#old ass fic

[anon-e-miss]

Belated Confessions

Prowl standing, not sitting, not laying down but standing when Jazz walked into his medroom. His back was bare and his doorwings stripped of their paint. A blanket hung around his waist. The only signs of the lashings Lockdown had dealt him were the glossy strips of freshly knit sentio-metallico. They would all fade soon. While Jazz had been in lock up, Prowl had all but completely healed. He was a little sorry not to have been at his berthside to support him. At the same time, he was not sorry he had rearranged Chromedome’s faceplates, as well as a few other components. In a different time, Jazz would have been dishonourably discharged. He would not have cared then and he did not care now. No one had ever put Chromedome in his place, not in a the decavorns he had been spreading rumours about a commanding officer, mostly because Jazz thought they liked hearing them and at least in part because there had been no discrediting them. The only other mech who had known the truth had been Prowl and he had never cared to tried to silence the cacophony.

Realistically, he probably would not have been able to. The truth may have been the greatest defence against a lie, lies still won when the audience found them more titillating. Hearing Chromedome say Prowl had been found in Lockdown’s “den of pleasure” waiting for the bounty hunter’s return had made Jazz see white. He could have stopped himself before or after the first punch. Every punch had been a choice and a pleasure. Rewind had wailed that Jazz should be charged with attempted murder when Ironhide had given him an orn in detention and ended the matter there. Jazz had perhaps not helped himself when he had replied that if he had wanted to kill Chromedome he would have gut him with any of the thirteen knives he had been carrying. It was the truth, however.

“Was he worth it?” Prowl asked, without turning around.

“An orn in lock up?” Jazz asked, scoffed. “Woulda been worth a decavorn.”

“Jazz,” Prowl made a soft sound Jazz knew was a chuckle. He turned around, holding the blanket crossed over his chassis. Jazz realized them he was completely without armour. “Had it gone through the military court, as it should have, it would have been far worse than a decavorn. All over glyphs.”

“Sorry, Prowl,” Jazz said. “I outta knocked. Didn’t think ya wouldn’t have armour.”

“That whip of his was contaminated with enough detritus that my backplate was better off scrapped then saved. Sunstreaker decided I needed a makeover and he absconded with the rest of it while the plate is constructed.”

“Are ya a’ight?” Jazz asked. He had heard no whispers of an infection, though he had wonder what had been keeping Prowl under Ratchet care.

“I am perfectly fine,” Prowl replied. “Ratchet was concerned I might develop some infection so he has been hovering. All my wounds were superficial. He wanted to save the worst for you to witness.”

“He ne’er thought I’d bring a team,” Jazz said, shaking his helm as his fuel tank churn.”

“He does not know what it means to be part of a whole,” Prowl replied. “And until now, I do not believe I did either.”

“What do ya mean?” Jazz asked.

“Sit with me?” Prowl asked.

“Yeah,” Jazz sat next to Prowl on the medberth.

“I knew you would come,” Prowl said. “I wanted you to come, of course I did not want to remain prisoner to him and then to Megatron. But I was terrified of you coming alone, full of reckless fury. I was worried Smokescreen would be hot on your peds.”

“Y’re mechlin’ threatened to stowaway if I didn’t bring’m along,” Jazz said.

“Are you angry I deceived you?” Prowl asked.

“Not a chance,” Jazz replied. He took Prowl’s servo and squeezed it. “Thank ya for trustin’m wit me.”

“I knew I could not command him,” Prowl said. “Though he has a keen, tactical processor. I knew I could not be impartial. I did not want to command him. I knew he would as safe as he could possibly be in your servos.”

“You raise a clever mech,” Jazz said. “We need more Bots like’m in Ops. His processor’s lightnin’ quick. Got the Empties stirred up to distract Lockdown right when I needed ‘m.”

“He came into my life at just the right time,” Prowl explained. “I had just found out I would be unlikely to be able to create. He gave me something, someone to focus on instead of all the what ifs.”

“‘M so sorry, Prowl,” Jazz crooned and Prowl gave him that soft, serene little smile he had.

“Had I been able to conceive it would have been with Chromedome and that would have been a disaster,” Prowl replied. “It is without a doubt for the best.”

“Why do ya let him slag talk ya to everyone?” Jazz asked. “Wit this history, ya coulda outta’m as the cheatin’ scum he was a dozen times.”

“I have never wanted to share my woes with the masses for sympathy,” Prowl replied. “It was and is none of their business that he was cheating on me the entire time we had been trying to kindle, or that it was Smokescreen who had discovered it. It was and is none of their business he tried to bribe Smokescreen with Syk for his silence.”

“‘M wishin’ I’d hit’m a few more times,” Jazz growled and Prowl shook his helm.

