he's always prepared for a science pop quiz or a new lego challenge or even changing into his Spiderman suit within half a minute. What he's not prepared for, however, is to be assaulted by an unprecedented display of magic that seems to be a dangerous combination of magnificence and malice.

His head jerks up as the hairs on his arms stiffen in warning so he dives behind the counter just in time for debris to fly over his head in what's possibly the worst mockery of rain in the world. The falling glass and plaster more or less remind him of destructive snow, actually. Waiting until the sound of crumbling infrastructure fades, he peeks over the top of the counter and watches as the levitating stranger transforms the windows and doors into solid metal before turning the ceiling into something that looks like it's been plucked out of a Tim Burton film, then picking up the nearest object and turning it into ash without even blinking.

Instead of being worried or anything else remotely sensible along those lines, Peter's eyes widen in awe. "That's so cool!"

Instead of continuing to take advantage of an otherwise empty Avengers' tower, the stranger stills as he hears the compliment, his sceptre resting on the ground as the blue light fades.

"I mean, it's really impressive and it looks so easy! But I bet it's actually pretty difficult, right? Oh, uh, I'm sorry if you were expecting someone else, by the way... I love your crown helmet!"

"Crown helmet?"

"Yeah. I'm sure it has, like, a more sophisticated name but I can't think of one. Crown helmet works pretty well to be honest because it looks royal and ready for battle..." he pauses. "Wait, is why you're here? There's not really anybody here to fight you. Except me, I guess. But I don't think fighting someone with such cool magic is a good idea, even for me... Wait, you can't be here for a battle, can you? FRIDAY wouldn't have let you in if you were so you have to be a friend, right?"

"Who exactly are you?" the owner of the crown helmet asks eventually.

Peter grins and springs to his feet, ignoring his spidey sense entirely and hoping that the other man is indeed a friend. "Peter Parker."

It's only when Peter sees the man smirk with that iconic glint in his eyes that it dawns on him who he's talking to so he curses himself for getting carried away and not noticing before. "Oh my algorithms... You're Loki, aren't you? I've heard so much about you and all the stuff you've done! Actually, maybe I shouldn't have told you my name... Please don't hurt my friends or family!"

Loki doesn't even know how to react and that's a first for him. "I'm not always out to hurt people, you know?"

"Nor is Bowser but people peg him as the bad guy all the time..." Peter nods understandingly, even though he's internally thinking about how he doesn't really understand. Then he realises he does understand because he's in the same position. "And people think Spiderman's a bad guy but he's just, like, trying to help in his own way, you know? It's not his fault if stupid journalists label him as a vigilante and everyone else just goes with it."

"Who?"

"You don't know who Bowser or Spiderman are?" Peter looks so crestfallen that even a God out for vengeance has to take pity on him.

"I haven't exactly spent much time on Midgard?" he offers as an explanation.

Peter's eyes light up in understanding. "Oh, of course, right, okay... I can show you who they are if you like? We have to fight our way to Bowser though... We can even fight Bowser together! Wait, have you heard of video games? You must have, right? They're pretty much universal, aren't they?"

Loki has never so lost in the face of a Midgardian before. "No?"

"In that case, it's practically my duty to explain! Come on, uh- Lord Loki, you don't even know what you've been missing out on!" Not that anyone can ever know exactly what they're missing out on since, if they did, they wouldn't really be missing out, but that's not the point.

Despite having originally arrived to create chaos, Loki finds himself following the excited teenager, trying to convince himself he'd not been persuaded solely by the title he's been given.

He's led into the next room where a rather large television is mounted onto the wall and a small collection of boxes lies beneath it. Peter, only briefly glancing behind him to make sure nothing is on fire, selects one of the boxes and pries it open, removing a circular disc that he then feeds to a bigger black box. He watches as Peter uses one of the oddly-shaped black objects to navigate his way through a menu and selects one of the options that then triggers an opening scene with an odd man who seems to be Italian and Mexican at the same time.

"How does this show me who Bowser is?"

Peter shrugs. "Bowser is the final boss. We have to play our way to him."

"Play?" Loki scoffs, "I do not 'play' anymore."

"Well, I suppose you can watch me play instead if you prefer?"

"Watch...? You expect me to sit here and do nothing while you fight?"

