#so you get this oop

[cod-thoughts]

Day 23 of 31 days of COD

Words: 2.2k

Relationships: Team as family, NikPrice, PriceNik, Ghost & Price

Tags: Slice of life, comfort, soft Nik, soft Price.

Nikolai, still half-asleep, his voice a lazy slur, muttered, “Mishka…” The word slipped out, familiar and affectionate, and it lingered in the air like a gentle whisper. Soap blinked, sitting up straighter in his chair. Gaz’s mouth opened slightly, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he’d just heard. Even Ghost paused, the soft scrape of metal against stone coming to a halt. Keep reading under the cut or on AO3

The rec room was quiet, a rare stillness settling over the base after the long op. Most of the team sat around one of the larger tables, nursing cups of tea or coffee, relishing the peace after days in the field. The sound of boots scraping against concrete, the occasional clink of a mug, and the hum of the overhead lights were the only sounds filling the air.

Soap leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, eyes twinkling with mischief. He tapped his boot against the floor, clearly thinking up something, the cogs in his mind already turning. “Alright, boys,” he said, breaking the silence. “Got a question for you lot.”

Gaz, sitting across from him, looked up, raising an eyebrow. “What now, Soap?”

Soap smirked, tilting his head toward the far corner where Price stood, leaning against the counter, sipping a mug of tea. “Captain’s callsign. ‘The Bear.’ You ever wonder why?”

Gaz followed Soap’s gaze, looking at Price with mild curiosity. “You’re still on about that?”

“Aye, it’s a mystery!” Soap grinned. “Never got the story behind it. Big bloke like that, you’d think it’s got somethin’ to do with him tearing up an entire battalion single-handed.”

Price, ever the calm figure in their chaotic world, merely glanced over at them, unimpressed. He didn’t offer a comment, just raised an eyebrow before going back to his tea. Soap, not discouraged in the least, continued.

“Maybe he fought a bear once,” Soap mused, his grin widening. “Bare hands, too. Get it?”

Gaz snorted, shaking his head. “More likely he growls like one when you wake him up too early.”

Ghost, sitting slightly apart from the others, barely glanced up from the knife he was methodically sharpening. His mask obscured his expression, but his eyes flicked toward Price before returning to the blade. “Doesn’t matter what it’s for. Leave it alone.”

Soap, naturally, ignored that. “Come on, Ghost, you can’t tell me you’re not curious!”

“Not really,” Ghost replied in his usual flat tone, though there was a knowing edge to it that Soap completely missed.

Gaz, playing along with Soap’s game, leaned back in his chair. “Maybe it’s somethin’ simple. He’s gruff, keeps to himself. Like a bear in the winter—hibernating.”

“Or maybe,” Soap said, voice lowering as if he were about to unveil some great truth, “it’s somethin’ embarrassing.”

Before Soap could launch into another theory, the door to the mess hall creaked open. Nikolai stepped in, his movements slow and unhurried, like a man who had spent far too long awake and on his feet. His dark hair was slightly dishevelled, his eyes heavy with fatigue, but there was a comfort in the way he carried himself—as if he’d found his way back to the one place he could let his guard down.

Price, still standing by the counter, set his mug down and glanced over at Nikolai with that barely perceptible softening in his eyes. It was so quick, so subtle, that only someone paying close attention—like Ghost—might have noticed it.

Nikolai didn’t acknowledge the rest of the team as he walked over to Price. His steps were steady but had that unmistakable heaviness of a man half-asleep on his feet. Soap, Gaz, and Ghost watched in silence as Nikolai approached Price like it was second nature, his hands slipping around Price’s waist as he rested his forehead against the back of Price’s neck.

It wasn’t unusual for Nikolai to be close to Price; they’d been allies and friends for years, always sharing a mutual respect. But this… this was different. There was something deeply intimate in the gesture, something that didn’t belong in the usually guarded world of military protocol.

Nikolai murmured something in Russian, too soft for anyone but Price to hear. It didn’t seem to matter, though, as the meaning was clear in the way Price’s shoulders relaxed, the way he leaned back slightly into Nikolai’s hold. It was a rare moment of vulnerability, and the room, once filled with the low hum of conversation, went dead silent.

Price let out a soft chuckle—low, rumbling, completely out of character for the captain the team was used to seeing. Soap and Gaz exchanged glances, eyebrows raised, and Ghost, though still focused on his blade, was clearly aware of what was unfolding.