“He is not worth the paperwork,” he replied.

“Ya are,” Jazz said. Prowl looked at him. “Y’re worth more than that scrap e’er will.”

“He will be transferred when he has recovered,” Prowl said, optics lowering slightly. “Let that be enough. Please.”

“I won’t chase after ‘m,” Jazz promised. “He ain’t worth that kinda effort.”

“Thank you,” Prowl sighed.

“When do ya think Sunstreaker’ll be done wit yer makeov’r?” Jazz asked.

“This cycle,” Prowl said. “Hopefully. I would like to get back to work, back tomorrow.”

“Can I take ya out to celebrate when y’re free?” Jazz asked.

“Out?” Prowl asked.

“Out,” Jazz repeated. “Of base. A lil restaurant somewhere. Just us.”

“A date,” Prowl said. “You are asking me out on a date.”

“Long o’erdue,” Jazz replied and Prowl looked at him with wide and bright optics. “Feels like I’ve loved ya for a lifetime.”

“You... love all your friends,” he said, stiltedly.

“There’s no one on the planet I love like I love ya,” Jazz declared. Prowl flushed. “I know ya told Smokey there’s nothin’ between us...”

“Because there is...was... nothing,” Prowl exclaimed. There was a rare look of confusion on his faceplates. “You... you were always my friend. You had lovers here and there but you were always my friend... so...”

“So?” Jazz asked.

“It was enough,” Prowl said, doorwings twitching on his back.

“Prowl...”

“Jazz, do you have any idea how frustrating you are?” Prowl asked. “It made me so jealous to see you go off with other mechs but I did not dare show it. And you tell me know, all this time, you have been in love with me?”

“I got wit those mechs ‘cause I was tryin’ to get over ya,” Jazz sighed. “I took the deployment Treadbolt woulda been better for ‘cause it wasn’t workin’ ‘n I hoped a lil space would.”

“For pity’s sake,” Prowl put his face in his servo as he sighed. “No one gives me helmaches quite like you.”

“So I mighta misread the situation,” Jazz cracked a weak joke.

Prowl scowled as he caught Jazz’s face in his servos. The blanket fell but Jazz did not notice as Prowl kissed him soundly. The shock lasted only a moment before Jazz wrapped his arms around the Praxian and held him close as he kissed him well. He felt Prowl’s soft protoform against his bumper but paid no mind. For vorns he had dreamed of this moment and now that Jazz had Prowl in his arms, he was in no hurry to let him go. Still, eventually they had to separate, if just a little. Jazz pressed his browridge against Prowl’s crest in a Praxian gesture of affection Smokescreen had taught him. There was a cough and Jazz whipped his helm around to see Sunstreaker standing there with Prowl’s new armour. He could feel heat roll of Prowl’s frame as he quickly pulled the blanket up between them and tried to, awkwardly, cover himself.

“It’s about damn time,” Sunstreaker declared.

[themothsnest]

Before you hit "Read More" read this!

This fic contains humanformers, janky ass writing, mentions of human experimentation, trauma, a character who canonically has split personalities & (according to Ao3) a risk of death from fluff after the angsty portion!

This fic was also written over three years ago when I was 15/16 and I relied HEAVILY on google translate and fanmade content from that time period so if anything's inaccurate, I dont have excuses.

If you've read that, feel free to hit "Read More" then you can bully 2020 Moth!

Stürmische Erinnerungen

Thunder. Some people for some reason enjoy it. Most people don’t.

The storm currently flaring to life above the Automaton Capital, Detroit, had caused several trees to fall and electrical faults to occur but nothing could compare to the thunder’s effect on a couple stuck in a small wooden shack just outside of Detroit in the woods.

The duo were Bumblebee, a short, Filipino male wearing a white tee and black jeans covered by a yellow jacket with bees embroidered on the shoulders as well as a pair of yellow trainers, and Blitzwing, a tall, german male wearing black timberland boots, cargo pants, a purple turtleneck and a beige fluffy coat along with a pair of glasses with red tinted lenses.

Bumblebee didn’t mind the loud claps of thunder all that much. They reminded him of the chaos of his misfit family back in Detroit and the crashing from Optimus falling on his way to the basement due to hitting his head against the low ceiling on the stairs then slamming into the nearest crate.

Blitzwing on the other hand was freaking out and going through all of his split personalities’ personas because of the fear caused by memories of the storm that hit while he was being used as a test subject and the pounding headaches after the experiment failed and left him with nasty scars as well as three personalities.

“Blitzy, please try to calm down before you give yourself another headache...”

“Lass uns in Ruhe, Dämonen!”