Peter has nothing to say so he shrugs again.

"I will observe as you battle your way to my enlightenment," Loki finally settles on.

"Sounds like a plan," Peter agrees and starts on the first level on single player mode because a certain someone had accidentally deleted his progress in an attempt to reboot the device with lightning but he was only trying to help so he couldn't really be blamed. He flies through the first set of levels but gets stuck when he's all out of spare lives and can't figure out how to kill three mushrooms without sacrificing his progress.

"Jump over the secret bridge thing."

Startled, Peter jumps so high he drops the remote and accidentally releases his hold on a button, turning left in the game and subsequently causing Mario to fall off the cliff.

"No!" he cries, whacking the controller on his head. "Now I have to start over..."

"Next time, use the bridge."

"What bridge?" Peters asks as he restarts the level, then biting his upper lip to concentrate.

"The one that was above your head- wait, stop," Loki says, throwing an arm out as if he can communicate with Mario.

Peter, not wholly surprised this time, stops in a safe place and looks to Loki, a questioning look on his face.

"You see that wall?"

"Yeah?"

"Do the spinning leaf tail move on it."

Peter stifles his laugh and nods, doing as instructed. Immediately, he discovers a secret passage he hadn't seen before. Leaning back, he whistles. "How did you know that was there?"

"Wasn't it obvious?"

"Not really, no..." Peter mumbles.

Loki's smug expression softens just a little. "Perhaps we should take it in turns?"

Peter nods thoughtfully. "We can't both play because we're too far into the single-player mode... but I don't mind watching. Here!" he passes the controller to Loki, who takes it with his free hand.

After a moment of thought, he asks, "Would you like to hold my sceptre?"

Eyes widening, Peter gasps. "Can I?"

Loki smiles and holds it out, almost laughing as Peter tentatively reaches out, freezing as his hands touch it and slowly pulling it closer, practically stroking the chilled gold body.

"It won't break if that's what you're worried about."

Peter grins, euphoria in his eyes, "Thank you, Lord Loki."

"Now, how do I make this little man crawl through the wall?"

"Press the back butto- no, no, not that one, the other back button! Stop!" Peter warns just as Mario bursts into flames.

"That was beautifully violent."

"Maybe, but it means we have to redo the level now so..."

"Again?" Loki groans, handing the controller back to Peter with a dramatic twirl of his wrist.

Peter, to his credit, doesn't complain at all, simply keeping his eyes glued to the screen and getting Mario to squeeze through the wall before handing the controller back to Loki.

"It's this button, by the way..." Peter lets Loki test it out before he resumes the game and so Mario doesn't randomly burst into flames this time.

And thus, the level is completed.

And the next one.

And the next.

And so on.

Until the two of them, after Loki accidentally makes Peter fly in his annoyance of dying - to which Peter had responded by doing a cartwheel and making a note of the experience so he can retell it to Ned later- and various curses of several degrees, finally encounter Bowser.

"We did all that for a spiked turtle?" Loki huffs immediately.

"He's the king of the Koopas! And it's not like I forced you!" Peter argues.

"Oh, shhhhhhhhhhhhh-" Loki groans, "He just killed us."

"Are you serious?" Peter props the sceptre on the sofa, takes the controller from him and deftly retries the level, then progressing a couple more in his excitement. He doesn't fall even once but obviously, Loki has other ideas or he'd just gotten bored because he pokes Peter and causes the teenager's attention to waver, resulting in an exposed, defenceless Mario and an instant, completely boring death.

"Looooooooh-hokiiiiiiiiiiiii!" Peter whines, letting himself flop onto the sofa backwards, his feet draped over the back and his head hanging upside down, just a few centimetres off the ground.

"I'm sorry, little spider."

Peter doesn't think anything of the nickname until he does, at which point he rolls backwards and lands on his knees, breathless and slightly red. "What did you just say?"

Loki grins. "I might not have known who Bowser is but, since the whole invasion ordeal, I've spent enough time with Thor to learn some things from his frequent rambling about the Avengers."

"And?" Peter raises an eyebrow, his heart hoping that he'd been included in those tales but his head telling him Loki had probably seen his mask lying around or something.

"You fall under that title in his books, young spider."

