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aldilu · 3 years

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dragonsdefender:

Nowhere safer in Chinatown. Was anyone safe with the League? That was like trusting the Hand. You never let your guard down, it didn’t matter if they were friendly with you, if they said they were going to let you walk away from a situation — chances were, there was no walking out of anything. And leading this woman into a place where she’d likely get equal treatment that she was getting from the people who had tried to kidnap her in the first place?

He dodged the implications, and the woman beside them was none the wiser. And why would she be? Tarik had done nothing but show her kindness. Why would she look at him and think that she might be walking into a lion’s den? And Colleen, unfortunately, wasn’t willing to rob this woman of the last ounce of hope she had in humanity, even if she couldn’t bring herself to trust Tarik in any capacity.

(Maybe, just this once, she’d be wrong. He’d prove to them that he was good — that underneath all the bullshit, he wasn’t the terrible person that Colleen assumed he was.)

If she didn’t know better, she would say that Tarik’s words sounded like a threat. But once again, it sounded innocent to the woman beside them. She was nodding her head, looking at Colleen with a newfound hope in her eyes — like the end of the worst day of her life was rapidly approaching and she’d be home by sundown. But would she? Colleen had lured enough people into the Hand and other places to know that even people who wanted to help might not lead her where she needed — or wanted — to be.

Tarik was gone and Colleen immediately started weighing her options. Was it worth it to fight Tarik in broad daylight? Or should she give him a chance? (And could she make a choice one way or another when this woman was looking at Tarik like he was some kind of goddamn hero?)

Five minutes.

That was all the time she had to decide.

“Let’s go,” Colleen said. She had only needed a few seconds to decide.

Five minutes.

Colleen took the long way. Carefully helping the woman duck out of eyesight and then to the safety of the doorstep of the safe house that Tarik claimed was safe. “Anyone inside?”

He half-expected them not to show up. Wing was no fool, after all--she had been in the Hand. She knew first hand the way that men showed up as wolves in sheep’s clothing, the way safety was dangled like a carrot to coax people down into something they didn’t fully understand. She’d worked with one too many people who acted like him and been stabbed in the back for her trouble, and now she’d made herself responsible for someone else, too.

But she shows up anyway, four a half minutes later, at the doorstep of his safehouse. It’s a show of trust he knows isn’t easy. But she’s a hero--or tying to be, at any rate, and optimism comes with the territory.

“Nope. My guys don’t stay around here, usually.” He gestured the two of them inside, closing the door after the two women. The inside of the safe house is simplistic--most are wont to be, after all, meant to be easy to torch if need be, and the League’s own aesthetic tendencies lend to simple arrangements. But it’s clean, and looks perfectly unassuming at first blush. ( The whole thing is rigged to blow, if it’s ever necessary, and there’s a veritable armory hidden throughout the house, well out of sight. ) “There’s a bedroom down that hall with a shower and some clean clothes if you want to change,” he told the woman warmly. “We can figure out how to do whatever it is you want to do after you feel a little better. I’ll cook something up for you, too--I know adrenaline crashes always make me hungry.” When the woman disappeared down the hall, Tarik turned his attention back to Colleen. “My mom always used to tell me that if I kept scowling, my face was gonna freeze like that. Might be too late for you, but better late than never.”

#c: colleen wing #t: chinatown #tw: human trafficking attempt

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aldilu · 3 years

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Some people might say that the League trained you to identify vulnerable people. That was, while not quite great optics and not precisely how Tarik thought of it, technically correct. But he preferred not to think of it as predatory--after all, the League had saved his life, and that of most of his fellows. It provided something solid to grasp onto, something bigger than yourself, the sort of mission that he’d been promised in the Army and found to be as insubstantial as the sand they’d been sent to spill blood on. When he was given a mission by Ra’s, he could be assured that it was in pursuit of something larger than a quibble over petroleum.

As far as Tarik was concerned, what the League did was no more manipulative than anything organized religion ever did, and was far more apt to change things for the better.

So he never felt guilty, when he picked out people like the man shoved into the corner booth of the bar, staring at the glass of water on the table in front of him as if it held the secrets to the universe and was being particularly obstinate about giving them up. He’d watched in bemused silence for a few minutes, during which time the man didn’t move except to blink, before deciding that yes, this was a man in crisis. And one he was more likely to be able to help than the glass of water (though it was no doubt doing its best).

He slid into the opposite booth with his pint of beer, and smiled faintly when the man looked up at him. The man was quick to suggest a different object of his attention, and Tarik turned to look over at the bar. “Cute enough, sure, but not really my type.” He turned back to his tablemate, folding his arms across the tabletop. “You’re not either, by the way. Just looked like you could use a better listening ear than that glass of water,” he said, nodding at it across the table. “Entrancing though it may be, I can’t imagine it’s got much in the way of advice.”