And then it happened.

Nikolai, still half-asleep, his voice a lazy slur, muttered, “Mishka…” The word slipped out, familiar and affectionate, and it lingered in the air like a gentle whisper.

Soap blinked, sitting up straighter in his chair. Gaz’s mouth opened slightly, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he’d just heard. Even Ghost paused, the soft scrape of metal against stone coming to a halt.

“Mishka?” Soap echoed, incredulous. His eyes flicked between Price and Nikolai, a wide grin spreading across his face. “Did he just—?”

Before Soap could finish, Ghost cut him off, his tone even. “Means ‘Little Bear’ in Russian.”

Gaz’s head snapped toward Ghost. “You knew?”

Ghost shrugged, sliding the knife back into its sheath. “Not hard to figure out.”

Soap looked between Ghost and Price, trying to process what had just happened. “So… ‘The Bear’—that’s why?”

Price, still standing there with Nikolai comfortably wrapped around him, sighed softly. “Aye, that’s why,” he muttered, his voice resigned but amused. “It’s just an old nickname.”

“Mishka…” Soap repeated, grinning wider by the second. “This whole time, your callsign was ‘cause Nik calls you Little Bear?”

Price’s lips twitched into a smile, one that was more affectionate than anything else. He glanced over his shoulder at Nikolai, who was still resting against him, seemingly oblivious to the conversation unfolding around them. “It’s from years ago,” Price explained, though his tone was softer now, less defensive. “Back when things were… different. We’ve been together longer than most of you have been soldiers.”

Nikolai, finally registering the fact that the room had gone quiet and all eyes were on him, lifted his head slightly. His half-lidded eyes took in the scene before him, his tired brain slowly catching up to what had happened. He blinked, realisation dawning.

“Ah…” he mumbled, clearly too tired to feel any real embarrassment. “I… did not mean to let that slip.”

Soap’s laughter was loud and immediate, the sound echoing through the mess hall. “Oh, mate, this is brilliant! You, the legendary Captain Price, our fearless leader—‘Mishka’.”

Gaz, though clearly amused, was more subtle about it, shaking his head with a grin. “Well, it certainly explains ‘The Bear,’ doesn’t it?”

Price rolled his eyes, though there was no hiding the fondness in his expression as he looked at Nikolai. “You lot better not make a big deal out of this.”

“Oh, it’s a huge deal,” Soap replied, grinning from ear to ear. “Mishka! You’re never gonna hear the end of this one, Captain.”

Ghost, sitting back in his chair, observed the scene silently, his eyes barely visible behind his mask. Unlike Soap and Gaz, there was no surprise in his posture, no sudden shock at the revelation. Instead, there was an air of quiet understanding, as if he’d known for a long time but had simply chosen not to say anything.

He continued to sharpen his knife with steady precision, his gaze lingering on Price and Nikolai for a moment longer than usual. It wasn’t curiosity or judgement in his eyes—just a quiet acceptance, the kind that came from years of knowing someone without needing to pry into their personal life.

Price caught Ghost’s gaze from across the room, and for a brief second, something passed between them. A silent conversation, wordless but understood. Ghost, always observant, had likely pieced it together long before this moment. And now that the secret was out, he wasn’t about to make a fuss over it.

Soap, still grinning like he’d uncovered the greatest joke of the century, opened his mouth for another jab, but Ghost cut him off with a simple, “That’s enough, Johnny.”

The way he said it left no room for argument, and Soap, though clearly disappointed to be cut short, just raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright,” he muttered, but the grin stayed plastered on his face.

Gaz chuckled softly, shaking his head at the entire scene as he leaned back in his chair, the initial surprise wearing off. There was a comfortable shift in the air now—no awkwardness, no lingering questions. Just the usual banter and camaraderie.

Ghost leaned back in his seat, his knife forgotten for the moment. “It’s none of our business,” he said in a low voice, though there was a strange warmth to his words. “You two do what you need to.”

Price’s mouth quirked into a half-smile, something grateful in the look he sent Ghost’s way. He knew Ghost wasn’t the type to pry, but the unspoken acknowledgment meant something. Ghost had always been a man of few words, but when he spoke, it held weight.

As the room settled back into a relaxed rhythm, Soap and Gaz quietly snickering to themselves, Price gave a final, resigned chuckle. “Well,” he muttered, his voice light with amusement as Nikolai shifted against him, “there’s no point hiding it now, is there?”