Peter beams, his eyes positivity radiating joy and gratitude. "Thanks, Lord Loki!" he says and, without even thinking about it, he springs to his feet and wraps his arms around Loki, his face pressed to the not-so-surprisingly silky, green material.

"Oh, we're hugging now?" Loki asks, but not unkindly, awkwardly pacing his arms around the excited teen and trying not to let his smile through; it'd been a while since he'd been hugged and, if he was honest - which he rarely is - he'd missed the feeling.

Peter pulls away with a red face and wide eyes. "I'm sorry, I didn't even think- I hope you don't mind hugs? Uh..."

"Untangle your anxious webs, young spider, I have nothing against embraces."

Loki smiles and Peter can feel his face heat up in a mixture of bashfulness, relief, and some kind of honour he can't quite decipher.

"You know, I definitely prefer Spiderman over Bowser."

"Really?" Peter's voice is at least two notches too high.

"Webs are so much better than stolen fireballs... His fireballs are not even nearly as impressive as mine anyway."

"Thank you!" Peter grins. "I prefer yours too..."

"May I inform you that the Avengers will be back in no more than three minutes?" FRIDAY alerts them, sounding way more amused than and an AI should ever be able to sound.

Peter hums in acknowledgement then grins and turns to Loki. "I have an idea."

"And I have a sceptre," Loki says, basically already having agreed to whatever Peter can ask.

Which is why, two minutes and forty seconds later, Tony walks in and abruptly stops, causing Steve and Bruce to crash into him and Thor to barrel into them, resulting in four stumbling men and a very exasperated Natasha and Clint.

"What on Earth?" Clint asks as they see Peter standing on the table with Loki's sceptre glowing in his hands.

"That's where you're mistaken, Mister Barton, the world in question is Asgard, not Earth." Peter has to fight with himself to avoid letting his amusement leak into his words. He ends up scowling at the Avengers, internally apologising but outwardly positioning himself to appear as angry as he possibly can.

"Is that Loki's?" Thor asks, frowning.

"It was," Peter corrects, smirking.

Tony narrows his eyes but it's not hard to tell he's just super worried rather than actually irked. "Pete, where did you get that?"

"And why are you on the table?" Steve asks. "Get down, you're going to hurt yourself."

Fleetingly glancing at Loki, who gives him a surreptitious thumbs up, Peter shrugs. "I got bored of waiting and decided to explore my options."

"Explore your options?" Natasha repeats blankly. "Out of everything you could have done, you chose to attack the Avengers with trickster's sceptre?"

Schooling his features into an expression of condescending scorn, Peter nods. "I am, after all, more than worthy of such a weapon."

That happens to be Loki's cue to clear his throat, effectively diverting their attention to where he's sat in the corner, wrapped up in webs. As they turn to him, he grimaces. "I wasn't aware you'd adopted someone worse than myself."

"Loki?" Thor's voice rises an octave as he glances at the same man who'd unleashed the tesseract supposedly defeated by a teenager with a radioactive spider bite and perhaps too much time on his hands.

"Well, obviously, moron. Aren't you going to, I don't know, kill him or something?" Loki asks, gesturing to Peter with his head.

Sharing a quick, confused but decisive look with Clint, Natasha steps forward. "Kid, I think we need to talk."

Peter shakes his head. "I think we need to stop talking and start giving me all the… Actually, we didn't plan this far so I guess we can just stop and leave it at that."

There's a moment where everybody opens their mouths to argue but finds themselves too shocked to say anything before Loki stands and walks towards Peter, brushing the webs away as he does, and Peter jumps off the table, standing in front of Loki so nobody shoots him in their confusion.

"What in the name of shawarma?" Tony exclaims finally, never having walking into something so strange.

"No, you iron idiot, it's called magic and theatrics." Loki smiles and, to everyone's utter bewilderment, ruffles Peter's hair.

"Did you guys finish an entire game of Mario?" Clint asks incredulously, obviously the first to notice the image of Bowser's bones on their television.

"No-"

"Yes-"

Peter and Loki glance at each other, trading glares that hold no malice whatsoever.

"You know what, this isn't even the craziest thing I've seen Peter do." Steve shakes his head and anyone who didn't know better would have cooed at the fondness in his voice.

Loki, sensing the tension in the air, coughs. "I'm no longer here to tear you all apart if that's what you're worried about."

