#actually this is part of a comm I did for someone!

[obitinenovelwhen]

Obitine Week

DAY TWO - Out of Place

I don’t belong here, Obi-Wan thought, staring up at the empty ceiling of his quarters.

Or at least that was what Obi-Wan had told himself last week, during his knighting ceremony. It wasn’t simply that the whole affair had felt abrupt, almost rushed, without the formal Jedi trials; his own Master had taught him that ritual tradition did have its place, but only so much as it served the individuals partaking in them. His sense that he didn’t belong there, in that room, becoming a Jedi at last when there had been a time in his youth when he hadn’t thought it possible—it was because the ceremony was incomplete.

Because Qui-Gon wasn’t there.

Just as he’s done during his ceremony, Obi-Wan couldn’t help but reach out through the Force to search for his late Master’s presence, casting about like a lost child searching for their parent. Even though he’d seen him cut down before his eyes, even thoughhe had died in Obi-Wan’s arms, his death didn’t quite feel real. Not yet. He didn’t dare share it with anyone, but he sometimes felt as if Qui-Gon were simply going to stroll up to him one day, ask him what he’d missed or why Obi-Wan looked so…not himself.

Part of this feeling of not being being quite himself, he knew, was his lack of sleep. Ever since he’d promised to Anakin that he would train him, the boy had taken to following him around all day—and all night, as it happened. More specifically, Obi-Wan had allowed his padawan to set up a cot a few feet from his own, a arrangement that soothed the boy but made it nearly impossible to sleep. He didn’t know why, exactly—Anakin didn’t snore, talk in his sleep, or engage in any of the other habits that would’ve kept him up—but he wondered if the responsibility the boy represented was feeding his insomnia.

A responsibility he was beginning to doubt he could uphold.

Obi-Wan sighed deeply, rubbing at his eyes as if the motion could stimulate sleep. Whatever the explanation, it was now nearly 03:00, Coruscant time, and he still hadn’t managed to even doze off. Anakin, meanwhile, was sleeping soundly, his young face the very picture of peace.

What I wouldn’t do to trade places with him right now.

While Obi-Wan contemplated whether it was befitting a Jedi Knight to harbor jealousy for a child’s seemingly effortless sleep, a soft chime sounded from where his belt hung in his small closet. Fearing it might awaken Anakin, he quickly crossed the room to grab the offending device—his comm—and discreetly slipped into the hall. It was only when he’d carefully closed the door and walked a few feet away from his quarters that he finally responded activated the comm.

“Kenobi here,” he said softly, mindful that others were sleeping in the neighboring quarters. Luminara in particular was a light sleeper, and he knew she’d box his ears if he disturbed her sleep.

“Master Kenobi,” a young voice said in greeting, perhaps not grasping how strange it was to hear the honorific for Knights and Masters applied to himself. “This is padawan Socha Qwin, on comm monitor duty. I wanted to inform you that you, um, have a message that’s been left for you.”

Obi-Wan frowned down at his comm-link. “When was it left?”

“Well…just now, actually. It’s from off-world, though, so maybe they didn’t know how early it is on Coruscant?”

He pinched at the bridge of his nose, barely suppressing a sigh. “I’ll be there shortly. Just keep me apprised of any further messages.”

“Yes, Master.” A moment of silence, then: “And, Master…?”

“Yes?”

“The caller specified that the message is private, so I, um, haven’t listened to it.”

As soon as he signed off, Obi-Wan finally allowed himself an exasperated sigh. Unless a message was mission-related—and he wasn’t being assigned any missions for the time being, not until the Council felt he had had sufficient time to grieve Qui-Gon—he couldn’t see why someone felt they needed to leave a privacy-designated message at 03:00. While most people might not know the time difference between most planets in the Republic, they surely had access to a chrono that displayed Coruscant time. It was, after all, considered standard time.

But then again…aside from the annoyance of receiving a message at an unseemly hour, it wasn’t as if he had anything better to do. After briefly returning to his quarters to put on his boots and belt, he set out into the empty halls, the occasional Temple Guard, maintenance worker, or fellow insomniac his only companions. It was almost eerie, really; he remembered very little of his time before arriving at the Temple, and for it to be without the constant hum of Jedi going about their daily business, it was felt oddly…empty. It was almost a relief when he finally arrived at the comm-center, the on-duty padawan—Socha Qwin, presumably—giving him an awkward little bow in greeting.

“Thank you for coming so quickly, Master,” they said, their mop of loose blue curls flopping slightly in their face as they dipped their head. “The message is ready for you on terminal one. I’ll, um, wait out here until you’re done.”

A more well-rested version of himself might’ve tried giving them a reassuring smile—he could tell they were simultaneously nervous and trying their best to do their assigned duty with utmost seriousness—but all he was able to muster now was a quiet thanks and dip of his head before he closed himself in the comm center. As promised, terminal one was ready to go. One press of the “play” button, softly glowing in the dim lights, and a holo sprung to life, bathing the room in blue.

A heartbeat or so later, when recognition settled in and he realized who was in the holo, he had to almost immediately hit “pause.”

It was Satine.

The four years since they’d parted hadn’t changed her much; she was still just as stunning as ever, even virtually. What had changed was her apparel and her bearing. Instead of the simple tunics she’d donned during their year on the run from Mandalorian insurgents, she was now clad in a stately gown replete with jewelry, a ceremonial headdress, and other ornate accessories. And where he’d previously seen the softer side of Satine—the vulnerable side, the one she likely hadn’t let any but him see—she wore a mask of regality, projecting confidence and authority even across the parsecs that separated them.

Obi-Wan found himself looking away for a moment as a wave of something he hadn’t felt in a while washed over him. Part of him wanted to turn off the message, thank Socha, and be back on his way to his quarters, averting this reminder of the past. After all, he’d done it so well these past four years, with the exception of a few instances in which he read through transcriptions of Satine’s public addresses for what he told himself was “public policy research.” But there was a small voice in the back of his head—perhaps the sum of all the lessons he’d internalized from Qui-Gon—that said he needed to do this. He needed to look at the past, lest it gain more power than it should.

So with a deep, cleansing breath, Obi-Wan hit play again, allowing himself to swim in almost forgotten feelings while the message played.

“I know things between us perhaps didn’t end in the way they should have,” she began, her regal air slipping into someone who seemed suddenly as uncertain and young as he was. “And I know I’m likely the last person you wish to see, especially now. But when I received word a few minutes ago about what had happened to Master Qui-Gon on Naboo, I wanted to let you know how sorry I am. I realize those are just words, but you know better than I do how special he was, and to lose someone like him from the galaxy—for you to lose him, with everything that he meant to you—I don’t think there are words that can fully express that.”

She looked down for a moment, blinking. Was it a trick of the holo projector, or were there tears in her eyes? He couldn’t tell—at least not before she quickly dashed at her eyes before returning her gaze to the holo-recorder she’d made this recording on.

“I can’t even begin to imagine what you must be feeling at this moment,” Satine went on, “because I never knew Qui-Gon like you did. But I knew you—perhaps better than most—and I suspect part of you is likely doubting yourself right now.” A small smile. “You always used to do that when something happened to me, you know. But whatever you’re feeling, whatever you’re going through in this moment, I only want you to remember that I never doubted you—and don’t suspect Qui-Gon would, either.”

With that, the message came to an abrupt end, and Obi-Wan was left staring up at Satine’s ghostly blue image in silence. He thought about simply returning to his quarters, trying—and most likely failing—to fall asleep. But something at the back of his mind whispered again that there was something he needed to do—and after about five minutes of sitting with Satine’s message, he knew exactly what it was.

“Padawan Qwin?” He said, stepping out of the empty comm-center.

Socha Qwinn started, looking as though they were about to jump out of their boots. “Yes, Master?”

“Do you by chance know if the shipping center is open at this hour?”

“Um, well, there’s probably a padawan on duty that you can leave a package with, but nothing is probably going to be sent out until the ship leaves around 08:00.”

“That’s fine. I’ll be on my way, then.”

Socha Qwinn looked slightly confused as he stepped out of the comm center and departed. He couldn’t blame them; it probably wasn’t typical to ask about package shipping at almost 04:00 in the morning. But he hardly cared. After a quick stop by his quarters to pick up what he intended to ship and to check whether his young charge was still truly asleep, Obi-Wan walked as fast he could to the shipping center, explaining what he could to the on-duty padawan once he arrived.

This padawan—several years older than Socha and looking perhaps a little less green around the ears—did at least try to hide her curiosity when she took in his instructions. “Of course we can send this, Master. Although I must ask, for the purpose of our manifest, that you identify what’s in the package you wish to send.”

“My padawan braid,” he said, without explanation.

“Oh.” The padawan blinked before her face returned to its mask of professional neutrality. “I see. Is there any message you wish to leave on the package label, perhaps to let them know who it’s from?”

“Just include my name, and ‘Thank you for believing in me.’”

With that, Obi-Wan said his “thank yous” to the padawan, who was radiating a mixture of confusion and interest in the Force, and returned to his quarters.

He fell asleep almost instantly.

@weekofobitine

[cutekoala1001]

Drew the cheetah girl from Klaus’ dance studio! Crazy flexible. Also, they forgot to add her tail in this scene I guess 🙃

[meirimerens]

Meiri.... Humblest Meiri of blessed origin and wideness of mind.... I know your comms are not open Nyeow but I do have a question for if/when you open them again. Would you be willing to do a comm of a vtuber model (original, not-existing) and/or art for vtubing backgrounds/chat/etc?

being 100% depending on how bad the job search goes i might reopen them this summer. basically the deal is If i get a fulltime summer job you're not seeing commission until fall & if i don't Chances Are They're Reopening. we'll find out anyday now.

and i've never worked on vtuber models but as long as i don't have to do any of the rigging i can work on that 👍 & backgrounds/chat & the like as well. since it's not something i usually do we'd have to Discuss it some more but you know. doable 👍 the indomitable human spirit and all.

[flwrkid14]

Tim Drake's Immortal Babysitter

Tim Drake has always had someone watching over him. The Bast just don't know it.

Because before Tim was Red Robin—before he was even walking—the Drakes made a deal. They were rich, busy, and too occupied with their globe-trotting lifestyle to actually raise their son. But they still wanted Tim protected. Watched over. Cared for.

Enter Danny.

Young-looking, strangely unaging, with sharp blue eyes and a warm smile, he seemed like a responsible college kid just looking for a babysitting gig. Only he wasn’t. Because behind the casual charm and the easy grin was Phantom, the immortal protector of Amity Park—now moonlighting as the personal bodyguard of one Tim Drake.

The Drakes paid him an obscene amount of money to keep their son safe. But Danny didn’t do it for the money. He did it because he promised.

And Danny always keeps his promises.

-—

Tim doesn’t remember a time without Danny.

Danny, who stayed with him when his parents were gone for months at a time. Danny, who dried his tears and soothed his nightmares. Danny, who bandaged scraped knees and taught him how to ride a bike. Danny, who picked him up from school and brought him home to a warm meal, even when his parents didn’t care enough to call.

And when Tim got older—when he grew sharper, smarter, and far too observant—he started noticing things. How Danny never seemed to age. The way Danny was always there, no matter what. How he could do things no normal person could do—like pull Tim out of the path of an oncoming car and somehow appear twenty feet away a second later, holding him safely in his arms.

Tim figured it out by the time he was ten.

"You’re Phantom, aren’t you?" he asked one night, voice steady, too sure for a child. Danny stared at him for a moment, then huffed out a tired laugh. "Yeah, Tim. I am." Tim blinked once. "Cool. Can you teach me how to fight?"

Danny had laughed so hard he nearly cried. And then, he did teach him.

-—

So by the time Tim became Robin, Danny already knew.

He didn’t try to stop him. He didn’t tell him it was too dangerous. He just smiled wryly, ruffled Tim’s hair, and made him promise to let Danny help.

That way, when Tim was too tired to make it home? Danny was there, carrying him back to his apartment. When Tim got injured? Danny was the one who patched him up before anyone else could even find him. When Tim couldn’t stand after a fight? Danny was the one pulling him into his arms, flying him away before the family even realized he was gone.

And no one knew.

The Bats didn’t notice the subtle extra layer of protection. The faint wisp of cold air that followed Tim after patrols. The second shadow lingering on the rooftops.

None of them saw the glimmer of white hair that flickered out of sight or the flash of toxic green eyes that glared from the dark whenever someone got too close to Tim.

And Tim? Tim was happy.

Even when Bruce found out about Tim’s parentless situation and, with all his good intentions, suggested adoption—offering to bring Tim into Wayne Manor, to make him part of the family—Tim just shook his head.