The smaller male flinched at the sudden yell from his partner when he briefly paused on his Hothead persona. The taller of the two was twitching like mad and holding his head in his hands between each boom from the heavens and muttering in German with shaky breathing only to freeze and yell in fright after particularly loud thunder then repeating the process.

When the thunder backed off and he saw Blitzwing’s condition, Bee immediately started to slowly move towards him with his hands up as he stepped into Blitzwing’s peripheral vision. Bee immediately froze when his partner’s head whipped up and almost knocked the glasses off of his face while the reddish-brown eyes had tears ready to fall from the pure fear he felt. Blitzwing looked around frantically until he saw Bee and looked towards the yellow clad Filipino with a shaky exhale as his Hummel carefully held his wrists and helped him to his feet with a fair bit of effort since the boot wearing male was a fair bit heavier than he was.

“You’re okay, babe.”

Bee’s reassuring tone did a bit to soothe the absolutely terrified German but it didn’t entirely soothe him. Blitzwing was trembling as he got a better grip on the Filipino to pull himself up.

“Ve really don’t like zis, Hummel…”

The strongly accented and usually strong voice was disrupted by trembling and quieter than the dominant Icy persona ever could be.

B O O M!

Had Blitzwing been perfectly calm, he would have denied his scream being three pitches higher than his Random persona’s voice. Not the case now though. Blitzwing all but slammed his body down to the ground and yanking Bumblebee with him due to still being held by his small partner. The coat had been partly removed due to the sudden movements as broken sobs emitted from the taller of the two and it was clear that it would be hard for them to stop now that the storm had returned with a fuckin’ powerful vengance.

Pain... Pure, throbbing pain...

The medical equipment hooked up to his body...

His first look at the scars left behind...

The thunderous pounding of the headaches everyday...

The crying soon turned into full blown screaming wails as horrible memories launched their attack and they only got worse as each drum of thunder sounded. Bumblebee hugged the distressed male’s upper body as he rubbed soothing shapes and words on his neck and back.

Forced into the experiment and thrown away when it failed to produce the perfect soldier...

Forcefully changed into an insane human being just to see if they could create a warrior...

Thrown aside when all the experiment did was destroy his mental state...

Thrown away when he became a freak...

Forced through Hell only to find someone that loved him even if he is broken…

Loved him for all of him...

“Blitzy, you’re safe… you’re with me… they can't hurt you anymore…”

The soft words and gentle movements pulled him from his mind and he realised he had hunched over Bumblebee with his head buried in the thin neck and his arms clutching his Hummel close to him as his crying slowly became small sniffles in the comforting embrace.

The storm had finally passed when Blitzwing was dragged past his shattered memories and stopped only briefly at the memories of Bee loving him even if he was unstable and very easily stressed out while the Filipino was more relaxed. Once he was aware of the fact, he eased his grip and plopped his head against Bee’s chest. He got a soft grunt in response to that action and started chuckling quietly as his partner carefully poked his ribs in revenge.

“Perhaps we should just stay at the house next time.”

“Zat vould be smart, Hummel. Less noise reaches ze hellhole jou call jour room.”

Both of them started laughing when they remembered just how messy Bee’s room was and at the mental imagery of Optimus losing his shit because they had promised to tidy up just over a week ago before deciding not to. At least they had some time to just cuddle in a small, wooden shack out in the woods away from the rest of Detroit.

“Love ya, Blitzbrain.”

“I love you too, Hummel.”

Words couldn’t describe the peace that the broken German and his Filipino bee felt as they sat comfortably holding each other.

“But seriously cleaning jour room is ze priority tonight.”

Well, it was a peace until Blitz got a gentle hit on the head...

[troubldteenz]

just read kill switch. you just had to twist the knife man☹️

link to fic here by @king-candybug-backup

[arrenjo]

Summary: You’re trying to protect Robby from any more trauma today— he’s definitely suffered enough— and he does not appreciate the gesture

Back | Next

“The parents of Jake’s girlfriend, Leah, are here. I put them in the viewing room. I’m gonna go find Robby.” Donnie told you in passing as he breezed by you. You linked your arm with his just in time to bring him to a dead stop.

Robby, Dr. Michael Robinavitch, was one of the Pitt’s ED doctors. You had never been particularly close, you’d had casual conversations with him here and there, but you were determined for him to get out of here at a half decent time and talking to that girl’s parents was the last thing he needed.

“Like hell you are, find someone else. Anyone else.” You said. Confusion flashed across Donnie’s face as he tried to register what you had just said. It was clear he was on a mission and had been told to do exactly what he was doing.

“But Robby said-“ he started as he pulled you to the side of the hallway, you cut him off, shaking your head. Donnie was one of your closest friends in the ED. Working swing shifts had gotten you close with both the day and night crew, but it was Donnie that you could count on for just about anything.