@aldilu

It was the last place he ought to be. On some level, Miguel understood that. He was an addict (read: a junkie, clinging desperately to anything and everything that would kill him in the end) who’d had a hell of a couple of days (read: who’d ruined his own life, who’d brought everything he was feeling upon himself), and sitting in a bar was just asking for things to go wrong. (Read: hoping, desperately, for things to go wrong.) There was a glass of water sitting in front of him, and Miguel was watching the condensation drip onto the table, was thinking of the Bible stories he’d never quite grasped in their entirety, was willing the water to turn to wine. (He wasn’t worthy of a miracle. He never had been.)

Color flashed in the corner of his vision, and he was dimly aware of someone sliding into the seat across from him, settling into the booth with a level of comfort that felt out of place and uncertain. Miguel shifted, tearing his eyes away from water that was doomed to stay water, bringing them up to meet the gaze of the man across from him.

“Not really in the mood for company,” he muttered, leaning back in the booth. (He hadn’t realized how far forward he’d been leaning before, hadn’t realized that his nose was nearly touching the glass of water on the table. What must he look like here? There was a time when he would have cared about that a little more.) “If you’re looking for somebody to hit on, I saw a guy at the bar who’s probably interested. Nice hair. Bet you could land him if you tried.”

#c: miguel o'hara #t: my type #tw: alcholism

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aldilu · 3 years

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///

Tarik had learned over the years that plenty of people promised things that they didn’t actually plan to follow through on--himself included. Sometimes you had to say things to keep relations friendly, or get something you wanted, or defuse a situation, and when it finally came time to pay the piper, whatever you’d promised was long past its usefulness. Diana wasn’t like those people. She’d promised to help get him set up at the museum, and when a few weeks later he got a call offering him an temp job as a research assistant... well. He was hardly going to say no to the easiest pass back into what materials Ra’s had had to leave behind in his rapid departure from the city with Timothy a few months prior.

He had an office of sort (more of a glorified supply closet, but given the temporary nature of the job, he wasn’t going to complain), and when Diana entered, the was up to his elbows in the boxes of goods from Ra’s old office. He glanced up and smiled, turning away from the boxes. “Very well, thank you. The records room is very well organized.” He flipped the top of the box closed and turned to face her properly. “Likewise. Dr. Kase and I follow your work closely. What projects are you working on right now?”

@aldilu

Diana may have stepped away from the city for a few moments, but that didn’t mean she’d forgotten the promises she made before she left. Sorting out a position for Tarik at the museum was the least she could do for a friend of an old friend. And she knew his work ethic, he was trustworthy as far as she could tell.

“How are you settling in?” her voice was warm as she strolling casually into his office, picking up one of the artifacts on his desk to study it briefly. “I can’t tell you how excited I am to get to work together.” She definitely needed a helping hand now that she was stepping back up as Wonder Woman, that detail needn’t be disclosed just yet though.

#c: diana prince #t: museum assistant

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aldilu · 3 years

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avengingwidow:

James was active again? She had seen him at Sharon’s house, standing in the doorway with a child in the next room — she knew he was here in the city, but she had no idea that he was back in action. It made sense though, it was in their blood. Training that they’d never be able to slip away from. They could pretend to be normal people, get normal jobs, get houses and white picket fences — adopt children — but they would never be normal. They might be able to pass for a time, but ultimately, their lives were in the fire. And that’s where they’d always be. “If you needed that much time you don’t really have magic, do you?” Natasha said plainly, glancing in his direction before she bobbed her head. “None of us get out.” They acted like they were free from their chains but… those impulses ran deep.

But from where Natasha had been standing in their kitchen. They had a life. They had made something together that was uniquely theirs. It was impractical. But it was nice. She had heard once the best way to get back at the people who hurt you was to live. And James was. Sharon was. Natalia was.

“I think the bar for security here is: not evil. It’s a pretty low bar considering.” And while the thugs that Natasha had taken out hadn’t been the most interesting sort of criminal, security was often up against monsters much worse than them. Giving up without a fight was reasonable. Natasha stood in the doorway, not stepping further in, watching as Tarik worked. Listening as he pressed for more information. Natasha smirked in his direction, a reflexive expression. “You ask too many questions and make too many assumptions. It’s no wonder those rookies got the drop on you.” She wasn’t the kind of person to bring someone into the fold of her operation without knowing they were fully capable of protecting themselves.

Looking away from the scene in front of her, Natasha glanced at the TV. Tarik’s twin was on the screen. There was no relevant new being broadcast, but the appearance clearly startled the guards. And as Tarik finished his work, he started putting a narrative in their head, and then directly threatened them.