"Thanks, but no thanks," he said easily. Bruce blinked. "Tim, I can give you a home. You don’t have to—" "I already have a home," Tim interrupted softly. Because he did. Because Danny was his family.

-—

The family doesn’t know. They don’t know that when Tim comes back from a rough patrol, there’s already a cup of hot chocolate waiting for him at home. That when Tim is too tired to train, there’s someone helping him stretch and taking care of his body. That when Tim doesn’t answer his comm, it’s because Danny is already there.

And when Tim is Red Robin, moving with practiced ease through Gotham, Phantom is always nearby, invisible to everyone else but always watching over him.

Tim doesn’t need to be adopted. He doesn’t need a Bat symbol on his chest to feel safe. Because he has Danny, and Danny has him.

And that's all he'll ever need.

[motorsportbarbie13]

A Package Deal - Part 4

In which the real world threatens to ruin your happiness.

Warnings: angsttttttttt :) fluff at the end tho!! Pairing: Lando x SingleMom!Reader Word Count: 3.6k words

- A Package Deal - A Package Deal - Part 2 - A Package Deal - Part 3 - Master List

yourusername (private) posted:

yourusername life lately ❤️ BFFSarah omg, someone who loves pizza just as much as Stelly Belly??? >>>yourusername they polished off a large pizza between the two of them. It was a sight to see. >>>land-ho WE WERE HUNGRY. >>>yourusername you bet my six year old she couldn't eat 4 pieces of pizza, sir. >>>land-ho AND SHE PUT DOWN FIVE! Proudest moment of my LIFE. >>>yourusername 🙄

land-ho (private) posted

land-ho party of three? smoooooth_operator it was good to see you two last night! >>>yourusername dinner was delicious, C!! tell R thank you for all the shopping reccos in Barcelona 🤭 >>>landonorris oh god, my wallet already hurts >>>yourusername well now i'm never going to beat the sugar baby allegations. >>>honeybadger y'all are a walking PR nightmare waiting to happen. kelly_pickme i must meet your two favorite girls soon! bring them to Monaco soon! >>>yourusername 😘 did L give M the lion plushie and princess dress for baby and P? can't wait to meet you all soon!! >>>kelly_pickme yes! P hasn't taken it off and the lion is a hit as well. >>>yourusername ❤️❤️❤️

Miami May, 2025

"Okay, anything else you guys want to talk about before we start filming?" Victor, the team's head of communications, asks on Thursday afternoon.

Victor sits in one of the several conference rooms located in McLaren's hospitality suite surrounded by the rest of the communications team as well as Lando and Oscar. The weekend debrief is wrapping up as he asks one last question.

"Actually, kind of." Lando clears his throat, rubbing his palms on his jeans.

The entire team turns to him then and he feels his face go a bit red. He hadn't really planned on making a big deal of this in front of the team but after his meeting with Zak earlier, he thought he should at least let the comms team in on what he was going to do tonight.

"What's up?" Victor prompts, tucking his iPad under his arm.

"Well, it's more of a 'heads up' kind of thing but Zak thought I should let you guys know that I'm planning on going public with my girlfriend tonight."

Out of the corner of his eye, Lando sees Oscar smirk. He can almost hear the 'well it's about time' teasing he's about to get when they wrap up this meeting.

Victor blinks, casting a sideways glance at Melanie, Lando's main press officer for the weekend. He could tell Victor was reluctant to agree but in all honesty, this wasn't his call and Lando was ready to make that known. "What were you planning on doing?"

Melanie pulls out a notepad to take notes, just in case she's asked about the relationship this weekend.

You were also in Miami this weekend for your second race of the season and the subject had come up last night as you were cuddled up in bed after Lando had posted about you and Stella on his private account for the first time. You had been hesitant at first, not wanting to bring the team or Lando any drama during the race weekend but he had been insistent. While you hadn't been together officially for very long, you spent nearly every spare moment together and Stella had become a huge part of Lando's life too. He was tired of being linked to endless Instagram models and having to hide you away from the public.

Lando shrugs. "Nothing big or anything, just a post of my feed with her, some kind of witty caption."

"She's the one who works in the accounting department?" Melanie asks.

Lando can't help but glare at the woman. She's in her mid-30s with mousey brown hair and wire rimmed glasses. Melanie was kind enough but sometimes Lando wondered if she had any of the media training that was forced on him and Oscar with the kinds of questions she asked him.

"No, she's on the product development team, and she's right over there." Lando tips his chin towards the large glass windows that looks out onto the rest of the hospitality suite where you sit at one of the tables typing away at your laptop.

"Isn't she a single mom?"

Again, Lando glares at Melanie as the rest of the team shifts uncomfortably in their seat. Sure, it was their job to handle any press inquiries that came into the office and sometimes there were personal questions that got asked, but that one was toeing the line of appropriate.

"I don't see why that makes any sort of difference." Oscar surprises everyone by speaking up, his tone a bit colder than usual. "I've worked with her a lot lately, she's a lovely person and wicked smart. Lando's a lucky guy."

"Thanks, mate." Lando murmurs before turning back to Victor. "HR is aware of our relationship and, not that it should matter," Lando looks pointedly at Melanie once again, and is pleased to see her look a bit sheepish as if she's just realized how inappropriate her questions had been. "But Zak is also aware that we're together and has given us his blessing too."

That had been an awkward conversation but Lando admired the McLaren CEO too much to leave him in the dark about something that involved his two employees. He'd scoured the McLaren employee handbook (thankfully there was nothing in it against fraternization of employees, so HR hadn't been a problem either) before approaching Zak first to tell him about the relationship. If there was anyone that Zak Brown loved more than Lando, it was you so of course he had been ecstatic at the news and had immediately given the relationship his full support.

Without waiting for further comment from anyone, Lando gets up and strides out the door, furious at how the ending of the meeting had gone. There were far more problematic WAGs in the paddock and you were a McLaren employee after all, shouldn't you expect the same support from the team as he did? He didn't really understand why it was such a big deal that you were a single mom or technically a coworker.

From your spot in the middle of the hospitality suite you can see when Lando walks out of the conference room, hyper aware of the way his shoulders are hitched up towards his ears, something that only happens when he's upset or stressed.

"Momma!" Your attention is drawn back to your phone where Stella sits on FaceTime before her bath for the evening. You'd been distracted by Lando's sudden shift in mood and had stopped listening to her mid-story.

"Sorry, baby. I'm listening. You and Cora had a good playdate today, yeah?"

Stella prattles on, seemingly satisfied with the half-attention you're now paying her again. But your focus is pulled elsewhere for a moment as you watch a girl you know is on the comms team follow Lando out of the conference room and into his drivers room. You couldn't remember her name but knew that she was working with Lando this weekend as his press officer so it didn't impress you as unusual that she was following him. Maybe something had been said in the meeting and she was going to try to calm him down.

"Momma, can I talk to Lando now?" Stella sighs and you grin. You were beginning to think that your daughter loved Lando a bit more than you the way she constantly asked about him and wanted to see him.

"I think he just walked into a meeting, S but how about we do this. Why don't you go take a bath and by the time you're done, Lando should be finished with his meeting and you can talk to him then."

Stella nods, seemingly happy about the arrangement. You say a quick goodbye before packing up your laptop to go check in on Lando. You were essentially done for the day so you had planned on hanging out with a few of the engineers during their meetings this afternoon before going to dinner with Lando later that night. And then you fully planned on spending the rest of the evening underneath your boyfriend.

You can see the door to Lando's driver's room ajar and you can hear raised voices floating out. Hesitating, you pause with your hand on the door handle. The conversation sounded heated and you didn't want to interrupt. You swear you didn't want to eavesdrop but Lando's shouting didn't leave you much choice.

"What the fuck do you mean the team doesn't want a 'Kelly Piquet 2.0 situation?"

Oh. Oh dear.

You had known Lando was going to tell the team of his plan to hard launch you on his socials tonight and by the sounds of it, it hadn't gone well.

"Lando," The woman, you think her name is Melanie or something, tries to sooth him. "All we're saying is maybe you should think of how this could impact her daughter. When Max and Kelly went public, it was a shit show."

"Yeah, because her father is a racist piece of shit." He spits.

"And she was accused of being a predator!" Melanie fires back. "All I'm saying is that maybe right now isn't the best time to launch a potentially controversial girlfriend."

Your blood goes cold. Controversial? There was nothing in your past that you were ashamed about. No racist relatives. No sex tape scandals or even potentially embarassing photos somewhere out on the internet. You had, all things considered, a pretty wholesome reputation. Everyone at McLaren loved you, as far as you were aware. With the apparent exception of Melanie.

"Controversial? Please, elaborate." Lando's voice goes deadly calm, as if he knows exactly what she's going to say but wants her to say it out loud.

"Lando." Melanie sighs and you take a step back, unsure if you want to hear what she has to say. "She's a young, single mom who got knocked up at nineteen years old." Melanie practically laughs, as if Lando is a complete idiot for not understanding. "There's no way she won't be seen as a gold digger or worse! She's going to be eaten alive on socials. I'm only looking out for her daughter's reputation. Don't be so naive, Norris."

Your fists clench up so tightly, the bite of your nails in your palms pulls you out of a near rage. It takes every ounce of control not to go straight into Lando's room and give that bitch a piece of your mind.

On the other side of the door, Lando swears he sees red and has to take a step away. "This is about your workload, isn't it? You don't want to deal with the awkward questions and the drama? Listen very closely to me, Melanie okay? Because I'm not going to repeat myself." The venom in Lando's voice startles you. "The three of us are a package deal now, do you understand? I am madly in love with that woman out there and her little girl? Her little girl is the center of my world too. I don't give a flying fuck if me being with her means more work for you, that's too fucking bad. If you can't handle it, I'm positive Zak will be happy to replace you. She's here to stay, you are replaceable. Understood?"

Hearing Lando say he loves you and Stella has your world tilting underneath your feet. He'd never said that to you before even though you'd been confident for a while now that he did feel that way. And that you felt the same way.

Melanie's reply is so soft, you don't hear it but moments later, the door flies open so fast you're forced to jump back bit. Melanie's flushed face looks horrified when she sees you standing in the hall. She can't hold eye contact with you for longer than a flicker of a moment before she's dashing down the hall.

Lando stands in the doorway looking horrified that you're standing there. "How much of that did you hear?"

Tears burn at the back of your eyes, your anger at Melanie now replaced with sheer embarrassment. Even if she had been the one to voice it, you were certain Melanie wasn't the only one who was thinking the same thing.

"Everything." You whisper as you look away, brushing at a tear that rolls hotly down your face.

"Goddamnit." Lando swears, shoving a hand through his curls. He hadn't even noticed his door was open after Melanie had followed after him. "Baby..." He reaches for you and you let him pull you to him, his steady warmth a comforting feeling as the panic rises in your chest.

"She's right, you know." You whisper into his chest so softly Lando nearly misses it.

Lando pulls back and the look of desperation on his face nearly breaks your heart. "What are you talking about?"

"The hate we're going to get. I'm going to get. She had a point, you have to admit. I'm a young, single mom dating a millionaire? People are going to think all I'm interested in is your money, just like they did with Kelly."

"Who cares what people think? Who cares what they say about us? The people in our lives that really matter know that's not why you're with me. Isn't that all that matters?"

"Until they start in on Stella. Have you seen some of the things they say about P?"

You were pretty confident you could handle any hate that you got but you knew that the moment you saw any hate towards your little girl, you'd be devastated. It had been something you'd been thinking about since Lando had brought up going public last night but you had been able to brush it aside. It hadn't seemed possible, the worry seeming far away and a little over dramatic but now? Now Melanie's words had anxiety twisting in your stomach.

"That's not going to happen." Lando pulls you deeper into his chest and nuzzles into your neck. He can practically feel you pulling away from him and terror shoots through him.

"You don't know that. Even if it doesn't, do you really want to spend the rest of this relationship constantly defending me? Defending us? That's no way to live, Lando. Melanie was right. I'm controversial and maybe we need to rethink this."

Lando's entire world stops spinning, his breath catching in his throat. "Wh...What? No, baby, no. Please don't do this. Don't pull away. Melanie is being hysterical. Nothing like that is going to happen."

If he had to get on his knees and beg you not to leave him, Lando would do it in a heartbeat.

"I'm not doing anything, I just need a minute to think okay?" You step out of his grasp, instantly missing his touch. You can't even look him in the eye, knowing that if you do you'll crumble. But you can't think of Lando or even yourself right now. "I have to consider what's best for Stella, okay?"

"Don't do this." Lando begs.