Soap, still unable to resist despite Ghost's warning, leaned back with an exaggerated sigh. “Can’t believe I never clocked it. Should’ve known it’d be somethin’ soft.”

Gaz chuckled, crossing his arms. “Soft? The man’s still a bear, mate. Little or not, he’ll tear you apart if you push it too far.”

Price raised an eyebrow at the two of them, though his eyes held more amusement than threat. “You’re walkin’ a fine line, Sergeant,” he said to Soap, his voice carrying that familiar commanding weight, but the corners of his mouth tugged upward into a rare smile.

Nikolai, still leaning into Price, let out a soft huff of laughter, the sound low and full of affection. “Johnathan has always been my Mishka,” he murmured, eyes still half-closed with exhaustion but comfortable, safe, like this was the only place in the world he needed to be. “I did not realise you were all so curious about that.”

“We weren’t,” Ghost said, his voice quiet but carrying that same air of authority. “Well, some of us weren’t.” His masked gaze flicked over to Soap, who wisely clamped his mouth shut, though his grin remained.

Nikolai chuckled again, finally pulling away from Price just enough to stretch, though he stayed close. The years of camaraderie, loyalty, and love between the two were unmistakable now that it was out in the open. There was a calmness in the air—almost like the unspoken secret had been a weight lifted from their shoulders.

Ghost stood up from his seat, slipping his knife into his belt. “You two get some rest. We’ve got a briefing in the morning.” His tone was matter-of-fact, but there was an unspoken understanding in his words, a gentle nudge to let them know the conversation was over, and life would carry on as it always had.

Price nodded, grateful for the easy return to normalcy. “Mmm. You’re right.”

Price shook his head, already knowing the teasing would continue for days, but he didn’t mind. This was his team, after all—his family. And they’d earned the right to their jokes. “Get out of here before I start assigning extra PT,” he grumbled, though there was no real bite behind the threat.

Soap and Gaz exchanged looks, clearly amused, but they both stood and started to head for the door, their playful banter continuing as they went.

As they left, Ghost lingered for just a moment longer, casting one last glance at Price and Nikolai. There was no judgment in his look, just quiet understanding. He gave the faintest of nods, a silent acknowledgment of what he knew but had never spoken of.

With that, Ghost turned and followed the others out, leaving Price and Nikolai alone in the now-quiet mess hall.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Then, Nikolai leaned back into Price, his arms draped loosely around his shoulders, pressing a tired kiss to his cheek. Price, with a soft sigh, wrapped his arms around his waist, pulling him closer.

“It’s alright, you know,” Price murmured after a beat of silence. “Don’t have to hide anymore. At least not around them”

Nikolai smiled against his shoulder, his voice barely above a whisper. “According to your kostochka we did not hide as well as we thought.”

Price chuckled, a deep, warm sound, and squeezed his arms around Nikolai gently. “No, I s’pose not. Better not let him hear you call him that though, he’d have my head”

They stood like that for a long moment, the quiet of the base wrapping around them like a blanket. There was no rush to move, no need to explain anything. The world outside could wait, just for a little while longer.

Finally, Nikolai let out a soft breath, his voice laced with contentment. “Come on, Mishka. Let us get some rest. Long day tomorrow.”

Price gave a slow nod, pressing a soft kiss to the top of Nikolai’s head before pulling back. “Aye. You’re right, Nik.”

And with that, they turned, leaving the mess hall behind and heading towards their quarters, side by side, with the weight of secrecy finally lifted and the knowledge that, whatever came next, they’d face it together.

[chloesimaginationthings]

FNAF movie Vanessa’s thoughts when meeting Abby..

[starcurtain]

Teyvat's "Most Down Bad" Award Goes to Alhaitham for a Second Year Running

Seeing everyone making fun of Alhaitham for his "stalkerish" tendencies in this event is funny, because I feel like a lot of people missed that "Be literally everywhere Kaveh is" has been Alhaitham's MO from the day Kaveh appeared in the game.

From only grabbing his house keys after Kaveh returned from the desert (he couldn't have had both sets of keys at the end of the Archon Quest unless he went home and got Kaveh's copy) to ditching conversations to get back to his house only after Kaveh came home, to showing up without any warning or explanation in Kaveh's hangout with some ridiculous excuse about hearing his voice through noise-cancelling headphones... Refusing to offer any help in the Temple of Silence story quest other than staying in the library with Kaveh...

Since when does Alhaitham willingly cover anyone else's duties?