“I swear to God if I have to watch that man go through any more trauma today I will spontaneously combust.” Donnie looked at you blankly, so you continued. You had just overheard Jake, the closest thing Robby had to a son tell him, in no uncertain terms, to fuck off.

“So no, not him. Shen, Abott, Ellis, McKay, a resident,” You started listing names, “Fuck, if you can find Gloria, let her talk to them, but I’m begging you to please please leave Robby out of it.” You said, Donnie nodded slowly.

“Okay, but if he asks, I’m throwing you under the bus.” You nodded once. You knew Robby would not appreciate the gesture and would absolutely be pissed, but at this point watching him suffer was physically painful.

“And then go home!” You called after Donnie, but he was already halfway down the hall and probably out of earshot.

You had gotten just a glimpse of Robby in the peds trauma room earlier, just enough to know that he was going through some real shit. Hell, you all were. This was unlike anything you had ever seen in The Pitt.

You had confided in Abott earlier about seeing Robby sitting in the floor, tears streaming down his face but you stopped as soon as you realized Langdon was not-so-discreetly listening. You spun on your heel and glared at him, but it was too late. Frank ducked his head and stalked off. It was clear that he and Robby had some kind of beef, and you didn’t want what you had seen to become ammunition in whatever fight they had going on. They had argued before, but never like this. Robby was mad about whatever it was, and with the way Langdon had changed in the past several months you knew he would use whatever he had against Robby.

Langdon used to be a solid friend to you. The two of you would play jokes on one another and cut up together and talk about his wife and kids. Lately he was snippy, even borderline labile and you had distanced yourself. The second time he snapped at you in front of a patient, you told yourself you were done, but you had seen glimpses of your friend come out when interacting with the fresh-faced, always-smiling Dr. King, and it made your chest ache.

You had come in early for your night shift when you got the code triage text for a mass casualty, you didn’t sleep much on your first night of the week anyway and your apartment was a 20 minute walk from the hospital. You knew traffic would be nuts and that you would probably need the fresh air in the morning after whatever fresh hell this was about to be, so you didn’t even bother trying to get your car out of the parking garage.

It had been hours upon hours of working on a slew of patients, the doctors doing the best they could to stabilize them, you and the other nurses doing what they could to maintain the stabilization until they got to where they needed to be. The flow was almost seamless, and you were damn proud of it.

You sat down in your chair to chart and tapped your badge to log in. Before you could put your password in the computer, you caught a glimpse of a figure stalking quickly in your direction. You didn’t have to look up to know it was Robby and Donnie had, as promised, threw you under the bus. You braced yourself for the ass-chewing you knew was coming.

He definitely did not appreciate the gesture.

You steadied yourself with a breath, swallowed, and looked up to lock eyes with Robby who was now towering over you. His face was red, holy fuck he was mad, and his hands were gripping the desk, knuckles white. Neither of you spoke as your eyes locked on his again. He was obviously pissed, but there were other emotions playing in his eyes that you couldn’t quite put a finger on. He was tired, he was sad, but it seemed like there was more to it than that.

“I need you, now.” He said, his voice low and harsh. You nodded and pushed your chair back from the nurses station as he stalked towards the door. You were several paces behind him, following as he lead.

Holy shit, where are we going?

Robby led you off the unit and up the stairs, to the stairwell to the roof. He pushed the door open and let it almost close before you caught it, pushing it open to the outside air. That wasn’t like Robby, he was definitely pissed. You stepped out onto the roof and saw him standing on the other side of the railing, leaned back against it. It was chilly on the rooftop and your navy scrubs didn’t give much in the way of warmth. You crossed your arms over your chest and walked towards him, stopping just short of the railing.

“Why the fuck would you tell Donnie to not come get me?” His voice was low and he was speaking slowly, enunciating every word clearly, still looking at the Pittsburgh skyline.

Ah, not just thrown under the bus. Ran over. Thanks, Don.

“I thought you needed a break,” you said simply, trying to stay cool and level headed. You were trying to do him a favor, trying to protect him. He didn’t need to add to his growing pile of trauma for the day. You knew he gave the kids the tickets to Pittfest, you also knew it was the day Doc Adamson had died and he was the one that had to make that call.

Your answer didn’t satisfy him. He spun on his heel to face you and was over the railing in one step, closing the distance between you in two. As he got closer, you saw the tears welling in his eyes.

“And why in God’s name would that be your fucking call to make?” His voice was still low and sharp, his face close to yours.

“I don’t know, Doctor Robinavitch,” you started, your voice seething. You knew he wouldn’t be appreciative of the gesture, but you also can and would stand up for yourself. He cut you off before you could continue.