"I think I'm going to stay in my own room tonight." You whisper, voice straining with emotion as you barely contain the heartache in your tone.

"Is this the end?" Lando chokes out as he shoves his hands deep in his pockets. He's sure you'd step away if he tried to touch you right now and he knew he wouldn't be able to handle that kind of rejection from you. It felt like his entire world was crumbling around him and the only thing that could right this was you.

Tears stream down your face as you struggle for an answer. "No." You tell him after a moment and the relief that floods Lando's face nearly breaks your heart. "I just need some space to think is all, I promise."

"Can we still have dinner tonight?"

"I think it'd be best if I just spend the evening alone." It hurts, saying those words because you rarely get this much alone time with Lando but you need space so badly your skin begins to itch. You're desperate to get some distance from the paddock and the team and even Lando himself, to right yourself back to the proper head space. You had to consider Stella above your own heart.

If it was possible to die from a broken heart, Lando knew he was about to find out. He lets you go though, watching miserably from the spot he's rooted to on his floor as you back away slowly, almost like you're retreating from a dangerous animal or something.

"I'll talk to you tomorrow, okay?"

All he can do is nod as he watches you walk out the door for what he hopes isn't the last time.

You're just finishing the last bits of your makeup when there's a knock on your door Friday morning. You were a bit surprised because you knew full well that Lando had a key but the fact that he was nervous to use it after what had happened yesterday tugs at something in your chest.

You had been in the shower when he texted you that morning and the string of texts nearly broke your heart. You hadn't wanted to put him through that kind of pain but you had needed to take a moment to think through what had happened with Melanie and the comms team yesterday.

Slipping the robe Lando had gotten you in Japan a few weeks ago, you pad towards the door to open it. You're stopped completely in your tracks when you swing it open and get a glimpse of Lando in the hallway. He looks absolutely ravaged, like he didn't sleep a single second the night before, eyes red rimmed and puffy.

"Lan..." You whisper, tears instantly flooding your eyes. You reach for him, utterly perplexed suddenly as to why you had felt you needed distance from him.

When he folds you into his arms, the damn finally breaks and you sob into him, the entire previous day's emotions coming to a head. The way you finally feel complete when he's got you in his arms is unlike anything you've ever felt and for a brief moment yesterday, you had forgotten that fact.

When he kisses you, cradling your head in his hands, everything else quiets. The doubts, the fear, the anxiety. It all fades into the background with his lips on yours and you sigh into his mouth. For the first time on 24 hours you feel relieved, like you can actually tackle this issue instead of feeling like you're going to drown in your own thoughts.

Lando tugs you over to the bed, pulling you into his lap as he sits against the headboard. You tuck into his body as close as you can, head folded into that space between his neck and shoulder, drinking in the smell of him: fresh from the shower and slightly spicy from his cologne.

For several minutes, you both just sit there. Lando struggles to contain the relief that is flooding his body. He'd been absolutely miserable last night, eventually working himself into a panic attack at the thought of losing you and Stella. There was such a gaping hole in his soul when he thought about the prospect of you walking away, it scared him to death. He had never planned on falling for you, had resisted it for a bit, trying to convince himself that it was too quick to be feeling the way he did. Last night though? Last night had showed him he was further gone than he had ever expected.

"Did you mean what you said to Melanie yesterday?" You mumble into his neck after a few moments.

"Every word." Lando says without a moment of hesitation. "But is there a specific part you want me to confirm?"

You chuckle, pulling away so you can look him in the face. "The part where you said we're a package deal? That you love love us both?"

Lando brings his hands up to face your frame and you can't help but lean into him. "Of course I meant it. I'd do anything for either of you. I thought we'd established that, baby."

You drop your gaze from his then, somewhat knocked off center by the intensity of his gaze. "I'm sorry I got spooked. I'm just so used to doing this all on my own, no one ever wants to stay."

"Do you remember what I told you the first night we spent together in Bahrain?"

You blink, a small smile playing on your lips for the first time that morning. "You said a lot that night."

Lando rolls his eyes and kisses your temple. "It was after you had fallen asleep and I got up to get a drink of water. When I came back to bed, you curled right into me and said you thought I'd left you. You asked me to never leave you and and I told you I'd never leave you. I didn't mean it for just that night though."

Your heart thunders in your chest. You didn't remember that at all but the fact that he had said those words to you all those months ago. He'd been as far gone for you back then as you had.

"I love you more than words can say." He whispers and all you can do is nod back, emotion choking out your ability to speak for a few moments.

Lando reaches under your chin after a beat, lifting your face so he can see you. "Nobody said this was going to be easy but if we do this together, it'll be okay. You've got to trust me on this, baby. The team is fully supportive, I swear to you. Zak, Andrea, Oscar. Everyone that matters is on our side. I know you're scared and you want to protect Stella but you can't give up on our happiness because of some stupid people on the internet that don't matter."

Pain shoots through you, bright and quick as a lightning bolt as realization hits you like a ton of bricks. Something becomes crystal clear in that moment and you find yourself nodding.

"You're right. I know you are. I want Stella to see me choose myself instead of sacrificing my happiness for some stupid what ifs." It isn't until Lando says what he does that you're able to finally put into words what you've slowly been coming to realize over the last few hours. You'd been scared to admit it, scared that choosing yourself in this meant you were putting Stella second but when Lando tells you that you can't give up your own happiness to protect her, everything clicks into place.

"I want her to know that she can do hard things and choose her own path and if i listen to Melanie all I show her is that the bullies win."

"That's my girl." Lando praises, pulling you into another soul shattering kiss. "I love you." He whispers against your lips.

"Lan..." You pull away suddenly, eyes going wide. "The reason I was outside your driver's room yesterday was because Stella demanded to talk to you before bed and then..." You drop the sentence, the memory of yesterday slicing through you once again. "Do we have time to call her now? She was so mad at me last night when I said you were too busy to talk."

"Don't you ever tell my Stelly Belly I'm too busy to talk to her again." He teases before grabbing his phone. "Is she with Sarah today? They had a half day, didn't they. She was all about going to the cinema with Sarah today last time I talked to her."

The smile that settles on your face is nothing short of brilliant. For the first time in nearly 24 hours, you finally feel settled, like everything had righted itself after being so very briefly run off course. "Lets see if she can talk now before the get to the show."

landonorris posted

789,039 likes liked by yourusername, oscarpiastri, BFFSarah, and others landonorris did someone say 'hard launch'? user029 oh she's PRETTY PRETTY yourusername <3 >>>user029 ugh, profile's private but SHE HAS A CHILD??? >>>user2992 if this means we're going to get dad lando content the same yaer we get dad max content, the internet may not survive BFFSarah can i like this more than once!?! <3 user0299 OMG WAIT I saw her in the background of tv shots this weekend except she was in a McLaren team kit. LANDO NOT DATING AN INFLUENCER??? >>>user3422 didn't know he had it in him >>>user000 god, i am such a sucker for a workplace romance trope

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[jaewritesfic]

Melon AU Part 4

Cass is quietly adamant that her new cling-on be taken to the Batcave, no matter the concerns Bruce raises.

If he's honest, his protests fall a little flat even to his own ears. The fact of the matter is that he looks at the midnight apparition she holds and just…can't bring himself to fight very hard.

The creature clings to her like a desperate child, claws curled into her cape in a way that's bound to leave holes. Bruce hasn't caught so much as a glimpse of the face since it grabbed onto Cass, head resolutely tucked into her shoulder. That long sinuous tail is wrapped around her waist and down one leg as if the slightest disconnect could wrench them fully apart.

She was right, it's scared and it needs help.

Bruce almost thinks convincing Commissioner Gordon to lift the police barricade at the end of the alley will be the difficult part, but he's proven wrong. Gordon is more than happy to foist the situation off onto the Bat colony, it's just a matter of figuring out actual transport.

It's not that Bruce doesn't want the creature in the Batmobile. It's that nobody is sure the creature will respond well to someone other than Cass being in proximity to it.

Bruce may be feeling distinctly sympathetic, but he's still not comfortable leaving his daughter totally alone with something strange, unknown and dangerous.

He doesn't want Cass alone with it - them. They probably won't respond well to anyone but Cass being close enough to be in a car with them.

Ultimately this culminates in Bruce pulling the Batmobile around and trying to be very. Very. Quiet.

The shadow creature hasn't raised their head from Cass’s shoulder once, so hopefully as she climbs in the back with her clingy cargo they won't notice they're not alone.

…nobody is going to claim this is a good or creative plan. It's kind of just the only option they can think of.

The creature clicks and whines as she climbs in, aware and nervous about the enclosed space probably, but they don't raise their head or move.

If anything they just wind themselves around Cass a little tighter.

“Shhhh,” Cass hushes gently. “Car. Take us to safe place. I promise.”

Bruce is used to her cowl enough to be able to tell she's glancing at him in the rear view mirror.

Thankfully, the Batmobile can autopilot to the cave. His presence is solely because he refuses to leave her alone with their new…guest. That means he can sign at her.

Did you get a better look at the injuries?

She shakes her head minutely. Hm. Bruce had feared that was the answer, considering how fast the creature had plastered themselves to her.

Do they seem to be losing a lot of blood?

A tiny shrug. Not a yes, not a no. Bleeding, but not gushing. Or maybe she's not sure how much without a visual, though if it was egregious she'd feel it even with the suit.

The heat of it, the slickness.

Bruce decides the shrug is a tentative good sign.

“Let's play questions,” Cass says suddenly, hands rubbing gentle, comforting back and forth patterns against a back so dark it looks like a void. “Nothing scary. Get to know you questions.”

There's no answer, but it doesn't seem to faze her. Of course not. She's Cass.

“Will you play? Tap once yes,” she says softly, tapping the creature's back with her index finger once, “And twice for no. No is okay. You can say no.”

There's a long moment where Bruce watches them in the rear view and nothing happens. Then Cass's cowl shifts in the way that means she's smiling.

“Thank you. Pronouns first, okay? One for she-”

She taps once.

“Two for he-”

She taps twice.

“Three for- oh. Thank you. Good boy. I'm she.”

The rest of the family exposes themselves as listening, quiet murmurs and exclamations over the comms at the new knowledge that their creature considers himself male.

Bruce isn't surprised that his kids have been listening with baited breath.

“From Gotham? One for yes, two for no.”

She hums softly, going back to petting his back gently.

“Me neither at first. Home now, like the back of my hand. Can show you all the best spots. Like burgers?”

There's a long pause. Bruce suspects the creature is having a hard time believing she's talking about and proposing such casual topics.

Eventually she smiles again. “Me too. Will buy you Batburger, I promise. Nectar of the gods.”

An odd little vibration goes through her new friend, audible as well as visible. It seems almost like a weak laugh.

“....bets on shadow noodle’s favorite Batburger order?” Dick asks over comms.

Bruce purses his lips not to huff in amusement. They're almost to the cave, he'd like to stay incognito until then. He wouldn't want to alarm any shadow noodles.

Masterpost

[feyburner]

This is part of a longer thing I may post on ao3 at some point but here’s some silly little Jaytim texting AU. I use this format as a writing warmup.

EDIT: This has been posted on AO3.

[Unknown] »

Hey. This is Jason. 

I have a favor to ask. You can say no.

« tim

uh

1. i’m aware of how favors work  

2. what is it?

« tim

?

« tim

hey are you like. good

J »

Yeah fine 

Sry. Rethinking this maybe

« tim

what, do you need a kidney or something?

i can’t give you a kidney.

i don’t have any organs to spare.

J »

What ? 

« tim

what’s the favor?

J »

I wouldn’t ask if it wasnt important

I’d ask Roy but hes in star city 

or Kori but shes off world

I tried dickhead but hes in haven. Cant get away tonight

« tim

yeah jason i get it lol

J »

So Im currently in the cargo hold of a private yacht

« tim

what >?

J »

We’re caught in the storm thats hitting the city its a whole thing. 

« tim

are you in the cargo hold of your own volition or did someone put you there

J »

So I dont think I can get back t

No its on purpose

« tim

hang on. you’re in gotham bay right now? in a boat?  

jason this storm is really bad.

it’s already sunk a houseboat and a fishing boat at the marina

J »

I dont think I can get back totown toni

Christ you type fast 

Shut up for a sec. Clam down

Clam*

*Calm fuck me

Thought I was gnna be back tonight but bc of storm its not looking great.

Can you feed my sourdough starter 

« tim

what

J »

4511 overhill apt 6D 

Key under the neighbors mat. 6H

« tim

hey to clarify. “its not looking great” ← what does that mean

J »

Starter is on counter. in glass jar 

Should just need one feeindg. Maybe 2. depending 

« tim

on???