And then looked at her like she was going to do his dirty work.

Natasha arched a brow, and then hummed. “I stopped a robbery and took out the men who did it.” Natasha looked at the guards and then back at Tarik. Logically, it would make sense to hit them hard enough they forgot that Natasha was there too, if anyone connected her work back the Avengers it would be another shit show in the making. But also putting her hands-on civilians that hadn’t been involved? That reflected worse in her mind.

“I’d hate to take all the fun away from you.”

***

Tarik rolled his eyes at Romanoff’s critiques, unbothered by the chiding. Everyone had their own style, and what he said didn’t necessarily match what he thought. He was the type to make questions sound like idle chatter, less fishing for information and more conversational. That tended to mean outwardly making leaps that put people at ease, made them feel like he was on a different track. People talked when they were at ease.

Most people.

Tarik shrugged, kicking back from the bank of computers. “No such thing as too many questions, Romanoff, just the wrong ones.”

Let her make whatever assumptions she’d like about him. They both knew that his reputation in their circles was more than just riding on Ra’s’ tailcoats. The man wouldn’t make anyone his second who hadn’t earned it, and the whole world knew it.

And for all her talk about not finding him as competent, she seemed very ill-inclined to do much in his stead. Tarik tilted his head at her, running his tongue along the inside of his teeth in annoyance. “I appreciate the consideration,” he said drily as he pushed up to his feet, crossing the short distance between himself and the guards.

A new dagger appeared in his hands a moment later, this one drawn from its strap at his shin. The shape was recognizable even in its sheath, and the guards’ eyes widened, the men shifting in panic. Tarik smiled and kept the blade sheathed as he flipped it in his hand and brought the handle down against the first man’s temple.

The other one was trying to scoot away, and Tarik just nudged the unconscious man onto his side with his foot. He wrapped both hands around the knife like he was teeing up, swinging his arm out once, twice. Hitting the man from there would be enough to crack his skull. Tarik swung one more time and grinned at Nat before slowing his arm and tapping the man in the temple just hard enough to knock him out.

“You did tell me to have a little fun with the job,” he said, sliding the blade back into its strap and pushing past her to leave the security office. “I’ve got a train to catch. Take a ride with me? I might actually be able to help you with your little friend.”

For a price.

#c: natasha romanoff #t: my hero #tw: murder contemplation #tw: knives

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aldilu · 3 years

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wonderborn:

It was easy to picture the setting he painted with his words. A beautiful scene of the night sky scattered with a million twinkling lights. “It sounds wonderful.” That was one of the worst parts of the city, it didn’t matter how high you climbed in a skyscraper, the sky was dimmed by the billions of lights.

She let out a laugh at his comment on her memory, “I try my best to remember everyone, and you two did make a very big impression.” One of the things Diana enjoyed the most was hearing where people moved on to and what change they were making in the world, so to hear Alexander was still doing what he loved made her smile.

“I’ve actually just moved back here, I’m working at the museum- you should definitely stop by some time, we’ve got some really amazing exhibits coming up, and I can get you in for free,” she chuckled. “What have you been sent to collect? No doubt it’s something ancient and terrifyingly fragile?”

***

“It is.” He’d never felt somewhere more like home than that fortress near the roof of the world. Most of his fondest memories were made there--winter solstice celebrations around raging bonfires, sparring sessions with Ra’s in the vast training halls, hours of meditative focus as he sharpened blades in the armory. Being one of the privileged few to witness Ra’s’ most recent rebirth. “I’m a very lucky man.”

Tarik chuckled, offering a grin that would edge on flirtatious if he were interested in women in the slightest. “A good impression, I hope. I know things got a little hectic at the end, there, but hey--in our world, a bit of chaos is a breath of fresh air. Not often that the artifacts go causing problems,” he laughed. His weight settled back on his heels, hands sliding easily into his pockets. Relaxed.

“Oh, you’re at the museum? Alexander was there for a little while, actually, but you know him--when he catches wind of a new dig, he just can’t help himself. I didn’t work there, so I can’t get back in like he could, but if you’re serious about being able to get me in, I’d appreciate it. He left some files in the archives that he really needs me to send him some photos of, and the records department is being a little stubborn with me.”

#c: diana prince #t: black sky

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aldilu · 3 years

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❛ Innocence died screaming, honey, ask me I should know. ❜ // @futurewonder

Tarik snorted at the words, not looking up from where he leaned against the railing looking out over the lobby of the Daily Planet. It was a dangerous place to be hanging out, he knew--not physically dangerous, but his twin was a talking head on a competing news station. Even with the scarf around his neck, it was only a matter of time before someone decided that they recognized him.