“I don’t get a goddamn break. I had my break. I broke and you saw it, and then you went around talking about it. Thanks for that by the way.” He spit the words at you and they cut deeper than you thought they would. He took a step backwards, leaning on the railing again but facing you this time.

“I couldn’t save her and I couldn’t pick myself up off of the fucking floor when they needed me but that doesn’t mean that I need someone to make my goddamn decisions for me. It was my fault and it was my responsibility to tell them that their daughter was dead.” Guilt, that’s the other thing that you could see in his eyes.

“I’m sorry—“ You started sarcastically, he laughed incredulously.

“You fucking need to be,”

“No, Robby, shut the fuck up. I’ve listened to you, your fucking turn to stand there and listen.” That stops him in his tracks, you’ve never had a confrontation with him before— hell, you had just barely had a conversation that didn’t involve a patient— and you had never been anything short of professional, but he wasn’t going to speak to you that way without getting it right back.

“First of all, the only fucking person I told was Jack, who I was asking to check on you. I wasn’t gossiping, I was worried,” you fucking dickhead. You started to add the sentiment to the end of your sentence but thought that may not help things, so you closed your mouth.

“Secondly, nothing about this is your fault.” You said, “I don’t care if you drove the kids to the festival yourself, unless you picked up a fucking AR, this is not your fault.” The word ‘kids’ set him off.

“She was just a fucking kid!” He yelled at you, but it obviously wasn’t at you. He yanked his stethoscope from around his neck and threw it behind you across the rooftop, you winced as you heard it land. His breathing picked up and he stumbled then recovered his balance and swiped at his nose, looking away from you. The tears were back, and threatening to spill. His respirations were getting faster and faster.

“Robby,” you started gently, taking half a step closer to him.

“No, I can’t—“ he pressed his palms to his eyes for a few seconds and then ran them up into his hair, balling his fists up and then releasing them before he dragged his hands back down his face, still refusing to meet your eyes. He dropped his hands back to his sides. His lip quivered and your chest ached, a single tear spilled from his left eye.

“Robby,” you reached up and touched his cheek, “Look at me,” you said softly.

“You’re right, she was just a kid and it’s not fair. Jake blames you and it’s not fair. This whole thing, not fair.” You said, your voice barely above a whisper. If he had to concentrate on what you were saying then it may be enough to snap him out of the panic attack he was about to enter. His hand reached up to cover yours that was still resting on his cheek, his eyes finding yours after a few seconds. Your thumb swiped at the tear.

“You deserve a little bit of grace, you can’t win ‘em all.” You said softly.

“I feel like it’s the important ones that I can’t win,” He said, shifting his gaze back to the skyline but not moving his hand.

“They’re all important,” you whispered, “That’s something you taught me. They’re all somebody’s somebody. They all have changed someone life, in one way or another, and that’s why it sucks so bad when we lose them.”

“I’m sorry,” he said looking back at you and dropping his head. You let your hand drop back to your side when he did. Something about touching him made you feel a little too warm and fuzzy “I should have never spoken to you like that.” You gave him a soft smile.

“It’s okay, does it help to know that I’d do it again?” You asked, he snorted and shook his head, you let your smile fall.

“As much as you wanted to be, you were not the best thing for her parents and you didn’t need to be the one to tell them, for them and for you. You have to take care of yourself too, Robby. You’re important to too many people to not.” He nodded slowly, like he was taking in that information for the first time.

“And if you’re done harassing me,” you said with a smirk, “I have to go back to work.” You started towards the door and Robby chucked and caught your arm, the warm fuzzies were back when you saw him smile and felt his hand on your bicep. His smile fell, and he dipped his head a little to meet your eyes.

“Thank you.” He whispered.

A/n: I wrote this in three hours, it’s not beta read bc this is strictly a hobby, asks are open for requests (or words of affirmation bc ya girl thrives there) but i make zero promises, this could be built off of if ppl like it? Idk i hope you enjoyed <3

—Arren

[mrtequilasunset]

Unprovoked

[batsandbirdbrains]

“Bruce can’t be only ~12 years older than Dick because he would be traveling the world learning to be Batman!!! Bruce has to be older!!!” Have u considered: Bruce brings Dick on his superhero training world tour with him?

Picture this au: Bruce is 20. Alfred convinced him to go to the circus as a final happy night before he goes on his travels. The Flying Graysons fall to their deaths and leave their son, who just witnessed the whole thing and looks so much like Bruce it gives Alfred heartburn, an orphan. He takes in 8 year old Dick Grayson. Dick Grayson wants revenge on the man who killed his parents. Bruce understands that feeling intimately.