J »

On wwhen I get back?

« tim

so you do plan on coming back

J »

Yeah timothy I’m in a boat not the heart of Mount Doom

« tim

yeah? vaders not there? so that means everything’s fine? 

J »

Did you

jst say Vader

As in Darth

« tim

??? 

J »

Oh my god

« tim

jason are you in peril or what.

J »

No im not in “peril” lol.

Did you see the thing I said about my sourddough starter

It needs to be fed

« tim

wtf is a sourdough starter

nvm i googled it

J »

Its a live bacteria colony you use to m 

Oh ok

Yeah so it just needs 50g lukewarm water + 50g flour

Theres a scale next to the jar

Stir until it looks like hummus

Put lid back on

The end

« tim

the internet says if you put it in the fridge it doesn’t need daily feedings

J »

Sure. But that would mess up my bread schedule

« tim

your bread schedule 

J »

Man are gyou gonna fuckin feed Breadie Mercury or should I find someone else

« tim

im already en route. 

J »

Oh

Ok

Thank you.

Wtf dont text and motorbike  

« tim

how about you dont text and Sinking Boat

J »

Hey its not like I’m gonna cause a boat crash

« tim

i was stopped at a red light 😐

anwyay i’m at your place.

1. why do you not have a security system. when you said key under the neighbor’s mat i thought you were joking. 

2. how warm is lukewarm

J »

1. I’m the security system

« tim

just rolled my eyes so hard it actually physically hurt

J »

God youre annoying

2. ? Its lukewarm

« tim

ohhhhh thanks! that’s so helpful :) here i am trying not to murder your incredibly important bacteria colony that i just drove across town for but no thats great jason very descriptive thanks :) 

J »

Like warm but not too wram, nothing you’d want to take a bath in

Can you fucking

I TYPE SLOW.

« tim

ok.

[Image Attached]

he is fed

J »

Thanks man.

Sincerely.

« tim

so hows the cargo hold going

still intact i assume? 

J »

Mostly ya

« tim

pardon? 

J »

Slight leakage. Nothing major

« tim

oh? are you a boatologist now? 

i dont think you’re qualified to judge that?

J »

Moving right past “boatologist” out of the goodness of my heart.

Chill lol. If it was rly bad thered probably be some sort of alar

Hm.

« tim

did an alarm just start going off

J »

Dont worry about it

« tim

im not. 

did it though

also which yacht? im in the marinas scheduling dtabase

blue miracle, serendipity, carp-e diem? which one

« tim

jason?

« tim

if this is a joke it’s not funny

oh cool you’re not on comms either. great.

hey if youre dead again and i just fed your stupid starter for nothing im gonna be soooo mad just fyi

« tim

ugh.

*

J »

Hey

Thanks again for the

I’m not gonna say “save” bc I was doinf just fine on my own.

But thanks for the backup.

Lmk when youre home

Nope sorry lol you dont have to do that.

Night.

« tim

home

J »

Also I just saw your messaages from

Ah. 👍

From earlier. 

« tim

you mean from when you said “huh, this boat seems to be filling with water” and then disappeared? those messages? 

J »

Those were not my exact words.

« tim

right. your exact words contained somehow even less information 

J »

Shut up

I just wanted to 

You know. Youre the only one who jokes about it

The only one in the family I mean

your family, I mean

The bats.

« tim

? 

the only one who jokes about what

J »

Me being dead

« tim

oh. 

ok. well

its not like. actually funny to me. i was just annoyed. sorry i guess

J »

No thats not 

Tim. Shut up.

I dont mind. I like that one of you does. 

Its better than people talking around it. Like its this big shameful thing I did.

One of many

If I mention it in front of dickhead he does the face

the :~{ face

« tim

wow its uncanny

uh. for the record. 

i don’t think that’s the reason people talk around it

if im correct in thinking that by “people” you mean “one specific person whose name rhymes with Rat Can” 

 

J »

Yeah well

I just

Christ never mind. Im sorry. You are not the person to be sayign this to.

Im gonna shut the fuck up I think. 

Goodnight.

« tim

oh what, you can’t talk to me about being dead bc of that one time you tried to kill me? 

and failed btw :/ 

J »

Tim

Not to be so unchill

But you know how me being dead isnt actaully funny to you

« tim

…got it. sorry

J »

No. don’t apologize to me

Ever

I’m serious 

« tim

like for anything? 

what if i killed breadie mercury 

J »

You didnt. He is thriving

« tim

he is?

wait. really?

you can tell?

J »

[Image Attached]

Hes doubled in size since you fed him.

« tim

whoa

J »

Yup. Thanks again for thattoo.

*that too

Its stupid but hes kinda my son.

« tim

wouldn’t he technically be like, 10 billion sons

J »

He is my 10 billion sons.

« tim

lolol

wow. why am i so pleased hes thriving lol 

J »

Right

« tim

jeez

i was so worried about the water temp

google said lukewarm is 98-105 so i did 98 to be safe

J »

You used a thermometer? 

« tim

your instructions were vague!

i didnt want to kill your bacteria colony!

J »

Thanks Tim.

« tim

? you already said that lol

i gotta pass out btw

glad you didnt die: the sequel in a yacht

that would have been so cringe

night jason

J »

Night

*

J »

You up?

« tim

obviously

why

J »

Could use your eyes on something.

[Image Attached]

« tim

morse code but the dots and dashes are reversed and its spelling backwards in russian, ASTITP AYALEB AVD RTSIRP → PRISTR DVA BELAYA PTITSA → PIER TWO WHITE BIRD

J »

Bc it looks like morse but its not, its kind of scrambl 

Ok jesus christ . 

30 seconds? Seriously? Fuck me

Can I hire you? Jesus lol

« tim

that depends. do you pay more than batman?

J »

The fuck? Does he pay you guys now?

« tim

no.

J »

Then yes. I do pay more than batman.

« tim

how much more

J »

One coffee per codebreak? 

« tim

:\

J »

Two coffees per codebreak

Two and a loaf of sourdough

« tim

sourdough from breadie mercury?

J »

Ya

« tim

done

J »

Damn. I feel like you should have higher standards

« tim

i mean i was already gonna do it for free

now i have successfully negotiated coffee & sustenance 

im on a roll. nothing but Ws 

J »

Ws?

« tim

its young people slang you wouldn’t get it ❤️

J »

I am barely 3 years older htan you.

It could be argued, considering certain events, that we’re basically the same age.

« tim

and yet you text like an old, old man

J »

I do not

Would you rather I texted like “idk brb lmao roflcopter”

« tim

ROFLCOPTER?

oh my god. ohhhhhh jason. oh my god

that is absolutely not what the kids are saying these days. oh my god

J »

Ok you know what. At least I know Mount Doom isnt a Star Wars thing

« tim

? 

oh, is it star trek? 

J »

I’m 99% sure youre antagonizing me on purpose

But have you seriously not read or watched Lord of the Rings

« tim

no i have not.

J »

Hm.

« tim

what

J »

Nothing.

« tim

……….what

*

« tim

did you NARC on me

to BRUCE

about LORD OF THE RINGS?????

J »

I don’t know what you’re talking about.

« tim

WHY DO I NOW HAVE 3 SEPARATE SUNDAY AFTERNOON “HOUSE MEETINGS” BLOCKED OFF IN MY CALENDAR, JASON? 

WHY ARE THEY EACH 4 HOURS LONG?

WHY ARE THEY LABELED “CULTURAL EDUCATION (MANDATORY)”? 

J »

I can’t pretend to know what goes on in B’s mind.

That said, I have reason to believe he and Alfred take lotr pretty seriously.

« tim

its a TWELVE HOUR MOVIE

about GOBLINS

J »

I’m not gonna respond to that bc I know youre just lashing out.

« tim

if youve sentenced me to 12 hours of a movie i hate i’m gonna hack everything you own. 

im gonna mass text the entire cape wearers community the footage of that time condiment king kicked your ass so bad he felt guilty and offered to personally help you out of the mustard pool 

J »

What the fuck

How do you fuckig know about ?????? that???????? 

Not that ithahpened 

What hefuckk ??

« tim

ooooooooo you better hope i love these goblins!

J »

Why are you?? evil??

« tim

you should have killed me when you had the chance!!

sorry.

J »

Its ok. That one was pretty funny tbh.

Oh hm shouldnt have laughed just then. Bad timing on my part

Brb

« tim

uh

« tim

ok…….. getting reports of a “disturbance” at pier two…….. 

« tim

sorry were you texting me *mid-standoff* with the russian mafia

« tim

ugh.

*

« tim

you know tracking your location would be so much easier if i didn’t have to hack into your comm sys every time

luckily your encryption is garbage but still. its 2 minutes of my life i wont get back.

J »

Not sure I recall giving you permission to track my location?

« tim

oh i’m sorry. next time i will simply leave you to go down with a texas oil magnate’s incredibly tacky yacht, or get swiss cheesified by mobsters 

J »

Hey I wrapped up the russians myself 

« tim

yeah? 

J »

…

Yeah….

« tim

so you thought the 12-minute universal signal jam was the act of a benevolent god? 

J »

:-|

« tim

im just saying it would be significantly more efficient if you agreed to a tracker

just one little tracker. you wouldn’t even notice it’s there.

think of all the time and energy you’d save me

J »

I feel the need to point out that you don’t have to repeatedly hack my comms system.

« tim

i mean it’s that or monitor sightings on the gocitizen app

i have an algo that texts relevant pings to me, which is super helpful for when i want an inbox full of random people talking about how hot you are. less helpful for literally every other circumstance 

J »

Uh

What

« tim

how hot *red hood is. to clarify

in their opinion

the people’s opinion

J »

?

« tim

the people of gotham city

J »

The people of Gotham city do not think Red Hood is hot lol

« tim

wait 

i cant tell if you’re being serious

J »

Uh? Yeah Im being serious? Lol tf

Why would they think hes hot 

They dont think Batman is hot 

« tim

o…kay…

huh.

how to… hmm

J »

Like nightwing sure

And the girls. Bc of objectification of women

« tim

oh wow

J »

Red Robin. If i had to guess

But when people see Hood its definitely not… that kind of response lol

« tim

what kind of response, exactly

J »

You know like saying “Hey Hood youre hot” 

« tim

oh, wow. 

okay. ummm

hmm. one sec.

J »

?

« tim

check your email 

J »

Ok…? 

J »

Oh my fucking god.

« tim

yeah

J »

Oh my god?

« tim

yeah

J »

This document is fucking 45 pages long?

« tim

its everything from the past 30 days yeah

J »

The past

Whaht the fuck

Ok some of these people definitely got hit by Poison Ivy.

This is . Tim wtf. I havent even heard of some of this stuff. 

« tim

oof are you on page 14

J »

Im on page 3???

« tim

oh my god

J »

What the fuck

Please please tell me its not like this for Batman too

Tim

« tim

its not like this for batman :)

J »

Ok. Jesus. I would genuinely have to move cities.

« tim

its worse :)

J »

Oh what the fuck

Oh my fucking god page 14.

You get this shit TEXTED to you?????

Ohm ygod. You read this?????

« tim

i mean

no

i glance at it

for security purposes.

i dont like, read it read it

anyway did you seriously not know? haha

J »

No??? Again its not like people tell me

« tim

yeah but

like

theres a certain level of objectivity involved, here

yknow

sorry im trying to find a non awkward way to be like “have you looked in a mirror lately” 

« tim

sorry

that was in fact awkward!

nvm

just let me know if you’d be ok with the tracker. its fine if not

i was mostly joking about the hacking

J (From Work) »

No you weren’t.

« tim

no i wasnt

i dont mind though. its like a brain teaser

anyway im going dark for patrol, later

*

J (From Work) »

[Screenshot Attached]

[Screenshot Attached]

[Screenshot Attached]

[Screenshot Attached]

[Screenshot Attached]

Question. why is the average Gotham citizen a raging horndog 

« tim

oh my god

you know i can tell you searched “red robin hot” right

J (From Work) »

Figured it was only fair

[Screenshot Attached]

This persons got some mad zoom lens skills

I’d think it was you, if it wasnt, yknow, you

« tim

wow. that is certainly a photo of my ass

…a stellar photo of my ass. wow. 

do you have a direct link? i gotta send this to steph

J (From Work) »

goctz.app/user/3824973/post/29348230df3

Haha

I kinda thought you and blondie broke up

back on again?

« tim

no lol we are very much just friends

she has a thing going with someone who shall remain nameless but suffice to say it’s Going

anyway we just send each other gocitizen vigilante ass shots 

its a whole genre

they’re like trading cards

J (From Work) »

Guess everyone’s got a hobby?