This woman, though, didn’t seem to--and seemed all the more suspicious for it. Tarik turned to look at her, folding his arms over the shining chrome of the railing and flashing her a smile. “Innocence is overrated,” he replied. “Keeps you naive. Something you clearly aren’t.” He pushed back from the railing, and turned to properly face her. “Doesn’t mean everyone’s out to cause problems for you, though. I’m just here to people watch, don’t mind me.”

#c: yara flor #t: people watching

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aldilu · 3 years

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#( shape in the doorway || self )

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aldilu · 3 years

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In a fact surprising to absolutely no one, party venues were not in great supply in the Himalayas, nor in the deserts of the Middle East where Ra’s favorite bases were tucked away. Coupled with the League’s reservations about drinking and other vices, the chance to go out for drinks was rare, and afforded only to those Assassins sent away for long enough to have that sort of spare time.

And, of course, on having no one who would report it back. Given that Tarik was of the highest rank this side of the Atlantic, he wasn’t terribly concerned on that front.

New York bars, even the smaller ones, were a far sight nicer than the ones he’d grown up sneaking into on fake IDs back in Gotham--and this one, at least, had a much more attractive clientele. Tarik was leaning back against the bartop, pilsner of beer in one hand as he watched the crowd.

One girl handed back the mic to the emcee after a shrill rendition of Britney Spears, and Tarik rolled his eyes and turned back to gesture to the bartender for another drink as he polished his off, only to catch the musings of the man next to him.

The very attractive young man next to him. Tarik’s eyes roamed over the man appreciatively, a charismatic smile settling on his lips as his gaze slid back up. “Oh, c’mon, it can’t be that hard, for a man with classic taste like that,” he grinned, nodding at the man’s shirt. “Granted, they’re not exactly karaoke material, but the 80s don’t have a shortage of options.”

The emcee called a name, but the man who’s started staggering up to the stage was immediately turned away, far too drunk. List apparently exhausted as the crowd got increasingly intoxicated, the emcee opened an invitation to the floor: “... after that stunnning performance, do we have anyone else who wants to try and follow up? Come on up!”

Tarik licked his lips, considering for a moment before whistling sharply and raising his empty glass to get the man’s attention before setting it on the bartop behind him, clapping the guy next to him on the back. “C’mon. I’ve got one.”

Weaving through the crowd, Tarik made his way over to the emcee and whispered in his ear, taking a second mic and tossing the other to the man from the bar. A few moments later, the first few chords played through the speakers, and the crowd cheered as they recognized the song immediately.

Under Pressure.

for @aldilu // Is this thing on?

Kyle knew art. He knew all different kinds of mediums, surfaces, paints and primers and charcoals and what have you. You name it, he’s probably got a stock of it in the cluttered shelves and cabinets in his tiny Greenwich apartment. Next to protecting the world from devistation, art was the one thing he knew basically everything about. The Performance side of being artistic, creative, that sort of thing, it was…

Let’s just say, Kyle was out of practice.

Still, he liked to go out, to try his hand at whatever song a few swigs of liquid courage could get him to sign up for, just surround himself with good people and a good time before he went to bed and got back up to try hawking his portfolio out to another inevitable rejection. The crowd he could get lost in gave him a bit of a distraction from the coming disappointment. It’s where the alcohol came in, it’s where the shitty flirting to strike up a conversation came in.

It’s where karaoke came in.

Kyle’s music taste was, admittedly, a little outdated, if anyone couldn’t tell by the very classic (and very cool, in his humble opinion) Nine Inch Nails shirt he’d wear out nearly constantly. It was one of the few articles of clothing he hadn’t paint stained, and he really didn’t feel like constructing a whole outfit for the night, especially if there was a chance to break his concentration. He’d been watching all night, waiting for his chance to sign his name on the beer-stained list… And he just couldn’t think of a song. He could bring out the standard faire, make people go a little wild just because it was the only song they knew of his own favorite band, but it felt… Tacky. Smashing Pumpkins felt too slow for this kind of crowd, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to try for anything close to Megadeth.

“… Why is it… So damn hard to pick something?”

#c: kyle rayner #t: karaoke night #tw: alcohol

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aldilu · 3 years

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The Pacific Appreciation Week | Day Two One Character ☞ Merriell “Snafu” Shelton

#( shape in the doorway || self )#//have army!tarik for your viewing pleasure

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aldilu · 3 years

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dragonsdefender:

Colleen, with all her experience with people in the Hand, was good at motivating people to do things. Good at convincing them into action, but not good at calming them down at the same time as convincing them to move. Even years away from Bakuto and the Hand, she spoke in ways that drew inspiration from people’s anger and frustration. Their need to do something in this world. But comforting? Making people feel safe in moments just after this kind? She had never been good at that. (No good at talking, she would have claimed as well. A skill that was of no use for a fighter in the Hand. They hadn’t been meant to make decisions or to talk back. They were tools. Weapons. Nothing more.)