But this trend of "Be everywhere Kaveh is" didn't start when they were adults. It was already in place when they were still Akademiya students--and it's a trend that didn't end even when they had their fight.

Even when they weren't speaking, Alhaitham dogged Kaveh's every step through published responses to Kaveh's research articles in academic journals. He insisted on keeping a line of communication between himself and Kaveh open, even if the only way to do that was through very public ideological clashes. Pulling Kaveh's pigtails to get his attention lolol. It's implied that, for at least the few years between their fight and Kaveh moving in, this was the only communication between them--Alhaitham's refusal to allow their connection to entirely fade away. (And the fact that this is revealed in Kaveh's character stories--through his precious journal that records the moments of his life that had the most impact on him--shows just how deeply he values the fact that Alhaitham didn't give up.)

Another relevant side note: Alhaitham never asked Kaveh to give up his half of their house. Knowing half of it belonged to Kaveh, knowing that Kaveh may one day want to reclaim his part of it, knowing that it was listed as theirs, Alhaitham moved into the house and made zero effort to change its ownership. He was completely fine with living in "his and Kaveh's house." The stories suggest it was only months later (or even longer) that Kaveh even noticed he had the house, and he transferred away ownership of his portion without Alhaitham ever asking him (or even seemingly wanting him) to do so.

Please, let that sink in. Alhaitham actively left his grandmother's (presumably comfortable) house to move into "his and Kaveh's house," with no apparent explanation for why, and after doing so, he made no attempt to change that "his and Kaveh's" label. He moved into the house with no promise that Kaveh wouldn't show up on the doorstep the very next day and move in too. It almost feels like another deliberate provocation--I've moved into our house, are you going to come stop me? LBR, if Alhaitham had had his way, Kaveh would have been living there with him from Day 1...

There's also the fact that Kaveh literally can't write on a single message board anywhere in the entire nation of Sumeru without Alhaitham hunting his messages down and responding to them (which absolutely no one else does, by the way).

"NUH-UH!" "UH-HUH." "NUH-UH!"

Alhaitham's own character stories tell us explicitly that one of Alhaitham's defining character traits is "He is never where you need him to be," yet somehow...

Shot, and chaser:

Any time Kaveh is in the slightest bit of need or danger or just wants Alhaitham near, Alhaitham is "coincidentally" exactly where Kaveh needs him to be, whenever Kaveh needs him to be there.

Alhaitham didn't just "happen" to run into Kaveh in Port Ormos, an entirely different city from where he was supposed to be working. He didn't just "happen" to read the same terrible book as Kaveh when we know he otherwise would not waste a moment of his time on poorly-written literature...

He didn't just "happen" to appear when Kaveh was upset and needed a distraction in the House of Daena during Kaveh's hangout. He didn't just "happen" to be sitting around waiting when Kaveh needed answers after the Archon Quest. He didn't just "happen" to find Kaveh's academic publications and every single message board posting and respond to them at length and in public.

The only person for whom Alhaitham just "happens" to be available is Kaveh, over and over and over again--because he is very deliberately making himself a constant presence in Kaveh's life.

Which is exactly what Kaveh's mother told Kaveh he needed.

(Like, out of all things, I think people really underestimate the devs deliberately paralleling the romantic relationship between Kaveh's mother and father with Kaveh and Alhaitham's relationship. If you want to point to one thing that says "These two characters are intentionally queer-coded," it doesn't get any more obvious than this.)

Alhaitham, are you not embarrassed to be this transparent??? 🫣

[andi-o-geyser]

Vax'ildan Vessar I cannot fucking BELIEVE you fumbled Keyleth of the Air Ashari. AGAIN. Do not break up after your first kiss together, better yet after her FIRST EVER KISS you gave her tongue I will KILL YOU

[starry-bi-sky]

on a completely separate note; shizun luo binghe with a disciple shen yuan who fell into the abyss??? *thinks about LBH canonically stealing SQQ's corpse for 5 years* he'd hallucinate i think. like, like visual and audial hallucinations.

Keeps thinking he's seeing SQQ in the corner of his eyes, or wandering between the trees, amongst a group of disciples. Thinks he hears him calling for him, but its just the wind or another disciple.

Gets Xiu Ya reforged but patently fucking refuses to make a sword mound. Because his disciple Is Not Dead :))) There was No Body. He's Not Dead. And If You keep Insisting That He Is, He's Gonna Skewer You :). He's holding onto Xiu Ya so he can return his most favored disciple's sword when he returns. It's on his hip right next to Zheng Yang where it's supposed to be.