So he just registers Dick as homeschooled and takes him along with him. Dick is thrilled. Bruce has promised him vengeance against Tony Zucco once they return.

They train in Nanda Parbat where Ra’s al Ghul wants them both to be his heirs. Bruce has a fling with Talia. Dick’s hatred towards Talia blossoms into a full blown rivalry with her.

They return two years later and become Batman and Robin. And look, now I’ve even catered to the people who insist Dick can’t be 8 when he becomes Robin! How unlike me. It’s clearly much more realistic if Dick is 8 and training with assassins, then becomes Robin once he’s hit the double digits<3

[mediumgayitalian]

When Lee and Michael pull him from Chiron's exceptionally dry Ancient Greek lessons, Will is excited. When they drag him down, ducking, behind the stables, as other campers walk by, he is intrigued. When they guide him all the way back to their cabin, sit him on his bed, and then drag two stools to sit across from him, silently, he is still excited.

A little nervous, now.

But excited.

"Will," Michael says, solemn. He presses his fist to his mouth, eyes carefully blank. "Will, you are almost ten years old, now."

Will bounces on his mattress, grinning. "Yeah! I'm nine and fifty-six seventy-thirds." He peers at his brothers hopefully, trying to lessen his fidgeting and appear Regal and Adult. "Am I getting my Dad present early?"

Gods, he hopes so. He has been counting down the days -- every tenth birthday, for every kid, Camp-bound or not, Apollo sends them a gift of gold jewelry, smelted in the heat of the Sun by Holy Hephaestus, jewels handcrafted by the finest artisans on Olympus, blessed by yours truly. Will has been watching in seething jealousy as Michael's signet ring glints every time he pulls back his bow, as Cass' hoops swing when she walks. He hopes the gift is earrings -- he finally convinced Michael to pierce his lobes a couple months ago, and he's tired of the ugly studs. Beckendorf made him promise to let him poke around at whatever Will gets, and Will has been itching to show him.

And to get the jewelry, obviously. That's priority number one.

Lee shakes his head slowly. "No. You will get your milestone when you get it." He exchanges a long, fearful look with Michael. Will picks at last summer's clay bead, with the trident on it. "Speaking of milestones…"

Michael makes a sudden, choked noise, covering his face with his hands and curling forward. Will startles. Lee sighs, looking down for a moment as well. When he looks up again, he meets Will's wide eyes with his teary ones, and places a supportive hand on Michael's back.

"Will…" he looks out to the open window, shaking his head slightly. When he looks back, his face is creased in apology, and his eyes are ringed with pity. Will feels his heart drop. "Have you chosen someone, yet?"

"Chosen?" Will straightens, fists twisting in his shorts. "Chosen someone for what?" Michael makes another strangled wailing noise. Will's breath hitches, and his ears white out. "Lee, tell me! Tell me now!"

"We are a Greek camp," Lee says, finally. "An ancient Greek camp. With ancient Greek customs, kiddo."

He says it softly, apologetically. Like the time a seagull swooped down and stole Will's ice cream, right from his hands, on the beach last week. Will recognizes the hopeless tone of his voice and his heart drops.

"How much did they tell you about…our customs?"

"I didn't listen to the admissions video!" Will confesses, panicked. "I'm sorry! It was so boring! There were a bajillion music numbers and they were all kind of bad no offense and the screen made my eyes hurt and I missed my mom and --"

"Will," Michael says, voice shaking. He meets Will's eyes and Will is horrified to see they are wet.

He has never seen Michael cry before -- not even once.

"It's okay, Will. Some people don't know."

"Tell me," Will begs. "Am I being sacrificed?"

To his great relief, both his brothers laugh, waving dismissive hands as they chuckle. Will sags into his pillows.

"Oh, no, gods no. That would be barbaric." Lee wipes a tear from his eyes. "C'mon, Will, we're a little more civilized than that." He smiles encouragingly. Will smiles, hesitantly, back. "You're getting married."

It takes a long enough moment for the sound to travel and the word to register that Will is sure his hearing aids have gone wonky. He taps them, as though it will do anything, and tilts his head.

"I didn't hear you right. What did you say?"

"Married," Michael repeats. "By age 10, like all people had to do back then." He and Lee exchange another weighted look. "That, or you have to marry Mr. D." He rushes to assure at Will's panicked shriek; "Only if you don't choose someone in time. You have until you turn ten, so don't worry. I'm sure you'll find someone in time. You'll have most of the summer, anyway."

There is a moment where Lee and Michael murmur to each other, nodding. "Yeah," Lee says, mostly to himself. "You'll be fine." To which Michael responds: "Of course, of course. I mean, we did it."

Will sits there, frozen.