There was a look in her eyes, a warning. Not here. Not in front of her. This woman had been through enough without getting a glimpse into the other shadows that still lingered in New York. And even in the darkness of this alley, they were in public. Exposed. And knowing how these people moved people around the city, there would be another person around. It was easier to have control with a person watching your six.

The woman pulled on his jacket with help from Colleen. Her hands were shaking too much to be useful. The woman seemed grateful despite her panic, but Colleen kept a stoic expression on her face. Tarik was good at this part, but that didn’t make him a good person. And her trust for him lowed another fraction when he mentioned a league safe house to take her to.

The League. She felt anger running up her spine, but she kept it in check. Barely. Her first thoughts had been to the partnership it had with the Hand. Guilty of similar practices. “Are you sure that’s wise?” Colleen asked, not wanting to doubt Tarik too much in front of the woman they were trying to protect, but still, not wanting to give him the run of this. Knowing him, knowing them, that safe house was just a halfway house into being one of them. Being dragged into a different life that she wouldn’t want to be a part of — it wouldn’t have been a sex trade, but — it wouldn’t have been pleasant, regardless.

But he, once again, chose words that had an edge of kindness. One that the woman next to her seemed to trust, but Colleen found impossible not to doubt. The woman glanced in Colleen’s direction, and Colleen offered her a faint smile and a nod of her head. He was right. At Colleen’s side was the safest place to be right now. “Are you sure that place is empty?” Colleen questioned casually, figuring that she didn’t need to spell her worry out to Tarik. Was this just a different trap to lure her into?

//

Wing was standing there just watching, and Tarik would’ve laughed if he didn’t understand why. The League and the Hand were similar in many ways, but very different in others. And people brought their own baggage into the organizations with them.

Tarik, for his part, had spent years in the deserts of Afghanistan and Iraq, running headlong into danger with his fellow soldiers. Pressing his hands to bulletwounds, carrying people out of collapsing buildings, kneeling at their sides as they took their last breaths a world away from home on foreign sand under a foreign sky. Comforting the shell-shocked was an invaluable skill for a soldier, and one Tarik had possessed long before he’d joined the League. He’d learned even more still from Ra’s’ easy charisma, the effortless way the man could sway most anyone with a few well-placed words and the right tone.

He’d never met Bakuto, but Ra’s hadn’t seemed fond of the man, which was more than enough for Tarik to know what he’d think of him. If Wing wasn’t good at this part, it was because stoicism had served her better.

Unfortunate.

The woman seemed calmer, with a jacket around her shoulder and the steady calm of her two companion. Well. Mostly calm. Colleen was still looking at him like she didn’t trust him as far as she could throw him--smart girl. “Of course I’m sure. Nowhere safer in Chinatown, I guarantee it,” he said brightly, completely ignoring the suggestion he knew she was making. They could bicker about it when they weren’t sitting ducks in the middle of disrupting a kidnapping.

Beggars couldn’t be choosers, after all. “Three blocks south,” he repeated, making sure his weapons were concealed. “Meet you there in five minutes--or I’ll come looking to pull you out of whatever trouble you’ve gotten into.”

A promise and a warning. Don’t show up, and I’ll find you.

He smiled at the woman once more, reassuringly, and then disappeared around the corner of the alley, weaving his way quickly through the crowd toward the safehouse.

#c: colleen wing #t: chinatown #tw: kidnapping mention #tw: war mention #tw: death mention #tw: human trafficking attempt

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aldilu · 3 years

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Jim Baxter + sunglasses

#( shape in the doorway || self )

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aldilu · 3 years

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immortalweapon:

(✉️ ➡️ Tarik M.): Your apartment burned down? Are you okay? (✉️ ➡️ Tarik M.): I have a couch. Let me talk it over with my girlfriend. If she’s okay with it, you can stay with us for a while.

[ ✉️ -> GOLDEN RETRIEVER ] it was an airbnb, not an apartment, but yeah [ ✉️ -> GOLDEN RETRIEVER ] i’m fine. smoke alarms woke me up, and i got out and managed to grab one of my bags so i’m not completely without clothes [ ✉️ -> GOLDEN RETRIEVER ] are you sure? i wouldn’t want to impose

#c: danny rand #t: oops #f: texts #tw: fire #tw: arson

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aldilu · 3 years

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wonderborn:

Diana’s ears pricked at the response she got from the figure beside, finally turning to meet his gaze with a smile. “Where is home for you?” She arched an eyebrow, tilting he heard slightly. “I’ve found nothing quite compares to the sky above your home, no matter where you go in the world.” A fond smile crept across her face as she remembered the nights she’d sit with Antiope, gazing at the constellations and memorising them.