Also this motherfucker?? does not sleep btw. He has the image of SQQ, wide eyed and hysterical and standing at the mouth of the abyss burned into his fucking eyelids. Can't use the dreamscape to escape it either because he keeps trying to save him and either he does and it's an incredibly cruel trick to wake up to, or he doesn't and he gets his heart broken in several different pieces again.

There is no convincing this man that Shen Qingqiu is dead. Absolutely nothing at all. He is buried so deep in denial that moles would be jealous of how deep he is. He keeps making tea for two in the bamboo house only to remember that it's just him. SQQ's fans are hiding everywhere, little reminders of his presence. He goes to wake up SQQ on the mornings he sleeps in-- only to find the room empty.

[goldensunset]

i’ve been thinking about the pokémon memes where it’s like playing off of that one quote that’s like ‘truly strong trainers should try to win using their favorites’ and it’s like ‘ok well my favorite is [something blatantly overpowered]’ and it’s got me curious. how many people genuinely love pokémon that also happen to be really strong competitively?

so if you will. pick a favorite pokémon (for any reason! whether it’s cuteness or strength or nostalgia etc. no judgment) then go here https://www.smogon.com/dex/sv/pokemon/ and look it up

(you’ll see something that looks like this. see where it says tier and has some gibberish afterwards? don’t worry if you don’t know what that means but tell me what the letters/words are)

also if there are multiple forms and the distinction matters to you make sure you get the right one lol cuz the tiering can be different

edit: forgot to mention i mean specifically in SV! which is what comes up by default. rip every pokémon that either isn’t in SV (it’ll say ‘national dex’) or used to be better but has since fallen off relative to new pokémon

[beets]

baby, bi bi bi

[tcustodisart]

Whenever I drew Connie with a single dandelion behind his ear this scene was playing in my head like wii channel music.

[rosemarytrash]

this is so needlessly chaotic but so is act 4 so really if you think about it i'm imbibing the spirit of it all into a lot of gaussian blurring

[thewanderingmask]

so yea

1-2 months of on and off effort later IT'S MY FIRST EVER HERMITCRAFT (by which i mean exclusively tango tek) ANIMATIC

IN WHICH A MAN TALKS ABOUT BINARY FOR ALMOST 3 MINUTES (it's based actually. and was really fun to animate)

[mayaskribbles]

i still come to this place to find peace (thats enough, lets get you home)

[yayll]

~ a little something about you and Dazai working together... or at least trying to ~

"Hold still! God, you really need to be more careful, Dazai, I worr-"

He blinks, and tilts his head, his voice soft yet firm as you both sit on the agency's couch.

"Would you mind looking at me real quick?"

You glance up from disinfecting his wound, and hum.

"Mm, why?"

He sighs, and when he speaks his voice comes out dramatic yet tantalizing, the way he always makes it sound when he knows he's about to say something silly. Something you'll hopefully scold him for! Yum...

"Oh, no reason... Just wanted a little kiss before I inevitably die in your loving embrace~"

You roll your eyes and groan, it makes his stomach do flips. There it is, that adorable shade of pink he loves so much! It matches the one you had on in bed this morning, but that's too naughty to think about now... Dazai hears the way your voice is significantly less strict, and he knows he has you. When does he not?

"Not now, Dazai-"

He interrupts, pouting as he reaches over and twists a lock of your hair in between his slender fingers, twirling it mindlessly while you mend his wound. He gives you a melting expression as his eyes droop enough for you to have no choice but to notice his despair as he whines.

"Mmm, why do you always only call me Dazai when we're at work?"

You sigh as you gently finish dressing his wounds, the fresh bandage mingling with his older ones... He makes a mental note to have you change those later too.

Anything to keep your hands all over him. Desiring him. Always in sight, always on the mind.

"Because we're at work... we're professionals, remember?"

That silly little comment makes him scoff.

"Hmph. Well, everyone knows..."

"Know what?"

"That you and I kiss in the supply closet sometim-"

You fling yourself against his chest and clamp his mouth shut, cheeks burning redder than a tomato. He licks the inside of your palm, causing you to immediately yank your hand away with a small squeak. You can't hold back the way your lips curl into an embarrassed smile as you hiss, and it makes him almost froth at the mouth... Trying to relearn decency is hard when he's this close to you.