Thor beams at him, moving forward to embrace him and totally forgetting about Peter, who gets trapped in the middle of them. Everyone watches as he protests quietly and manages to stick an arm out of the brothers' affectionate barrier, his head soon following as he dramatically crawls out to the side. Loki's remorseful and slightly irritated apology is muffled by Thor's unwanted but nonetheless comforting, congratulatory hug, which gives the rest of them a reason to laugh, except Tony who's quick to pull Peter away from the two Gods lest he gets squashed or injured in any way.

None of the Avengers can relax completely, which is only to be expected considering their history with Loki, but the anxiety in the room fades to negligible after a little while, the gang either retreating to their respective rooms to freshen up before they return or grabbing a snack and slowly accumulating in the living room, eventually being roped in to a game of Mario Kart by Peter, who's figured out exactly how to tick them all off enough to ensure their exasperation leads to them joining in to prove a point or using their annoyance as an excuse to succumb to their intrinsic desires of playing and winning a competative video time. Ultimately, when they're all squashed onto the sofa or the beanbags, personal space long dismissed, either actively controlling the characters with hilarious expressions of concentration or cheering each other on, their way of playing is a whole new experience and Peter has never felt so at home with them.

All in all, even though Peter wasn't prepared for such an eventful day - not that anyone can ever be prepared to fake a hostage situation with a God - he's more than glad to have been thrown into it. More often than not, he decides, strange parts of life are better encountered with an open mind instead of a meticulous itinerary that leaves no room for spontaneous craziness. He might technically be a superhero but, at the end of the day, he is also a teenager...

like/reblog but don’t repost, thanks!

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lackadaisical-pottymouth · 6 years

Text

Batmans Apology

this is so late oh my gosh im ashamed i forgot about it

Fandom: Batman

-- is a change in perspective

xx is a change in snippet

There was a rumour in Gotham City.

Tuesday. The city lit by streetlights and apartments that hadn’t quite settled for the night. Empty roads hummed with drifters going this way or that.

Fingers, frigid. Ears, nose, frozen. Jim was losing the battle against frostbite.

Restless shivers sent his shoes bopping against asphalt. The pocketwarmer abandoned him by the time he’d lit the big black bat signal, but blessed be his luck, it was a clear night in Gotham City.

The --what did springy Robin call it? Bat-phone?-- the Batphone weighed comfortably in his pocket and pulled double hours as a heater. A small heater that touched barely four by two inches of skin. Only minutes prior had he sent out the signal.

“Commissioner.”

And there was the person of the hour. Imposing, dark, familiar. Maybe a little too familiar. It was easier now than it had ever been to imagine big blue eyes and his father’s jaw--but then again, he hadn’t been privy to that information before.

No, no, Jim. That hadn’t been confirmed yet.

His soul promptly left his body at the greeting but he pulled it back with gum or staples or whatever the hell had kept it in place for all these years. Right. He straightened his spine and tried hard for the composure that’d been trained into him. Drivers-licence Robin watched from the shadows, the whites of his mask luminescent.

“Batman,” he greeted, refusing to question how he snuck up behind him when he was backed against a wall, “Robin.”

The child vigilante nodded in acknowledgement, stepping forward to join his mentor. He was young, very young despite the upp of his nose and the overconfidence in his posture. The Robin sent an unkind look that he probably deserved.

Batman grunted, “You said it was urgent.”

Right. He brought his hands to his lips and blew softly, all the while wishing for the gloves Barbara had bought him. Like ripping off a bandaid, Jim, he assured himself. “I’ll spare you the details. Word has it you’re Bruce Wayne.”

He imagined the silence that followed was a raised eyebrow, the sardonic sort that wouldn’t have been seen through the fabric--metal?--of the cowl.

“I get the feeling you won’t tell me who’s under that mask,” Robin bristled but the Bat raised an arm and the boy stayed put, “And I don’t want to know who. Just thought you should know.”

“I take it you’ve looked into it.” said as a statement, as always. But Jim quirked a self-hating smile nonetheless and presented the manilla folio.

“Lot of it is hearsay,” he said, recounting the he said she saids and ‘cousin sally’s he’d gone through to get even that,

He’d look back and they’d be gone, like always.