« tim

the only rule is no nightwing

J (From Work) »

Do I want to know why

« tim

he accounts for a frankly overwhelming percentage of vigilante ass shots

so its too easy

you’d THINK we’d have a no-batman rule, because ew, but due to the cape and his sixth sense for cameras pointed at him, a qualifying shot is actually extremely rare. 

← only guy who ever managed to take quality photos of batman 

anyway, we put it to a vote. i lost.

J (From Work) »

A vote between you and Steph? 

You lost a 50/50 vote?

« tim

i dont wanna talk about it.

J (From Work) »

Right. 

So what I’m getting from this is you have Red Hood ass shots in your phone.

« tim

no

J (From Work) »

No?

« tim

well

J (From Work) »

Yeah?

« tim

we don’t like, save them

that would be weird

we just notify each other. professionally, as colleagues 

and keep an ongoing points tally

thats all

so i do not currently have photos of your ass in my phone. thank you

J (From Work) »

How many points is my ass worth

« tim

i hate everything about this conversation

J (From Work) »

Its 100% your own fault, answer the question

« tim

if you must know. 

points are awarded based on a series of objective scoring criteria.

J (From Work) »

Uh huh. Like what

« tim

technical excellence

composition. lighting and color balance. 

dynamism 

J (From Work) »

Dynamism…

« tim

creativity

umm

emotional impact

and 

subject matter

J (From Work) »

I see.

« tim

ok i know it sounds bad

J (From Work) »

It sounds fucking hysterical Im near tears 

« tim

but if you think abou

oh

okay, well, great

J (From Work) »

I’ll let you know if I stumble on any more. 

Or is that cheating

« tim

its totally cheating

please do

J (From Work) »

You got it red. 👍

« tim

:)

[checkeredflagggs]

The Story of Us: Chapter 3

pairing: logan sargeant x famous!fem!singer

summary: logan and you have been keeping a secret from everyone but it might be time for it to come out

a/n: while I do my best on most of my works to be race neutral, this one is very very very self indulgent 🤷🏻‍♀️

a/n2: this is part 3 of 4/5, which will be released when they’re finished and I’m using pretty much everything from Taylor Swift

a/n3: I still don’t understand instagram so - no one but those that follow you can see a private accounts comments (even on a public post). Also I still hate twitter so I’ve replaced it with Bluesky.

a/n4: Also timelines? Never heard of them. This is set in 2024 but I’ve moved Miami to before Australia

a/n5: I’m pretending that the race schedule is known more then a year in advance so…

Part 1 Part 2

y/n

liked by charles_leclerc, georgerussell63, logansargeant, landonorris, and 12,284,124 others

y/n: loving the tour, missing the simple days

view all comments

user1: never seen someone so fucking pretty

↳user2: absolutely jaw dropping

user3: adding several things to my bucket list

↳user4: same!

↳user5: I just want to add her cloths to my closet

not_oscar: this is gonna cause so much trouble oh my god y/n

↳not_y/n: 😂🤭😂😉

↳not_oscar: i give it minutes before those losers start posting vaguely similar photos…

↳not_logan: no bet dude. It’s gonna happen

alexandrasaintmleux: Tu es aussi magnifique que les œuvres d'art sur les murs. You're just as stunning as the art on the walls.

↳charles_leclerc: Comme tu l'as dit, mon amour. As you said, my love.

↳user6: bringing in reinforcements??

↳user7: well at least it’s not cheating now I guess 😂😂

pierregasly: On ne devrait jamais avoir à porter ses propres sacs pour faire ses courses! One should never have to carry their own bags when shopping!

↳francisca.cgomes: Je t'ai bien appris. I’ve taught you well.

↳user8: oh boy the desperation…

georgerussell63: what’s your current read? I’ve been looking for some recommendations!

↳user9: How Not to Flirt with Someone Not your Girlfriend and Dumbassery 101

↳user10: 😂😂

alex_albon: do you offer horse riding lessons?

↳user11: don’t…don’t you own a horse???

↳user12: I think the drivers have passed from desperate into just being sad…

landonorris: visiting New York soon — any suggestions?

↳user13: getting a life maybe?

georgerussell63

liked by carmenmmundt, alex_albon, lilymhe, and 1,283,123 others

georgerussell63: Love those London days

view all comments

user14: …so this is blatant y/n bait right?

↳user15: absolutely!

↳user16: I think my favorite part of the season so far is how fucking stupid these drivers turn in the face of y/n…

↳user17: it has been funny to watch

oscarpiastri: why are you posting London photos? We’re in Japan?

↳georgerussell63: its call a photo dump Oscar

↳oscarpiastri: I think it’s actually called stupidity…

↳not_logan: 😂😂 please continue to call them out

↳not_oscar: well someone has to and it’s obviously not gonna be you…

↳not_y/n: not yet at least…

↳not_logan: the next part of your plan??

↳not_y/n: 🤭

↳not_oscar: you mean to tell me you actually have a plan for this madness?!???

user18: call him out Oscar!

↳user19: fighting for his best friend really…

user20: you can tell these aren’t recent because it’s still FUCK ASS cold in London right now

↳user21: oh my god I didn’t even notice that…🤣🤣

sargeantnation

liked by not_y/n, user, user, and 834,244 others

sargeantnation: not the weekend that Logan wanted but boy did he look good while he was there

view all comments

user22: made it further than his teammate did…

↳user23: barely

user24: you’ll get it next week Logan!

user25: did you see the look on vowles’ face??

↳user26: he definitely need acting lessons

↳user25: right? Like dude can you try and act like you actually like both of your drivers?

↳user26: I fear for Logan…it took so long for his contract renewal and vowles all but said he would have gone with someone else if they were an option…

↳user25: do not even speak that into existence!!!

user27: such a let down after last week…

↳user28: not everyone is max verstappen!

↳user27: going from a podium to last place though…

↳user26: and remember how lackluster vowles congratulations were for it??

↳user25: 😬😬😬 not. good.

Private Messages

pierregasly

liked by charles_leclerc, francisca.cgomes, user2 and 1,928,223 others

pierregasly: Missing those summer days and beach dates 🩷

view all comments

user29: hmmmm…not liking this

↳user30: the blatant attempt to shoot his shot at y/n completely overlooking his gorgeous girlfriend? liked by francisca.cgomes

↳user29: yeah that 😂

oscarpiastri: this is…not it

↳pierregasly: you’re supposed to be Norris’ problem — not mine

↳oscarpiastri: I’ll be everyone’s problem

↳user31: show them how it’s done Oscar!

charles_leclerc: enjoying that sunset? 🌅

↳pierregasly: enjoying the company more 🩷

↳user32: hopefully it’s Kika!

y/n_gossip

liked by carlossainz55, alexandrasaintmleux, iamrebeccad, and 11,124,135 others

y/n_gossip: Weeks into her tour, y/n has brought out multiple new outfits for her highly talked about Eras tour. Here’s a carousel of some our favorites!

view all comments

iamrebeccad: she could be a model…

↳carlossainz55: ¡Sabrías hermosa! You would know beautiful!

↳user33: girl go back to your actual boyfriend and leave y/n alone 😭😭

user34: is this a safe space? Can I say something?

↳user35: do it regardless

↳user34: I’m starting to believe user19…

↳user19: HAHA

↳user35: you summoned them

↳user34: brb putting on my clown hat 🤡

alexandrasaintmleux: Des couleurs si magnifiques ! Sur un magnifique modèle 💕 Such gorgeous colors! On a gorgeous model 💕

↳charles_leclerc: Presque aussi magnifique que toi. Almost as stunning as you.

↳user36: …👎🏻

user19: i have more proof for you people if that’s something that you need

↳user53: how??? Neither of them have posted anything even vaguely related to them being in a relationship

↳user19: after all this time you still doubt me??

↳user53: of course not but really?

↳user37: I’m gonna start my own crazy train — you guys are dating

↳user19: I’m gonna block you

↳user37: MORE PROOF

charles_leclerc

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, pierregasly, user, and 2,145,924 others

charles_leclerc: I’m laughing on the car ride home with you ♥️

view all comments

user38: oh so now we’re blatantly quoting y/n’s songs now?

↳user39: well she’s been ignoring her apparently many boyfriends 😂

alexandrasaintmleux: Toujours, mon amour Always, my love

↳user40: girl he’s trying to cheat on you

this comment has been deleted

↳user41: anyone else catch that?

↳user40: 😑😑😑

oscarpiastri: oh it’s so good you and Alex are taking time together

↳not_y/n: thank you for your service 🫡

↳not_oscar: I expect something for this

↳not_y/n: summer break with me and Logan?

↳not_oscar: sure

↳user42: thank you king for your continued service

alex_albon: going shirtless? For free?

↳charles_leclerc: anything for the fans

↳alex_albon: is that what we’re calling it nowadays?

↳logansargeant: 😂😂

user43: user19 can you give us more proof please

↳user19: I WOULD LOVE TO

↳user53: please stop screaming

Bluesky

logansargeant

liked by not_y/n, georgerussell63, oscarpiastri, and 1,284,923 others

logansargeant: a full heart and a full living room

view all comments

user44: I need more photos of boyfriend Logan in my life

↳user48: I just need Logan as a boyfriend

not_y/n: 🥰🥰🥰 I love you so much Logan

↳not_logan: I love you too. More then I can ever say

oscarpiastri: thanks for the sleeping place

↳logansargeant: it’s always open for you

↳user19: ☝🏻☝🏻 LOVER CODED

alex_albon: when am I gonna get an introduction?

↳logansargeant: soon I promise — but she has a plan

↳alex_albon: can’t argue with that I guess 😂

↳logansargeant: oh I never argue with her…

↳user53: user19 they have a plan???

↳user19: well she’s a mastermind liked by logansargeant

user49: THATS NEW YORK, PARIS, LONDON

↳user19: I TOLF YOJ

↳user19: Welcome to New York, Paris, London Boy, and Lover! All in one post!

iamrebeccad

liked by carlossainz55, alexandrasaintmleux, francisca.cgomes, and 2,334,235 others

iamrebeccad: race dates and date dates 🩶

view all comments

carlossainz55: Chicas impresionantes! Stunning girls!

↳iamrebeccad: thank you my love

↳user50: 🤮

this comment has been deleted

user51: user12 was right…it didn’t take long at all for the wags to jump on the y/n train…

↳user12: ok but I am seeing a vision

↳user52: is the vision a Carlos-y/n-rebecca threesome? liked by carlossainz55, iamrebeccad

↳user12: yes it is

alexandrasaintmleux: lunch tomorrow?

↳iamrebeccad: sorry plans tomorrow! Day after?

↳alexandrasaintmleux: plans or plans 😂

↳iamrebeccad: plans

y/n_gossip

liked by logansargeant, landonorris, carlossainz55, and 18,234,023 others

y/n_gossip: y/n and y/n_nation has been posting videos and teasers of these vaults — thoughts?

view all comments

user54: music video?

user55: merchandise? It’s been awhile since they’ve dropped anything new!

maxverstappen1: new music?

↳user56: car boy I know you’re used to being fast but we don’t demand new music around here

↳user57: we’re gonna have put together a pamphlet on how to act aren’t we…

↳user58: not a bad idea actually…

not_oscar: why do you keep doing this y/n???

↳not_y/n: sorry not sorry 😂

↳not_lilyz: ohhh new music??

↳not_y/n: yes!

↳not_lilyz: oh my god i can’t wait!

↳not_y/n: I’ll send some voice notes for you my love 🩵

alexandrasaintmleux

liked by charles_leclerc, iamrebeccad, user and 1,192,469 others

alexandrasaintmleux: Voir l’art, c’est connaître l’amour. To see art is to know love.

view all comments

user59: stunning

↳user60: she really is

↳user61: can charles fight?

user12: user52 ok this or the other?

↳user52: definitely charles-y/n-alex liked by alexandrasaintmleux, charles_leclerc

charles_leclerc: Alors j'ai été béni tous les jours. Then I’ve been blessed everyday

↳user63: i am begging at this point…

↳user64: no I get it 🤤🤤

↳user63: what? Eww no. I’m begging them to realize they’re promoting cheating…

logansargeant

liked by oscarpiastri, alex_albon, williamsracing, and 923,824 others

logansargeant: Not how I expected Australia to go but we preserve — let’s go Alex!

comments have been limited on this post

alex_albon: thanks for the support!