"I can't get married!" he cries, coming back to himself. He begins to hyperventilate. "I'm -- nine! I'm a kid!" He looks to his older brothers, blue eyes big and watery. "I don't even know how to file my taxes yet!"

Lee and Michael are sympathetic. They move forward, immediately, one on either side of him; Lee slides a squeezing hand around his shoulders, Michael pats him on the leg.

"It'll be fine, squirt," Lee soothes. He gestures across them. "I mean, me and Michael found somebody. It all worked out."

"You're married?" Will chokes out. His breaths come quick and shallow, despite Lee's comforting hand. "Michael is married?!"

"Watch it, twerp," Michael warns, at the same time as Lee says: "It was a challenge and a half, but yeah, Michael is married."

Will glances quickly down. There is no ring on either of their left hands, but they must notice him looking, because Michael snorts, pinching him on the knee.

"We just told you it's an ancient Greek custom, dumbass. Rings were invented later. We just…" He makes an incomprehensible gesture with his ringless hand. "Followed the book, completed the rite, etc, etc. Boom. Matrimony."

Lee nods. He rubs Will's shoulder a final time, encouragingly, before pulling away enough to give him space to breathe.

"You'll find someone, Will. We just thought we'd warn you because it didn't look like you remembered yourself, and we don't want you to have to…well."

Will shudders. Vaguely, in the back of his blurry, blurry memory, he can recall someone saying something in a video somewhere about partners and their importance in Camp. He had not paid attention, and he curses himself for it, now -- he almost had to marry Mr. D. Mr. D. who is rude, who smells like vinegar, who always has something in his teeth, who sleeps all day and drools more than a waterfall, who scares the satyrs on purpose and never even says sorry. Who is mean and gross and the worst ever.

"Thank you," Will says, tearfully. He grips his brothers' hands in his small fists and shakes from his spot between them, almost-life flashing in front of his eyes. If his brothers hadn't warned him, Mr. D. would have made him rub his stinking feet and feed him grapes for all eternity for sure. There wouldn't even be breaks for episodes of Star Trek. He shudders. "Thank you."

His brothers return the half-hug, although Michal sighs about it. He is too short to see the smirks they flash above his head.

"Anytime, twerp."

-- -- --

next

[starry-bi-sky]

Blood Blossom Au: Baby's First Commissioner Meeting :)

TL:DR This Post: Danny (orphan) gets poisoned with blood blossom extract by Vlad. He runs away from him and ends up under the care of one Pre-Robin Battinson Batman! Starry is loudly pushing her batdad agenda.

(Also known as "Late At Night, When The Nightingale Sings" on my ao3!)

This was a fun rough idea I've been sitting on for weeks, thinking about how Commissioner Gordon and Nightingale's first meeting might go.

---------------

Commissioner Gordon likes to think that he's adjusting to the new normal of Gotham very well, -- the new normal being grown men running around dressed like bats, in military-grade strength body armor, committing acts of vigilantism, -- and slowly, little by little, he was no longer being surprised when this new normal pops up out of the shadows like the world's most terrifying daisy. His shaving lifespan thanks him for it.

....

The kid is a surprise though.

Granted, he seemed to be a surprise to the Bat too.

There's been a string of murders lately, -- which, in Gotham, is kind of like saying there's been another storm during monsoon season. And there's just been another; in some dilapidated building down in south Gotham, with the broken, boarded-up windows and mildew-crawling walls to match. The victim is a man in his thirties, multiple gunshot wounds to the chest, left in the center of the room for the blood to pool out around him.

The place is already secured when he arrives, the building swarmed with officers and the forensic detectives. The Bat emerges shortly after he does -- or, he might've been here the whole time, hiding someplace dark and shadowy. For his own sanity, Gordon doesn't think about it too hard.

The kid is a surprise, and he appears like a bolt of lightning.

He shows up in the middle of a conversation Gordon is having with the Bat.

A whistle, sharp and loud, slicing through the air, meant for open air rather than a confined space. Gordon's ears pierce and protest the sound, and the solemn, murmured chatter floating through the room abruptly cuts off like the swing of a gavel. As he turns towards the sound -- as they all do -- he swears, up and down, that he sees Batman's shoulders jump, just slightly.

At the source, perched on the window, is a boy. A boy in a gray-blue scarf and an oversized black hoodie, one that hangs off his frame and has ace bandages wrapped around the wrists in some attempt to cinch the sleeves. The hood is up, big like the rest of it, and threatens to swallow the upper half of the boy's face whole in the fabric. What upper half Gordon can see, is smeared with some kind of opaque, black face paint. He's holding onto the side of the frame with one hand, on his hip is a grappling hook. A familiar grappling hook.