The intercom rang with yet another arrival and Alfred clicked to connect between pressing shirts. Instantly the feed lit up with a face full of adolescent pimples and aged sweaters. Teenagers, he noted, temporarily setting the emergency protocol to ‘Civillian’.

“Oh my gosh there’s a camera! Kim, look! We’re famous!”

Nervous skittering was followed by a harsh rebuke that put an end to the abrupt tizz of movement, “Shut up, Barlow. This is a bad idea. We should go home and--.”

A composed cough sent a shock through both teenagers. “I take it you don’t have an appointment,” Alfred said, more or less reciting lines by this point, “Name and purpose for the visit, please.”

“Barlow” paused in confused shock, “Is Bruce Wayne british?” they asked, peering up into the surveillance as though it’d deliver answers. “Never met the guy--Kim? Is he?”

“No!” “Kim” snapped, “He’s from Jersey!”

“You don’t say,” said with the lightest whistle of amusement while “Kim” seemed to seethe embarrassment.

A beat passed and he considered dropping the line, picking up whatever they’d brought later. But they spoke, pulling a thatched cap down over unruly curls, “Uhm, Kim Long. My Ma sent gifts for--,” a stutter as the voice dipped to the faintest of whispers, “For Bruce Wayne.”

Kim looked over a faux-fur shoulder and Alfred paused, his attention fully on the video stream, “He-uh-Batman, stopped a fire in my apartment building. And Wayne funded the whole rebuilding thing. So, thanks.” They looked around, then paused to be incredulous as Barlow gestured to a ziploc container, “we’ll just leave it here, then. Bye.”

He waited till they were gone before sending out the robot rover-- things were mucky enough without added speculations that Bruce Wayne housed Robot Butlers. The goods would be inspected thoroughly before being sent to the furnace. “Kim Long” would be added to the growing list of thank-you card recipients once the ordeal was over.

It was always a toss-up going to work after times as these. Odds were that Wayne Ent would be attacked because he was there, or that Wayne Ent would be attacked in his absence. Rarely was there a third option, so he tended instead to make one.

This he stole from Tim’s book, which Tim claimed was stolen from one of his.

The tux was an authentic Pennyworth, lined with hidden pockets a-plenty and the most lightweight of bullet-resistant fabric.

Shocker of the year, Wayne Enterprises was under attack.

Mr. Wayne struggled to show his disappointment. Anaji’s presentation would need be postponed for another time, one with a few less looming threats. But the real travesty was that Anaji would have another sixty minute segment scheduled for some later date. Such things were better experienced once and in very small amounts.

Anaji’s apparent dislike translated to stabbing him in the back with her purse as they hurdled through the halls like business-dressed tuna.

The walls groaned and although he was no stranger to their echoing lengths, today they were cold and warped. The steel panels danced under flickering lights. Rivets stared judgmentally as board members stampeded to safety.

Some clutched to their suitcases and their bags, elbowing fiercely against that damn rib that he’d only just gotten clearance for. Those that didn’t sent him cautious corner-eye glances, their breath held as if expecting him to move, to miraculously solve everything. He’d the feeling it was more than just worry for his boisterous persona.

The group took a left, veering toward the shielded emergency steps that led to the back parking lot. With one arm, Wayne propped himself up. Someone and their damn elbow-knives had decided he was moving too slowly, apparently. The other ushered forward his companion of the day who was making good work of turning themselves into a human wrecking ball.

He winced as clumsy feet trampled over his left foot where the toes had yet to heal. He hissed painfully and the group froze. When he turned to them the intern withered instantly, paling several shades as their mouth gaped for air.

“I’m sorry Bruceman! Mr. Batwayne! Boss Knight!” they stuttered. The hidden gazes turned harsh, scrutinizing. Wayne stepped back, slouching as the prattling continued, “This wasn’t meant to happen--I didn’t know. I swear.”

That again. Familiarity quirked the side of his lips into a smile. They were new then, probably under the mercy of older, more mischievous co-workers. The others though, the fearful ones that stole glances, even now? He didn’t have an answer for those.

“It’s alright, it’s alright!” He stomped three times despite the pain. A wave of suited shoulders relaxed and he’d the distinct feeling he’d passed some sort of test. The frown he felt was put aside and he focused back on the intern, “August, right?”

“Y-yes, sir.”