She recognised him when he spoke her name. Though she’d spent many centuries meeting new faces, she tried her best to remember them all - no matter how brief the encounter. “And I see history has followed me once again,” she teased, knowing she had to play human and pretend to have forgotten him. “We’ve met before, haven’t we? In London, no?” She clicked her tongue, pointing at him, “Yes! You worked with Alexander!”

Extending her hand for him to take, she smiled again, “I would introduce myself but it seems you already know more about me than I you. It’s lovely to see you again, it was… Tarik wasn’t it? Clearly I’m not the only one who crossed the pond.”

Where is home for you?

A loaded question if ever there was one, and one that he’d walked right into. The truth was more that home was less a place than people anymore (one moreso than others, perhaps). But he’d had Nanda Parbat in mind when he spoke, that little retreat at the roof of the world where there was nothing above them but stars.

“I’ve got a place in the mountains,” he demurred, smiling. “It’s nice. No buildings or trees or anything to get in the way of the view, no light polluting the view, just sky.” He’d been stationed in Afghanistan, in the middle of the bloody desert, for years, and had thought that was the best view of the sky he’d ever get. The sky above Nanda Parbat still knocked the breath out of him sometimes.

She remembered him. Unexpected, given the brevity of their encounter, but he took it in stride. “You must have quite the memory, Miss Prince, or we must have left an impression. A good one, I hope,” he said, shaking her hand warmly. “Yes, yes. I still work with Alexander, and you know he gets focused. Off digging something up in the middle of the bloody desert right now, no doubt, so he sent me over to the States to come collect a few things he needed for his research. What brings you here? Don’t tell me I’ve missed hearing you at some sort of conference.”

#c: diana prince #t: black sky

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aldilu · 3 years

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Muse:

Bold = always applies, Italicized = sometimes applies, Strike Through = never applies

DEFENSIVENESS: arms crossed / crossing legs / clenched fists / pointing index finger / stiff shoulders / tense posture / curling of lip / baring of teeth / tail lashing / pinned ears

REFLECTIVE: hand to face gestures / head tilted / stroking chin / peering over glasses / taking glasses off — cleaning / putting earpiece of glasses in mouth / pipe smoker gestures / putting hand to the bridge of nose / pursed lips / knitted brows

SUSPICION: arms crossed / sideways glance / touching or rubbing nose / rubbing eyes / hands resting on weapon / brows rising or knitting together / lips pressing into a thin line / strict unwavering eye contact / wrinkling of nose / eyes narrowing

OPENNESS & COOPERATION: open hands / upper body in sprinters position / sitting on the edge of a chair / hand-to-face gestures / unbuttoned coat / tilted head / slacked shoulders / relaxed posture / feet pointed outward / palms flat and facing outward

CONFIDENCE: hands behind back / hands on lapels of coat / steeped hands / smirking / baring teeth in a grin / rolling shoulders / tipping head back but maintaining eye contact / chest puffed up / shoulders back / arms folded just above navel

INSECURITY & ANXIETY: chewing pen or pencil / rubbing thumb over opposite thumb / biting fingernails / hands in pockets / elbow bent / closed gestures / clearing throat / “ whew ” sound / picking or pinching flesh / fidgeting in chair / hand covering mouth whilst speaking / poor eye contact / tugging pants or clothes / jingling money in pockets / tugging at ear / perspiring hands / playing with hair / swaying / playing with a writing implement / smacking lips / sighing / rocking on balls of feet / flexing/tapping fingers sporadically / chewing on lip / pacing

ANGER & FRUSTRATION: short breaths / “tsk” sounds / tightly-clenched hands / fist-like gestures / pointing index finger / rubbing hand through hair / rubbing back of neck / snarling / revealing teeth / grimacing / sharp-eye glowers / notable tension in brow / shoulders back, head up; defensive posturing / clenching of jaw / grinding teeth / nostrils flaring / heavy exhales / swearing

OTHER: [Insert any other information about your muses body language here]

From: @whiterabbitmemes

Tagging: @hulkout @teresasparker @daisyquakes @callmezatara

#( shape in the doorway || self )#( open hand or closed fist || ask memes )#//not really an ask meme but fuck the system

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aldilu · 3 years

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avengingwidow:

/

“I see that it’s lost its effectiveness, then,” Natasha said without hesitation. Her tone flat as she looked him in the eyes, as if what she was saying was of the utmost seriousness. “You’re out of practice.” He had opened the door; she was just taking the invitation to make comment on that front. She quirked a brow in his direction, silently daring him to speak again. “I would have left you someone if I thought you could handle it.” Another dig, nothing meaningful, but for now, the shit talk between them was fine. It filled the air between them and keeping him talking meant that he wasn’t going to try and vanish on her. (He could try, if he wanted to. But Natasha had doubts that he’d get the drop on her.)