↳logansargeant: of course!

oscarpiastri: mom said to plan on dinner at our place this weekend

↳logansargeant: yum!

y/n

be the first to like

y/n: it’s time to open the vault — and release all the secrets. Tomorrow — 26 new tracks

be the first to comment

Private Messages

Part 4

Taglist

@anamiad00msday @suns3treading @daniskywalkersolo @awritingtree @justheretoreadthxxs @coral7161 @lost4lyrics @mastermindbaby

[motherofdogs1010]

Guys Not My Age II (Peter Parker x Reader)

Summary: They say sometimes older men are better when it comes to relationships, but Y/N finds that isn't always the case when she wakes up in bed with a certain younger man after breaking up with a certain Winter Soldier

Warnings: 18+ only, age gap relationship, older woman/younger man!, everyone is over 18!, fratboy!Peter Parker, cheater!Bucky, computergenius!reader, hacker!reader, toxicex!Bucky, consensual sex, semi public sex, heavy smut, drinking, swearing, unprotected sex, eventual pregnancy Current Warnings: HYDRA, violence, toxic ex behavior

Banner by @vase-of-lilies Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Series Masterlist

Dating Peter felt so easy.

Or maybe it wasn't the fact that being with Peter was easy rather than it was like secondary; it was as easy as breathing. There was no pressure to look a certain way, act a certain way... it was just her and Peter.

Their first date had been quite the success and ultimately led to a multitude of dates to now, three months later, they were officially a couple.

Peter had all but essentially moved into her room over at the Compound, something that she found funny but Peter had argued that her bed was comfier than the one that his fraternity provided for them, which led them to now as she laid against the many pillows she had with Peter snuggled between her breasts and letting out content little sighs.

"You are way too comfortable here", she teased, Peter moved his head to met her eyes.

"Shush, I am currently releasing all my stress here", Peter said, she raised a brow.

"Between my boobs?"

"It's my happy place."

She playfully rolled her eyes as she ran her fingers through Peter's curly, chocolate brown locks and he hummed happily.

For the most part, those around them had accepted their relationship with ease. Nat and Wanda did slightly tease her once Nat had spilled where exactly she had been when she mysteriously disappeared that night at the club, but overall, the reception to their pairing was well-received.

Well, mostly well received considering she saw the nasty look that Bucky would throw Peter when they were in the same vicinity.

"You're such a boob guy", she teased, Peter looked at her and winked.

"I'm an everything guy, babe."

~

Being a part of the Avengers could be seen as glamorous if you were someone with enhanced abilities, a mutant or even some type of god but for Y/N, it was stressful as she quickly tried to hack into the HYDRA database of yet another base.

Unfortunately for her, this type of database required her to actually access the it on-site, leading her to cower slightly behind the computer as the sounds of gunfire, fighting and the occasional sound of Hulk roaring filled her ears.

She was lucky Nat was sent to guard her as she uploaded the data found before putting in the lovely little virus she had made to destroy the information HYDRA had accumulated.

"Don't you just love your job?" Nat playfully asked as she fired her gun.

"Not at this moment, Nat", Y/N said, ducking a little as something was thrown her way. "There's a reason I like being behind the computers."

"And here I thought you'd say you like being under Peter."

"Nat!" Y/N scolded over her shoulder. "Please... I like being on top too."

Nat let out a laugh as Y/N saw the computer notify her that the data had not only transferred but also the virus had finished uploading, soon enough exploding the computer and all inside.

"Okay, I got it all", Y/N said, "let's get the hell out of here!"

That was easier said than done as the sound of gunfire and fighting filled her ears as Nat hovered over, taking out Hydra soldiers left and right but it seemed as if more kept coming out.

"Fucking hell", Y/N said, "where the hell are they coming from?"

"Reinforcements were called", Nat said, "explains why comms are down for now. Must have jammed the signal."

Outside in the cold Russian land, she could see Thor landing lightning strikes after one another and the sound of Tony, and Sam's blasters ringing in her ears. She knew Peter was out there, swinging around and webbing up soldiers as he probably talked off their ears and she hoped he wasn't getting too hurt.

Alas, that was the life of an Avenger, wasn't it?

"Duck!" Nat shouted, shoving them to the ground as an explosion shook the earth.

"What the fuck?!" Y/N said, looking over her shoulder as best as she could.

She was met with a towering, mechanical machine that walked on two legs, firing missiles from its arms as the operator manned it from within.

"Lovely, of course they have one", she groaned.

The ground shook harder at the force of another missiles as Nat ushered for them to move as they move to hide behind some overturn jeep.

"You're gonna need to make a run for it", Nat said, her eyes stern. "You need to get that info back to the Quinjet and see what the fuck they're so desperate to hide."

"You're crazy! It's a good 20 feet away from here!"

"I'll distract it."

Y/N wasn't sure why she listened to Nat but she could hear the literal walking tank shake the earth behind as her feet struggled to run in the crunchy snow.

She could see the quinjet, it was so close but it was the sudden pain in her shoulder that knocked her to the ground as immediate fire flared into her muscles. She cried out as her hand grasped her now bleeding shoulder, the snow doing nothing to cushion her fall as she turned over with wide eyes to find a soldier staring at her.

Or as she saw the medals on his coat, she realized he was a high ranking Hydra official as he tucked his gun away.

"You have something that belongs to us", he spoke, the blood gushing from her wound coating her hand.

The flash drive was hidden away in a small compartment in her belt buckle and she hoped he couldn't notice how it bulged out a bit.

"Fuck you", she spat, her body shivering from the cold and adrenaline that was now coursing through her.

He tutted at her, wagging a finger.

"Such a dirty mouth", he scolded, "soon enough you'll find that you'll be very willing to hand over the drive to me."

"Like hell I will", she gritted, feeling as if her body was on fire.

"Either way, you should be honored." He kicked her square in the chest and squatted over her as she gasped for air. "You could make the perfect subject for our project. Perhaps you'll prove yourself useful rather than a annoyance."

Before she could register, he knocked her hand off her wound and dug his finger into it, twisting and tearing as she screamed. Hot tears rolled down her face as he continued to dig, she swore she felt his hot tongue lick up her tears before it was all ripped away from her.

Shakily, she opened her eyes to find Peter standing in front of her. His fist clenched and she could see his chest heaving before seeing the man having been knocked back, and the force of Peter knocking him off having knocked the man out.

She panted as sobs left her, and it seemed the sound of it finally made Peter turn around. She saw the eyes of his mask narrow in concern as he knelt down, scooping her up.

"It's okay", Peter cooed, "I'm here."

He must have known better to swing them to the jet as he rushed on his feet inside.

Once inside, Peter ripped off his mask, she could see little bruises forming on his face as his eyes swam in worry as he looked at her shoulder.

"It's okay, baby", Peter cooed, "we're already falling back, Bruce will be here soon enough."

She couldn't even form any words as sobs just left her and she knew she must have looked pathetic, but Peter just cooed and stroked her face.

And even in this truly painful and pathetic moment, she knew she had made a good decision at giving Peter a chance.

Bucky was not a fan of Peter and if Peter was being honest, the feeling was mutual. When he was younger, the first time they met at the airport, yeah, he was amazed by his metal arm but now, now Peter thought he was a asshole.

Was he being harsh?

Maybe.

Was he being honest?

Yes.

So Peter stared at the short-haired, brunette man as they all waited outside the operating room.

"She'll be okay, kid", Tony said, nudging him.

But Peter could see Tony's eyes dart over to Bucky, who met Peter's gaze with equal hatred. Peter watched as Bucky sucked in one of his cheeks a little, clear annoyance and dislike written across his face as he stared at Peter.

Peter couldn't understand what the fuck did he want. He had to have known that Peter could hear the man lingering outside the door whenever he and Y/N were together or how obnoxious it was to have to hear him and Dot going at it.

If he was trying to piss them off, it was more of a disgust that he was getting.

A clear reaction he was not happy about.

Peter wondered if Bucky thought he was going to be a one time thing and that Y/N would come back crawling to him.

Peter ran his tongue over his teeth just as Dr. Cho emerged from the operating room.

Tough shit for Bucky because Peter wasn't going to be going anywhere.

~

Dr. Cho said the fortunate part of the bullet was that it was a clean in-and-out wound and even with that fucker digging his finger into it, Dr. Cho said it missed anything too major.

Snuggled into her bed with a million more pillows that Peter had brought into her room with her arm in a sling.

"I think you stole pillows from everyone in the Compound", she mused with a small smile.

"Not everyone", Peter reasoned, "I didn't take any from Bucky. God only knows what's on those pillows."

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn't help the laugh that escaped her.

"Hand me my laptop please", she asked, "I gotta decode that drive of HYDRA's files."

"Mr. Stark said you could wait before doing that", Peter lightly scolded, "Dr. Cho said no work for at least two weeks."

"Damn you for listening", she pouted, Peter grinned. "How else am I suppose to pass the time?"

"I can think of a way", Peter winked.

It would be a understatement for Bucky yo say how much he disliked Peter Parker.

In the beginning, he could gloss over the kid since he was only fifteen when they met and still under that fresh veil of being a hero. When he got to college and gained that new found confidence, Bucky thought nothing of it.

But when he witnessed Peter with Y/N that is where his tolerance for the Queens-born young spider ended.

Did he make a stupid, impulsive mistake?

Yes, but doesn't everyone?

She obviously did when she decided to give a kid that was almost a decade younger than her a chance.

Bucky tuned out Dot's mindless chattering as his mind swirled.

If anything was certain, he hated Peter Parker.

TAGLIST

@alwaaaysadream @theoraekenslover

[starsiide]

Good-ish news, it was just a really bad comm experience. They had it completed but forgot to send it to me when it was done until I asked for an update.

alright I asked for an update super politely (didn't bring up the fact that they're way past their own set turnaround time) so hopefully they respond and if not, I got scammed and I'm sending PayPal a request to give me my money back

[sightseertrespasser]

Odds of Survival Part 8

Per usual, the tf mecha au was spawned by @keferon

Prowl and the flyt he said he didn’t want: “It’s not an ESA, it’s a tool for detective work that runs on food and affection.”

Anyways why do pets always look like their owners?

———————————————————————

Prowl had approximately 6 breems before Elita finished cleaning her skull.

The tactician added 4 additional breems to account for time spent in adding the piece to her skull throne. On average, Elita One spent between 8 to 13 breems total on “personal art projects” as a way to unwind after intense battles.

As soon as Prowl was within comms range, he had sent an encoded message to Red Alert suggesting Breakdown intended to plant listening devices on the exterior of the Lost Light.

Nevermind the fact they were working on the same damn side.

That trick would keep the mech busy for at least 5 breem.

Typically, Prowl was the first to defend Red Alert as an invaluable head of security. His paranoia secured their defenses so well, security chief had completely countered every infiltration attempt by the Functionalists to date. That said, the price of privacy for their ship was Red Alert having a total monopoly on it instead.

The distraction was not only so Prowl could have a single minute of peace, but also to ensure the security officer did not interrogate an injured and highly unpredictable mech.

Because Jazz might actually give Red Alert a spark attack. (;7%)

Prowl tried to rub away the ache between his optics. Tacnet thrumming angrily with pent up, unfinished calculations. Most of which were completely defunct now thanks to the violator of numerical probability sitting in the medbay.

Jazz…

Fragging Jazz.

Prowl shut the door to his office. He could feel his helm getting warm again. He’d need to take what time he could to sort his processor before the logic cascades that had been accumulating since he found the mech became too much to manually keep on pause.

Luckily, the tactician had discovered a secret technique to unraveling Tacnet build up without requiring a constant cycling of industrial grade coolant.

Prowl unlocked the wardrobe-like habitat next to his desk.

A faintly cool breeze sighed from within, as the thawing process completed. Uncurling in response to the change of stimuli, a flyt woke from brumation to look at her praxian with bleary eyes.

“Hello Green.” Prowl eased a servo beneath the flyt. “we have much to discuss.”

As Green tucked herself against the ambient warmth of his frame, Prowl activated the large screen built into the adjacent wall.

“I met someone today.”

Tapping away, creating categories, connection points and theories arranged by probability, Prowl slowly filled the screen with a tree of possibilities.

All the while, conferring with Green to ensure his thoughts stayed at a conversational pace, rather than whirl through the labyrinth of his mind at breakneck speeds.

“-and then, he gave me his designation number, except it’s just a completely nonsensical string of seven numbers!”

Green squawked at the audacity of the mech.

“He did space out the numbers while reciting it. Two eight four, pause, four three four, pause, five five zero eight.” The praxian typed in the numbers, adding dashes where appropriate.

He muttered, mostly to himself, “This had better not be some sort of prank.”

As Prowl continued to verbally filter through his mental evidence locker, Tacnet finally straightened out the concrete math of the situation.