He huffed in the slightest of ways, looking the appropriate amount of petulant while surveying the reactions, “Well, Augie--can I call you Augie?”

They nodded and he continued.

“These things happen. Don’t worry about it.” and with that he laughed deeply, loudly, too loud for the alarms ringing and the eyes that trained on him like daggers, “no harm done.”

He intended to pat the interns arm. It would be a final, clinching action that would have sealed the facade--but the intern jumped away from the contact. The tension seeped back into their shoulders and drenched the air about them.

For a moment they were ice. As though this would be the straw that broke the camel’s back. The axe that felled the oak tree.

Mr. Wayne coughed, then clapped twice.

“Sheesh,” and he peppered his voice with nervous laughter, wicking away the discomfort in buckets, “I thought this hallway was a lot shorter!”

It worked in the most ineffective of ways. The unease had already become an unwelcomed guest. It stayed there, suffocating, until the heavy steel doors were pried open and the people scrambled to safety.

In the chaos of relief, Bruce Wayne disappeared.

Curiously, Alfred picked up as soon as he beeped in. There was something in his voice, something weighty and strained despite the intentions of the deadpan commentary, “I take it the meeting went well, sir?”

Batman grunted as he moved between vents.

An annoyed sigh echoed on the lips of the old butler, “Right. I suppose I’m talking to myself now. Very good.”

Clicks fired off in rapid succession before halting sharply to an inhaled breath. Batman dove down a side-vent of the building designed for times as these. The clicking resumed, more hesitant this time.

“They came in through the north and southern entrances. Twenty altogether.”

A breath shifted the accents to one that was deeper, gruff and indistinguishable. Alfred grunted before switching back to his normal tone.

“I know Master Batman,” he continued, “they are a ballsy lot. Shame they couldn’t come up with a decent dress code. I’ll send you a visual.”

Another grunt from the aged man and a notification beeped quietly.

Clear lenses tinged blue as the scene was projected. He recognized a few things instantly--the deep crimson of the welcome desk. The bright green of the plants. The huddled forms of the first-floor staff.

Intruders taking strides held themselves with hunched shoulders and trembling guns and seemed altogether better suited in a swiss cheese factory. A few of them rapped idly with their feet while one sang along to the warning tone. Hostiles numbered ten.

The second clip was of the southern entrance, though this group was significantly less decorated than the first.

“Red Robin will be there with haste. I’ve sent him the same information I’ve sent you, sir.”

The grunt that followed was facetious, not quite to the level of gruffness as the previous imitations had been. More a whine, really.

“And we will most certainly have time for cucumber sandwiches afterwards.”

Batman himself made no sounds as he changed to his hands, working at the screws of another vent, this one closer to the breach. “Have Red Robin take the south entrance. Tell him--”

“Already on it, B!”

He froze for the briefest moment before motion returned to his hands. “Keep on your toes, watch for hostiles in hiding. They’re slow and untrained.”

Red huffed a sound, almost like a chirp, “That makes them easy targets.”

“That makes them unpredictable. Stay focused. Batman out.”

Alfred sighed, “I do so love these conversations,” he muttered dryly. And then the clicking returned, calculated and slow until the communicator was turned off.

Batman frowned as he dropped from the vent he’d crawled through. A fan whirred angrily in the distance and almost masked the soft squeak of dirty tennis shoes on polished tile. One man in particular strode with fake confidence, gesturing wildly with one gloved hand while the other clasped the gun like a lifeline.

“Activate sound,” Batman commanded, dwarfed by one of many purposefully-obscuring columns. He blended to the dark it provided. Instantly the feed was punctuated by the nasally tones.

“Come ooon out, Brucie!” the man drawled, gnarly with overconfidence and ire, “We just want a little chat, see.”

Three batarangs were unsheathed. For a moment, the intruder stopped. His back turned away. His feet shifted weight. His heartbeat skyrocketed. Then he continued in the same grainy pitch.

“Look, we’re even all dressed up to play!” he scoffed, and then he knocked the butt of his gun against the shoulder of an elderly woman. A guest, probably, from the scowl she wore. The man laughed and spat on her floral print cardigan, “Some of us anyway, but that’s alright. We can all have a honky-dory party. ‘S not fair when you’re the only one with a mask.”