"Professionals, Dazai!"

"... We should kiss" He blurts out, face smug.

"No"

"But it huuurtssss!" He's desperate now, resorting to the lowest of the lows so you'll accomodate him against all wishes, not like he has any shame left. He dramatically points at his wrapped up wrist, and slumps back onto the couch as he deflates into deadweight.

Your face softens and you look down, sighing in resignation that your boyfriend might just be a total baby FREAK. His pupils turn into hearts when you speak to him in the way he wants you to.

"Where does it hurt?"

"Who are you referring to?"

"You..?"

He smirks devilishly, and shrugs, feigning ignorance as he looks off to the side, arms crossed. You slowly start to get it, and crack a smirk. You exhale, shaking your head as you give him what he covets for.

"... Where does it hurt, Osamu?"

There it is, the magic word. By the time you're done asking that he's already crawled ontop of you, cornering you on the small loveseat and caging you in between his slender frame. Dazai takes your hand in his, and intertwines your fingers together as he nuzzles your cheek with his nose. His voice is soft, gentle, and talks you through it, just how he did this morning.

"Mmm, I'm not sure anymore... Let's find out together"

Your breath hitches, and you become bashful under him. He looks at you with narrowed eyes, knowing what it does to you, but more importantly what it does to his sick little mind. Leave it to Dazai to turn playful banter into something that will surely leave the two of you a mess... Hopefully you a little more than him. You whisper, a little breathless.

"Oh, now you're just baiting me, huh..."

"Well if I'm bait, then you're biting."

He whispers back, as if sucking the very life force out of you with his eye contact alone. This is how he wins, how he secures heaven for himself every single day, selfishly. He's not hiding anything in his expressions. He wants you for him, and no one else.

You really never stood a chance.

[potato-lord-but-not]

Arthurs I desire carnally part one sen d help

@mintyeggs @blueberyboy @koszmarnybudyn I’m unwell thanks

[gauntletqueen]

When a non-horror game has a horror section, I often find it a little more effective or memorable than a full-on horror title's horror, in a way. I think that's because, for characters in fiction, they usually don't know they're about to experience a horror story, so they aren't mentally prepared at all. As the audience, we know that when we boot up Silent Hill, we're gonna see some scary stuff and can mentally prepare accordingly. But when some innocuous children's platformer or RPG or whatever suddenly throws genuine horror elements at me, I'm taken out of my comfort zone much more roughly since I don't expect it at all. I think that's neat :>

[nebuladreamz]

A little different than last year's, but here we are again. To say that this past year hasn't been absolutely wild would be a lie, cause HOLY SHIT MAN

This year's birthday is. A little different for me, but you already have the silly comic to show that so I won't make like a broken record oops

But, despite the changes and hills that life's decided I should climb or throw at, it hasn't changed the fact that I'm so genuinely fucking thankful to the people that I've known since joining this fandom. I'm not even kidding when I say that being here has actually changed my life for the better. I know I said something similar last year, but this time, hoo boy it sure turned up the AMP and test how far I could go.

So, to everyone, both new and old; thank you for being here :D

@garbagechocolate @darkxsoulzyx @smoljeanius @bunmuffin @skizabaa

@tuzesdays @sleepykas @fernzwing @kandidandi @starsketchez

@just-a-drawing-bean @notdysfunk @ilsole @amberluvsbugs @cloudyvoid

@nomsthecat @alfinefalf @nosleepygay @theblog-with-thestuff

@cacaocheri

(Edit: ty kibbits for informing me of the. Fuck ass tagging system)

AND TAGGING OTHERS BECAUSE. POINTS. BONKS WITH HEAD. GETTING TO EITHER INTERACT OR TALK OR WHATEVER IS ALWAYS A DELIGHT

@ohno-the-sun @kibbits @ink-yy @saltyfryz @kaprisvn

@hierba-picante @sunny-sophies-garden @cookiiemancer @sneeblbop @justaduckarts

@pepethehumanz @crystalmagpie447 @woolysstuff @mocha-illustrates @duhsty1

@sanchensky @pillowspace @victarin @witherfide

[I DEFINITELY GOT SONAS WRONG AND THESE AREN'T ALL THE SILLY PEOPLE I KNOW BUT IM SITTING HERE AT 2:30 IN THE MORNING JUST KNOW YOU'RE THERE IN SPIRIT HANDING YOU ALL POPTARTS WAUGH]

[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."