“Jazz is either an alien or a lost government experiment. Alien 57%, cybertronian 43%” The screen automatically supplied a pie chart, superseding several lesser graphs beneath it.

Prowl tilted his helm back and sighed, expelling all the hot air he’d holding behind locked vents at once.

Tacnet had finally. Finally, attached a precentiall figure to Jazz’s existence. The sheer relief of that knot untangling was better than any oil bath. Rolling his shoulders and neck, Prowl continued.

“There are two schools of thought regarding The Jazz Situation.” Prowl divided the board in two beneath the chart.

“The first, was that Jazz is a wholly alien mechanical lifeform, and it is through convergent design that he happens to closely resemble a cybertronian. Albeit with various physical abnormalities.”

Green squawked.

“Precisely. Until the language barrier is further overcome, we cannot rule out the second theory either. That Jazz is a creation of the Functionalists. It would account for the physical abnormalities while removing a significant amount of uncertainty the Alien Theory comes with.”

Prowl gathered a small bit of skitter. Green didn’t have much appetite immediately after waking, but the prospect of food still served as positive reinforcement for her “help”.

Ostensibly, caring for the flyt was supposed to take Prowls processor off of work. Jokes on his government assigned therapist, Green was a fantastic assistant and confident.

While he did care for his brothers, Smokescreen was explicitly unhelpful when Prowl latched onto something intellectually stimulating. Constantly cajoling him into going to bars or casinos or wherever else the elder Praxian considered “actually stimulating”.

And Bluestreak, meanwhile, was a mech physically incapable of keeping a secret.

“You don’t try to get me overcharged or tell everybody about the Mesothulas Incident.” The tactician cooed while scritching the underside of Greens beak.

Nevermind it was the same night.

Green trilled happily at the attention and praise, waking up more thoroughly.

“I’ll see about introducing you later. Jazz shows no discomfort concerning organics and I predict a strong likelihood he will appreciate your work.”

Just as Prowl was about to close the theory board, a comm came through, making him pause with a servo still hovering over the screen.

[VELOCITY]: Update about the patient for you sir.]

Speak not of Unicron lest he appears.

[PROWL]: Go ahead. Do you need me to come back to the medbay?]

[VELOCITY]: No, he’s not displaying any adverse behavior you warned me about. His common is very rough though and he’s definitely struggling to understand my questions and clearly articulate his answers. Outside of that, the patient seems fairly relaxed actually.]

Rough? Jazz had been making steady progress with his language acquisition. He should be capable of understanding and answering Velocity’s questions with 76% accuracy.

[PROWL]: He did suffer a helm injury, though I am certain you’ve taken that into account already.]

[VELOCITY]: I already ran a simple cognitive test and he passed without issue. I’d have to open his helm up to make sure, but he otherwise seems completely fine mentally.]

Prowl settled himself at his desk, tapping the surface absent mindedly.

[VELOCITY]: His other vitals are what concerns me however. By cybertronian medical standards, you brought me a talking corpse.]

Prowl stopped tapping.

[PROWL]: Elaborate.]

[VELOCITY]: The patient has no energon, no nanites, and no spark signature. He’s absolutely covered in the tiniest welds I’ve ever seen, which I should not be able to see if he had even 5% of the nanites a healthy mech should have.]

[PROWL]: Does he require more intensive medical treatment?]

[VELOCITY]: That’s a bit complicated to answer. He’s an alien so I’m not sure what his baseline for healthy is supposed to be. And if what you say about prior medical abuse is true, I don’t think he knows either.]

[VELOCITY]: He’s taking repairs like a champ so far. I can see he’s had a ton of previous repairs that all look clean and well executed despite being done without anesthetic.]

There are other kinds of avoidance than just physical aversion. Jazz is being compliant to get through the repairs quickly but faking confusion to avoid deeper medical questioning 88%.

[PROWL]: Unless it is to ask for consent for a procedure, you may desist questioning the patient for medical information. Rely on your own observations and expertise to form any pertinent theories.]

[VELOCITY]: Understood. The patient has turned down any deeper scans around his helm and chassis and I don’t want to push it on a first time check up. I’ve finished fixing his feet and the replacement part for his shoulder is almost done being machined.]

[VELOCITY]: I want to deal with his visor and helm sooner rather than later, but that’ll take a much more thorough scan to deal with. That’s all I have to update so far. His arm won’t heal on its own so I need to concentrate on rewiring the sensory network manually now.]

[PROWL]: Understood. Contact me immediately if anything changes.]

One more horrifying concept to add to the list. He was completely and utterly reliant on potentially manipulative doctors to fix even the most minute scraps and pains. No wonder Jazz had the pain tolerance of a Titan.

Prowl went to pull his data pad from subspace to update his Jazz Theory Board and stopped short with a full body cringe.

He gingerly took out Jazz’s missing shoulder and placed it on the table.

Prowl shuttered his optics.

The fact he forgot he had another mechs shoulder on his person was a testament to how badly he needed to defrag tonight. He briefly considered comming Velocity, but didn’t want to interrupt her operation on delicate wiring. Besides, if Jazz lacked a self repair system, then it wouldn’t matter if the piece was original or machine made.

It was such a fundamentally wrong concept, Prowl was unsure whether he’d prefer that to be Jazz’s natural state (51%) or a condition inflicted on him by whatever sadists created him (49%).

The tapping sound of beak on metal pulled Prowl back into the room.

“Green, do not.” He said sternly, lifting the flyt away from her object of fascination. She looked at him with pitifully wet eyes at the unhappy tone.

The praxians wings drooped. With some difficulty, Prowl attempted to project his EM field in something like “Your actions displeased me but I harbor no ill will towards your being. I am simply under a significant mental load and find the prospect of you attempting to eat a piece of someone’s body fairly distressing and ask that you discontinue that behavior and not act on any future impulses to put foreign objects in your mouth.”

What he got was a wobbly Meehm-blah-sorry-sad.

Flyts were supposedly capable of picking up on EM fields (12%). Prowl suspected Green was simply quite good at interpreting his body language and tone (88%).

In either case, Green responded by attempting to groom his plating, cooing softly. Organic EM fields were small and alien, but with practice and exposure one could begin to map one’s field to cybertronian equivalents. Green radiated a lightly brushing sympathy of sad and want-happy.

Prowl gave up on his field projection practice, and idly returned Greens affection with physical pets. If that damn therapist asked, he’d count it towards his quarterly goals.

That mech bothered him. Not just because he put limits on his workflow or for the one sided glaring contests Prowl would enact during their sessions. But because for the life of him Prowl could never remember his name. And that missing data point drove Tacnet crazy.

Everytime Prowl tried to investigate where the therapist even came from, something always came up distracting him from the task.

In a moment of determination, Prowl reached for his pad to look up his own therapists name on the ship’s registry and paused mid action.

The tactician turned his gaze back to the morbid weight resting on the desk.

His brow furrowed.

Lifting the piece closer (where Green couldn’t get at it), Prowl inspected something odd along the surface of the shoulder.

It looked like a row of staples protruding from the metal.

It looked like ladder rungs.

A frantic banging on Prowls door interrupted his introspection. He quickly subspaced the shoulder joint.

The indignant voice of Red Alert carried through the door, yelling to be let in immediately.

Prowl sent a few consecutive pings to clear the board, reduce interior illumination by 40% and then finally allow the chief of security entry.

Red Alert stumbled in through the sudden opening, plating misting off the residue frost formed by the chill of outer space. His optics darted rapidly around the dimmed interior, landing on the stone faced mech seated behind the desk.

Impassive and unreadable, the only signs the tactician was alive were the cold glow of his optics and the servo lightly stroking his pet. The flyts beady eyes bored into Red Alerts. Silent and unwavering.

Mouth suddenly dry, the mech was unable to form words.

The desired effect was achieved.

“I’ve been expecting you.” Prowl did not offer him a seat, as there was none to offer.

Red Alert got a hold of himself and puffed up his plating.

“Why is there an unauthorized mech on board this ship and why did I only hear about through gossip?!” Red Alert’s voice cracking the last word into a higher register.

“Jazz is authorized to be here. By me.” He offered Green a bit of skitter. “And by our captain. I found him stranded in open space after he fell out of a Quintesson gate tear.”

The smaller mech blanched slightly at the sight of an organic feeding. Prowl estimated the presence of Green would speed their meeting along by a factor of 120%.

“So you’re just bringing home random mechs then.” Red Alert flapped his arms at his sides. “How do you know he isn’t a Functionalist spy? Or a High Command spy? Or a third party spy?!”

Prowl raised a single digit. “One, Velocity has confirmed Jazz is absolutely an alien lifeform and not cybertronian in origin.” He held up a second digit. “And two, he fell out of a quintesson gate tear in the middle of empty space.”

Red Alert began to pace the room. “Okay fine. He’s not a plant for any cybertronian factions. How do you know he isn’t some kind of twisted Quintesson creation? Maybe he was created to infiltrate our ranks, and then a sleeper agent switch flips and he kills us all!”

“He is not a quintesson creation.” Prowl plainly stated to Red Alerts increasing exasperation.

“And how do you know that?!” Throwing his servos in the air.

“He likes music.”

Red Alert reset his optics. “Come again?”

Prowl cleaned off his servo with a rag in his desk, and played a low quality snippet of Jazz’s music that he’d managed to capture.

Red Alert startled at the sudden unfamiliar sound.

When actually was the last time any of them had heard new music? Before the civil war at least.

Prowl continued, “Quintessons do not value nor comprehend alien aesthetics. Their culture revolves around expansion and material acquisition and whatever may qualify as “art” to them does not equate to our understanding of it. They have absolutely no records of partaking in sound based recreation nor of collecting samples from other cultures.”

The snippet cut short. “Simply put, quintessons don’t know good music. Jazz does.”

Red Alert was loosing steam, but still had one more point to contend with.

“Isn’t just too improbable though?” Hands on the desk, leaning as close as he dared. “That out of the entirety of the universe, Jazz just so happened to pop out exactly next to the shuttle you were riding on, conveniently alone, unconscious, unharmed AND he gets picked up by high ranking decepticon?” For once, it looked less like Red Alert was fighting him, rather than pleading with him.

Prowl tilted his helm slightly, “You are correct. The odds are unfathomably low. So low in fact, it is nearly statistically impossible to achieve such a scenario on purpose.”

Quintesson gates were finicky. They had a margin of error the breadth of planets. That was also usually their targets however, and quints weren’t picky where they touched down.

“But-“

“But what? I have addressed every concern you have presented.” Prowl flared his doorwings. “I found a lost mech of a new alien species that may very well be an invaluable ally in the war against the quintessons. It’s a valuable opportunity.”

Red Alert balled his fists, fear manifesting as a last burst of rage. “It’s a trap! It’s an Oil-Pot! It is so obviously a purposeful manipulation when you look at it from the outside!”

The security officer began counting on his digits, “Step one! Put a handsome mech somewhere in need of saving so the target feels like they’re in control and the hero. Step two! Ramp up the flirting and the codependency, they need you so you stay in touch and start giving in to more of their requests. Step three! The Oil-Pot gets you alone somewhere under false pretenses where they SPLIT OPEN YOUR PROCESSOR AND SCRAPE IT FOR SECRETS!”

Red Alerts fans blasted hot air around the room. The mech challenging the Praxian for whatever excuse he had this time.

Prowl stood. Taking his time to return Green to her habitat.

“What am I most known for?”

For not the first time since entering his office, Red Alert was knocked off balance.

“I..uh. Math?” He stammered. Knowing the answer but not wanting to say it.

Prowl lacked that reservation.

“Any spy worth their shanix would have done their research thoroughly before even attempting such a scam. If one were to sift through information on me organized by Decepticons, the most prominent word would be Efficient.”

Prowl leisurely shook out Greens cloth-mop nest of any remaining ice crystals.

“If they sourced their information from the Functionalists, that description would include the word Ruthless.”

Prowl gave the flyt one last scritch before closing the door.

“Other popular words I’ve cataloged in relation to my name include Cold, Severe, Sparkless, Unfeeling and Merciless.” The smaller mech shrunk a little with every addition.

Prowl stepped around the desk in the dimly lit room to stand directly before Red Alert, servos clasped behind his back. “With this information available, any spy would be an idiot to attempt an Oil-Pot against me specifically. Ask nearly any mech aboard this ship if they think I’d go out of my way to save a stranger for no apparent benefit and they’d tell you No.”

Red Alert fiddled with his servos, torn between a nervous tick and the pressure to be professional. “If that’s all true, then.”

He chanced a glance at Prowl face, which gave away nothing. “Then why did you save him?”

“Because they are wrong.”