Gordon has multiple questions, and his officers tense up.

Martinez puffs up, brows furrowing as his face shapes into a frown. Shoulders rolling back. "You can't be here, kid--"

The reaction is immediate, like a spark to gunpowder, the boy yanks his fingers from his mouth and his mouth twists into a scowl. Head snapping over to Officer Martinez, his hood manages to stay on but Gordon swears that as he bares his teeth, the glint makes them look sharper than they should be. His voice is rasp and quiet and harsh; snappish in its hissing; "Put a fuckin sock in it, Martinez. I'm not stayin."

Martinez reels back, and the boy immediately veers his attention off him. Like a switch, his demeanor drops. Despite half his face being covered, his mouth twists into a cringing, apologetic smile. Slanted and off-beat, embarrassed. It'd be disarming if this wasn't Gotham, and if he didn't just hiss at Martinez like he was about to bite his head off.

"Sorry." He whispers, voice deceptively polite and softer now. Gordon has to strain his ears to hear him. "I was looking for him."

He points his finger towards-- Gordon? No, Gordon follows the direction, and finds himself looking at -- the Bat.

The Bat, who always looks stiff as a pole, now looks even stiffer. Somehow. Well, the explains the grappling hook attached to the boy's waist.

"What are you doing here?" The Bat says, gruff and unable to completely smother the stumble of surprise in his tone.

The boy still holds a sheepish smile, and slips off the window ledge. His feet hit the creaky boards with a near-silent thud, the Batman finds his feet and rapidly begins crossing the room.

Gordon notes the slight tremble in the boy's legs as he straightens. He adjusts his scarf, which droops close to his knees now that he's standing, and slings a backpack -- how long has had that? -- off his shoulders. When the Bat reaches his side, he does as he always does, and looms over the boy like a spectre. A threatening mass of shadows cloaked in all-consuming black. Standing next to him, the boy looks teeny in comparison.

The Bat is a man who terrifies even the most hardened criminals, Gordon has seen grown men shiver in fear at the mention of his name. And yet when the boy looks up at him, he doesn't even flinch.

Instead, his sheepish smile melts away like ice under the sun, holding only traces of his previous embarrassment. It remains as a shadow on his face, a small upturn at the corners of his mouth. The boy pushes his hood back just enough to reveal glinting, ice-flint eyes surrounded in tar-black face paint. He holds the backpack up with one arm. "You forgot this."

[damian-lil-babybat]

'Dead Poets Society' gang

Headcanon that these four drop poetry and literature quotes on their conversations unprompted.

Jason 'English-major-I-only-visit-the-manor-for-the-library' Todd-Wayne

Damian 'I-master-liberal-arts-unlike-you-plebs-PHD-holder' al Ghul-Wayne

Cassandra 'I-learn-English-thru-Shakespeare-as-god-intended' Cain-Wayne

Duke 'only-title-holder-of-vigilante-poet-and-will-cuss-you-just-as-poetically' Thomas-(future) Wayne

[lemonwrap]

Do you guys think Soap is the kind of guy that genuinely thinks that wearing socks and not kissing or talking about it afterwards cancels out the gay sex he’s having with Ghost

[theo-throne]

[shrugsinchinese]

A sketch and doodle page for Bat Swap by @im-not-buying-it-ether!

Billy is truly Going Through It in this one, and Bruce is getting called out by every significant Fawcitizen it’s hilarious

[ichiwashername-o]

It's fun to look back on all the progress you've made over the years as you refine your art via so much trial and error.

I will also crawl into a hole and die of cringe if I ever look at my old work again so here it will stay hidden until the end of time.

[froglover7789]

dinluke fics where lukes power is acknowledged and hes not written like some incompetent maiden who needs to be protected >>>>>>>>>

[cedars-glen]

yeah

[shanastoryteller]

it would make dean fucking furious, but i actually love the idea that jack sometimes calls sam "sammy" and that sam lets him. he's the only one besides dean that doesn't get "it's sam"

jack is always watching dean, and while part of that is search for dean's approval, the rest is because it teaches him how to interpret and be loved by sam

he calls him sammy when he's scared, or worried, or even relieved (seeing sam after lucifer brought him back would definitely elicit a sammy)

dean says it and it's sammy (protected)

jack says it and it's sammy (protector)

i also think he's seen dean and sam hug each other, sees how sam scrunches himself up so dean can still get his arms over his shoulders and folds beneath his brother. and when sam hugs jack, he hugs him sort of like dean hugs him, like how jack thinks dean used to hug sam twenty years ago

being enveloped, sam hunching over to keep him tucked into him, and for a moment jack feels like nothing can get to him

(sam used to feel this way too)