There was no heat in her words, no real doubt in her voice that he had it handled. Natasha had simply been selfish, and she could recognize that. There was a certain amount of enjoyment she got for handling situations like this with no casualties. (Civilian at least.)

“This isn’t the first time then?” Natasha said, changing gears as quickly as they started speaking. “Are you the target?” Or was the League? And were here contacts getting dragged in because of some war that Ra’s had started while she was abroad? It wouldn’t have surprised her that her name would have gotten dragged into that circle of hell. But still, she wouldn’t have anticipated it. (Or maybe Sacha had connections that were recently formed with the League. She would ask Tarik, but she didn’t trust him to tell the truth on any front.)

Tarik moved quickly, cutting the robber’s throat and Natasha didn’t blink an eye. Even if she had humiliated them here, they would have gotten back up to attack someone else another day. And another day, Natasha might not be there. Another day, there might be real deaths. As far as she was considered, Tarik was doing a service today.

The smile from him got a tip of the head in return. “Got that out of your system?” She would have asked if he was happy or satisfied — but he was too much like her to be either of those things, at least in any true form. She knew why he wanted the tapes, but her reason for following him towards the building was to find answers. If this was a pattern that was following Tarik or if this was something else brewing in Gotham.

“I thought I’d pour in some chlorine. It’s clear this place hasn’t been maintained in a long time.” After a beat, she pulled the door to the office open for him and waved him inside, leaning against the frame as she let him work. It was better that way. Watching. “One of my contacts is missing. His last residence was in Gotham.” She looked over her shoulder casually, as if she was conversing with the security guard and not Tarik. “I was looking for a trail.”

//

“You just didn’t give me enough time to work my magic,” he waved dismissively. In the next moment, her tone shifted, attention clearly snapping into the more interesting puzzle presented by what exactly had happened here. Tarik snorted. “First time being held at gunpoint in a while, yeah, but not the first hiccup I’ve had this week. Attacks, break-ins, the whole shebang. I’d heard the Winter Soldier was out of the business, but then, I suppose people like us never actually leave, do we?”

Allegiances might change, but the lifestyle had a tendency to stick like gum to your shoe. It was a mindset, and one not easily shaken or sated by civilian life. Even such an apparently happy civilian life as Barnes seemed to have these days--because of course, Tarik had done some investigating after their encounter. Had caught wind of the little girl Barnes was playing father to now.

Domestic life. As if that’d ever be enough.

As it turned out, getting into the security office was even easier than expected. The door wasn’t quite closed, and the reason became apparent when they stepped inside to find the two security guards sitting zip-tied on the floor of the office. Tarik snorted. “I see Gotham continues to hire nothing but the best.”

He slid into the seat in front of the bank of computers, tugging on a pair of gloves from his jacket pockets before getting to work tracking down the right bits of time in the records. “Lots of people go missing in Gotham. Doesn’t mean anyone was hunting him down, just means he picked a bad city to set up base. Was he workin’ something particular for you?”

Ah, there it was. Tarik highlighted the relevant portion of time on the tapes, deleted the recording, and then navigated into the system’s waistbin to clear it out of there, too. One of the security guards grunted, and Tarik turned to look, seeing confusion play out on the man’s face as his gaze flicked upward and back to him.

What-- oh. Excellent. That made this all much easier. Tarik scoffed, turning back to the computer to make sure he’d gotten rid of everything he needed to. “Mm, yes. Obviously I’m not him, since he’s live on air.” GCTV was up on the little television in the corner of the room, Bes’ face staring down at them from the screen. “Must be the trauma that’s makin’ you see things, hm? Getting things crossed over in your head. Or maybe it’s the concussion.”

He glanced over his shoulder to look at Nat, inclining his head at the two guards. “Since you’re so eager to hit things today, I don’t suppose you’d mind.”

#c: natasha romanoff #t: my hero

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aldilu · 3 years

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He’s in the shower when the pager goes off, sounding off a few beeps that sound straight out of one of those 80s sitcoms.

Cell phones were permitted for those out in the world, but to all those tucked away in one of the League’s many bases, communication was kept... old-fashioned. Pagers bridged the gap, and there was only a handful of reasons the little device would be beeping.