Batman breathed and began to move. His strides were rapid, soundless.

“You colossal fu--.”

He flicked his wrist. The batarangs sliced through the air with deadly aim, embedding themselves into the black metal of the gun. The last nicked the mans gloved hand and he howled.

At once the gaggle of nervous accomplices exploded into tones and grunts. Good, he thought, ducking for cover. This misdirection was his disguise.

But the people--the people. He watched as their eyes like saucers roamed the place, their mouths slightly agape in hushed words. They clung to each other.

Murmurs echoed through the office and stole the places where silence hid before. “It’s him,” they said, “It’s the Bat.” Yet the stillness permeated like a sickness, so much so that the ashen faces in petrified frost could’ve been mistaken for statues.

He moved between pillars, unseen aside from movements in the corners of eyes. Unheard for the cracking of the cape between lunges.

The intruders began to circle, their chests puffed out in an attempt at bravado that failed miserably. Their uncoordinated mishmash of bootleg kevlar and camo-print was almost laughable. Nervousness rattled the guns in their hands in time with the chattering of their teeth.

Batman lunged.

Person One went down with a thud after a crack against his skull. Two had barely crossed his path when a nerve-strike robbed his consciousness.

Three and Four were back to back, but pressed against a huddle of people nearest the welcome desk. They became quick acquaintances with the big blue welcome map and the spot that said “You are Here.” and again with the burgundy carpet.

Five, Eight and Nine turned at this, fumbled with their machinery between obscenities screamed and jumbled orders. A batarang sliced through the guns like heavy leaden butter before a net exploded from a capsule and caught them.

From the shadows Batman watched, taking note of the citizens in varying states of distress, of the men that clotted together between them. His eyes narrowed on the scatter of remainders. Men by the plaque that displayed the Wayne Ent. missions statement, where a group of employees were crouched in fear. The remainders ducked behind information podiums.

It was Seven, with the dirty denim jacket and the greasy hair that still peeked out under his mask, that managed to fire a shot. It echoed loudly, startling Six out of their petrified stance.

“What the hell, dude?” Six demanded, their voice hoarse and their eyes trained on the heated barrel. Then they blinked at the people around them, who’d covered their ears in the flimsiest of shields, “We weren’t supposed to shoot! What if you hit someone?”

With a scoff, Seven repositioned his gun. With a sharp tap, Batman descended and Seven fell.

Six’s eyes were trained on his unmoving associate. Then they climbed the height of the looming figure beside him and rested on unnerving white of the irises. He muttered a single, “Christ.” before he, too, crumbled. The old lady nearest the two spat at the unmoving bodies and Batman allowed himself a smirk as she was pulled back into the protective huddle.

And then there was that silence again as Batman surveyed the area. Eyes trained on him, some awed, some afraid, many confused, were all obscured the moment the thermo-scanners were activated.

Big bad Ten remained hidden.

“Of course you came,” he sneered from some place where wooden desks surrounded him. Rage and fear caused his voice to quiver, “What a good businessman you are, Mr. Wayne.”

Batman closed in, moving fluidly, quietly, even as the man continued to jeer.

“It’s funny to you, isn’t it? Just another pastime for the rich boy.”

He arched around the desk, the man sniveling in his sights.

“Fuck you,” he spat.

The Batman descended.

Gordon had little to say as they booked the perps and led them away. Apart from the recount for the report, he’d stuck mostly to redirecting the wandering attention of his subordinates. But the gazes had lingered despite his intentions. He’d caught the looks on the ruddy faces-- cautious, so cautious, under a layer of confusion. It was echoed in the eyes of people escorted away from the building.

Batman frowned, but stood silently and watched, replaying the taunts. He scowled, etching a personal message to the Cave to scour recent media outlets.

Behind him, though, he heard footsteps. Slightly heavy, but incredibly rapid--as if pushing against something that weighed down. “Red Robin,” he greeted, turning to face the young man.

His lips were a taut line. Batman braced himself for the worst.

“B, you may wanna look at this.”

A button was pressed and a holoscreen propped up on the gauntlet.

Batman Unmasked, it said, Bruce Wayne is the Caped Crusader.

The scowl deepened.

#mal needs to chill #year end wiplash #im sorry im sorry ill finish this before school starts #stories

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