Few of them were anything good, so Tarik was tripping out of the shower in moments, snatching a towel off the rack and wrapping it around his waist as he snatched the pager from its place on the counter.

The code was not, as he’d briefly feared, notice that one of the bases was under attack. In fact, it wasn’t any of the emergency codes he had memorized. Always something, he thought, cursing under his breath. He left a trail of wet footprints as he made his way into the bedroom, rifling through his bag for the cipher.

عودة حفيد الشيطان

The return of the demon’s grandson.

Damian Wayne.

20 minutes later, he pulled up at the mouth of the alley they’d sent him to and leaned against the car, raising a brow as he stared into the darkness. “I know what side of the family you get your timing from,” he deadpanned, folding his arms. “I was in the shower having quite the time receiving my Academy Award when they said the demon prince finally decided to come on home.” He took a half step over, and opened the passenger door. “C’mon. Wet hair’s no fun when it’s this fuckin cold outside.”

The code had been memorized for literal years, now. The same digits and letters, the same order, the same reason for dialing them. Damian wanted to believe that he was making the right decisions - leaving behind a group of people who thought they were better off without him around, doing what was best for him to succeed.

He wanted to believe that he mattered to someone. Something. Somewhere. Even if it was in the arms of a group of deadly assassins who cherished him for what he accomplished, not for who he was. (Was that really so different from the Wayne family?)

So many times he’d scribbled those letters and numbers on scrap papers, doodling in the edges of his sketchbooks, testing out markers at the store. It felt odd, to dial them into the communicator and press send.

It took 2 minutes and 45 seconds for his communicator to return signal, a low beep in staccato notes ringing from his palm. It was answered. Someone (not Ra’s or mother herself, likely) was on their way to him. To pick him up. Take him to sanctuary.

The feeling was almost…prophetic. Damian was meant to end up here after all, tanned and covered from the desert sun, swords on his back, LoA insignia on his chest. How did it come to this?

Swallowing thickly, Damian closed the communicator and turned off his bike, leaning it against the building with little care. He would not have use for it, after this meeting.

Now all he could do was wait.

@aldilu

#c: damian wayne #t: the demon prince

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aldilu · 3 years

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The City that Never Sleeps certainly stood up to its name; New Yorkers didn’t know how to stand still. The city moved fast, changed faster, and idling meant getting left behind at best. Pissing people off, at worst.

Seeing someone standing in the middle of the sidewalk just staring at a building was unusual, unless you were in the vicinity of the a tourist hub like the ESB. The Daily Bugle definitely didn’t qualify, but there the woman stood anyway, feet planted in the middle of the sidewalk and head tipped back to stare up at the globe perched on top.

She was lucky that it was getting late, the sun tipped down below the horizon several hours before, and so the afternoon crowds had disappeared to be replaced by a few late stragglers in the business district. Interns, mostly, if he had to guess, getting coffee for the long nights of the writers in the building towering above them.

She looked familiar, from the back, and as Tarik got closer, the memory slotted neatly into place. Museum curator. London. He’d been present for a brief meeting that involved her and Ra’s. Even given the brevity, she was unmistakeable--hadn’t seemed to age a day.

He stopped just behind her shoulder, and followed her gaze up toward the globe, and the sky above. “’Have they not observed the sky above them, how We have constructed it and beautified it, and how there are no rifts therein?’” he quoted, hands settling in his pockets. “So says the faith of my family. It doesn’t look very beautiful, here in the city. Electric lights drown it all out. But from my home, you can see everything. The stars, the galaxy, the entire sky spinning above.”

It hadn’t been quite the same, the visit upstate, but it’d been enough to slake some of the homesickness from a black sky. “It’ll still be spinning, when this all collapses. But you know that--you’re a woman of history, Miss Prince.”

The night air was cool, a lot colder than what she’d grown used to in London, but it didn’t bother her. She stood in the square, just marvelling at the high rises towering above her and watching as her breath came out in clouds that danced in the lights. One building in particular caught her eye, partially because of the giant golden planet on top, and partially because it had the most lights flickering within. A distant voice echoed in her memories;

What do people do when there are no wars to fight?

They… make breakfast. Read the newspaper. Go to work – They… get married. Maybe have babies, grow old together.

What is it like?

No idea.

But now she knew. Since that night she’d lived more than a few lifetimes as a human, learning their ever changing customs. And yet, no matter how much time changed culture and technology surpassed even the magic of the old gods, humanity continued to let itself down. Destroying the planet, waging war on one another, killing without mercy. She sensed the presence beside her, not yet turning her gaze to meet whoever had approached her.

“In my culture we are taught the sky is held up by a God, and yet I can’t help but think these buildings are what hold up the sky in today’s world.”

#c: diana prince #t: black sky

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