The room brightened back to normal levels, as Prowl sent a ping first to the lights and then to open his office door. He held out a servo, gesturing to the exit.

“Until further notice, Jazz is to be treated the same as a rescued non combatant. He will be kept under observation but not interrogation. We can work out the details at a later-“

[VELOCITY]: Jazz is gone.]

Prowl closed his servo. His doorwings twitched once. Red Alert tensed.

[VELOCITY]: I just finished the last repair and when I turned around he disappeared from the medbay. The guards outside didn’t see him.]

Prowl marched out the door, pulling Red Alert along in the direction of the security office. “I require your assistance immediately, as Jazz is currently loose somewhere on the ship, unmonitored.”

The tactician endured the security chiefs well earned tirade the entire way. Prowl kept a steely grip on the situation, only barely convincing Red Alert not to raise every alarm on the premise that Jazz would be easier to find if he didn’t think they were looking for him.

Tacnet stubbornly held onto the 56% saying Jazz was experiencing a delayed negative reaction to his medical care and was acting out of fear.

A steadily growing percentage screamed sabotage in a voice annoyingly similar to Red Alerts.

Said mech was almost cheery with vindication, in between vehemently describing every way the Lost Light could explode with the next few breems.

Red Alert worked fast. Sifting through the camera feed at a dizzying speed. A camera caught Jazz quickly slipping out of the medbay. Barely escaping the notice of the two mechs tasked with keeping watch. Prowl noted their designations for later scathing admonishment.

“The port side door lock is time stamped as malfunctioning just before Velocity discovered Jazz’s disappearance. It looks like the lock experienced an extremely localized electromagnetic pulse, putting it in Safe Mode.”

Red Alert switched the camera feeds on the main screen. “After he rounds this corner he just vanishes. I can’t find him anywhere on my system.”

Prowl nodded. “Good. Then I know exactly where he has to be.”

There were very few places to hide upon the Lost Light. Red Alert made certain of that. Which by extension meant that someone desperate to stay out of any camera views would have an extremely limited amount of space to operate in.

That space would normally be un-traversable, unless the mech in question was in possession of incredibly powerful magnetic augments, allowing them to crawl along the ceilings.

Prowl sent out a flurry of comms, updating Elita and calling in trusted reinforcements. He set out down the hall.

[PROWL]: What rooms aboard this ship do you not have any cameras inside of?]

[Red Alert]: The war room. The Captains quarters, your office, the therapists office and the operating theater.]

[PROWL]: There’s a camera in my berthroom?]

[Red Alert]: I mean. It’s not like you use it?]

Prowl consistently removed any bugging attempts in his office. Half the reason he kept Green in there was to deter Red Alert from trying. The other half was because he legitimately spent more time there than in his quarters.

He mentally crossed off his office, Elita’s quarters, the operating theater and the therapists office from the list as each one had someone inside at the time of Jazz’s disappearance.

All that left was the war room. Windowless, minimalist and with only once entrance, Jazz would be cornered like an animal in a trap.

Prowl gathered several of the least impulsive guards he could summon on short notice. Lining them along the hallway, he ordered them to shoot to disable. Prowl added that he would make an attempt to talk the mech down before escalating further.

If Jazz was spec ops (44%), the only benefit of infiltrating the war room would be to plant listening devices in its purposefully sparse interior. If Jazz wasn’t acting out of malice, and simply having a panic attack (56%), he may still react violently to suddenly being cornered.

Matchup: Close quarters fight Jazz versus Prowl. Jazz victory 97%.

The 3% in Prowls favor mostly depended on Jazz having some kind of sudden health emergency.

Prowl carefully assumed a neutral pose, knocking on the door to the war room.

“This is officer Prowl speaking. Please exit the room peacefully, we do not want to hurt you.”

Silence, save for the shifting of many nervous peds behind him. Prowl risked opening the door a crack, keeping his body well out of the line of fire. “Jazz, it is Prowl speaking. I need you to say something. Otherwise we’re going to have to come in.”

When there was still no response, Prowl signaled for the gathered soldiers to come closer in preparation for a raid.

On the silent count of three, they entered the war room, blasters drawn and optics searching.

Prowl kept special focus on the ceiling. Fanning his doorwings, He created a real time 3D map of the room, tracking every mechs movements within.

Jazz wasn’t here.

Instantly, Prowl prepared to order a ship wide mech hunt. They’d already wasted so much time with their one sided negotiations. The tactician began rerunning his mental map of where Jazz could have disappeared.

Elita had already sent him several unhappy comms messages about what she was going to do to the alien and him if Prowl didn’t find them. Confirming between threats that Jazz hadn’t gotten into her room.

Velocity had Nautica and Nightbeat in the med bay with her, turning the place upside down in case Jazz doubled back.

He found the comm line for the therapists office.

[PROWL] We have a rogue, possibly unstable mech loose within the Lost Light. Are you inside your office?]

[RUNG] Ah Prowl! Good to see you reaching out to me first for a change. Just finished up a lovely talk with Jazz.]

[RUNG] I think he has something important to tell you.]

———————————————————————

I am generally intrigued by the concept of how being apart of the Decepticon’s pecking order messes a person up.

There’s references all over to how Prowls physical and mental well being got absolutely wrecked and is now in recovery from being apart of High Command. (Inspired partially by @glitchgh0sty’s Deception AU go check ‘em out they’re cool.)

I also wanted to explore the social side of things.

Prowl makes himself unapproachable on purpose, Elita makes acts of excessive violence on her enemies a prominent display and Red Alert is even more invasive than normal.

It’s all to ward off other Decepticons from sensing weakness and stabbing them in the backs. Younger mechs like Bluestreak and Velocity can get away with being much more relaxed and friendly because they’ve got scary ass mechs like Prowl and Elita behind them radiating the “I will fucking destroy you.” energy on their behalf.

We get to see the masks slip a bit here and there. Red Alert genuinely concerned for Prowls safety underneath the paranoia. Elita gives Jazz and Prowl a lot more freedom than an actual tyrant would, even if it’s granted with over the tops threats of physical violence. And of course we see a lot of what Prowl is actually like removed from the pressure of behaving like a “proper” Decepticon.

Wonder what will happen when a certain mecha pilot gets a crowbar under those masks.

-SSTP

<- First Next ->

[thealtoduck]

Secret Saviour

Damian Wayne x Male Reader

Warnings: None…

Part 1: Being the son of Roulette and meeting Damian Wayne…

Summary: When Bruce goes missing Damian finds an unexpected help in Y/n Sinclair…

(A/n: I changed the title from the poll)

——

Ever since the two of you studied together you and Damian had grown fond of each others company. Despite that Damian would never admit this fact, he insisted to his family that he was simply investigating you to see if you were somehow involved with your mother’s criminal activities.

He hadn’t actually found anything suspicious connecting you to Roulette yet which pleased him. Because according to him it means ”he dosen’t have to contact the GCPD… yet”. But Damian would have to put his ”investigation” on halt for a bit.

One dark night during patrol Bruce had suddenly disappeared without a trace, no comms could reach him and they had no way to track him except for the Batmobile’s last location, which hadn’t revealed the slightest hint. His allies looked for him for days trying to find even the smallest clue that would at least let them know he was alive but nothing.

Just when they felt like there was no where else to look they got a call from the watchtower. They answered and Martian Manhunter appeared on the screen of the Batcomputer.

”Hey J’onn, good news I hope” Dick greeted. ”The watchtower recieved an urgent message about Batman’s current whereabouts from an unknown source” J’onn said and another voice started playing from the speakers, one which Damian recognized…

”Is this the watchtower?” A voice came over a weak signal making the sound crackle lightly. Despite the bad audio quality Damian knew that voice immediately it was Y/n’s voice. ”I know Batman has disappeared and I think I know where he is, have someone meet me on the 4th floor of parking garage next to the Royal Hotel, on Wednesday at midnight and I’ll tell you what i know”.

The message then ended and J’onn said ”I’ll let you decide how to deal with the informant, make sure to be careful, contact the League if you need any further help, good luck”. Then he hung up and disappeared from the main screen.

”Do we go meet the informant? It could be a trap to get us too” Duke questioned. ”We don’t have anything else to go off, this could be our only lead, we have to go” Tim stated. ”How about two of us go meet the informant, while the others keep watch in the surrounding area and Oracle monitors, incase it’s a trap” Dick said drawing up a plan.

The others muttered and nodded in agreement of the plan. ”I wanna meet the informant” Damian then voulenteered on impulse making the others turn to him suprised by his eagerness. But Damian needed to make sure it was you, even if you might be luring him in to a trap.

”Alright” Dick said and walked them through the plan ”Me and Damian meet the informant on the 4th floor. Jason, you keep an eye from above the top of the Royal Hotel. Cass and Steph, i want one of you on the 5th floor and one on the 3rd floor, incase we need back up. Duke and Tim, you’ll watch from the building across the street, everyone clear?”.

The each member of the team uttered a quick ”Yes” in understanding. As Damian went to bed he knew needed to keep an eye on you tommorow.

——

The next day when Damian attended school he was on the watch for you. Once he found you, you greeted Damian as you usually did but as you got to class he noticed you seemed off. You were usually the more talkative out of the two of you but today you seemed distracted, almost nervous today.

When you got to lunch time and you and Damian sat down together he questioned ”Are you okay? You’re being quiet”. ”Oh… no I’m fine I just got a lot to do, so just a bit stressed you know” you answered vaguely.

The fact that Damian had pointed it out, made you seem more focused and yourself, he assumed it was to not seem suspicious and make him ask more questions. Once the school day ended you were quick in saying goodbye to him before you got in to a car as your chauffeur took you home.

——

Later that night Nightwing and Robin grappled to the 4th floor of parking garage and started looking around. There were some cars parked there that they kept a watchful eye on in case any goons were hiding inside. Soon the two spotted a figure dressed in all black.

The figure was looking down to the streets below the garage. The two approached slowly ready to grab their weapons in case of an ambush. As they stopped behing the stranger he turned around.

Damian had been right there you were hidden in a black hoodie. Not something you’d usually wear but Damian understood it was for stealth purposes. And even then he thought black suited you well.

Dick however was caught slightly off guard a kid was the one who had made an emergency call to the Watchtower…

”Thanks for meeting me” you said, your voice cautious as you looked around to see no one would hear you. ”So, what do you know?” Nightwing asked.

”I think that Batman was taken by the criminal, Roulette, ever heard of her?” you started. ”Yeah, she’s the one who runs those illegal cansinos, what makes you think she’s behind this?” Dick asked.

”I… have sources who work closely with her” you said Robin and Nightwing noticing the slight hesitation in your voice. ”They say she’s advertising a special event with her superhero cage fights that started around the same time Batman went missing” you explained.

”Any idea where she might have taken him?” Robin spoke up, his voice throwing you off for a moment, Robin sounded kinda like Damian. You got back on track and answered ”My guess would be her casino in Las Vegas, it’s her biggest one, she holds all her major events there and I think she’d make having captured Batman, a big event”.

You held out a flash drive in your hand and said ”This contains the layout of the Vegas casino”. Nightwing picked it up and said ”Thank you, you’ve been very helpful to us”.

”It’s the least I could do after all you’ve all done for the city” you told him with a small smile. ”I have to leave now” you told them. ”Good luck” you said walking off, you felt someone grab your shoulder.

Making you turn around being met with Robin. ”You shouldn’t walk home alone, It’s dangerous this late at night, someone should escort you” he stated. You smiled at him. ”Don’t worry I’m a tough boy, who can take care of himself, thanks for the offer though” you stated, a teasing tone to your voice and you once more turned around and strolled off.

——

Dick and Damian then started their drive home in the Batmobile. ”I wonder what sources he had, hope he’s not mixed up in that crowd, he seemed pretty young” Dick said with a worried tone.

”That was Y/n Sinclair, he probably got the info straight from Roulette herself” Damian revealed. ”Oh! That was your boyfriend? The one you’re ”investigating”? He seemed nice, I like him, Good pick” Dick stated.

”He’s NOT my boyfriend!” Damian said annoyed.

”You just offered to walk him home” Dick accused. Damian glared at his brother and said ”Just to make sure he stays out of trouble”.

”…Right” Dick said not believing a single word Damian said.

[arcadia-smith]

Note: Gonna be like 4 or 5 parts of this one. I've had this planned for so long.

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3

Summary: I think the title speaks for itself.

TW: idk, angst, fem!reader is a traitor, Simon Riley is pissed. Mention of blood, torture. Let me know if I've missed anything.

Flashback—Two Years Ago

The campfire crackled, casting flickering orange light over the small clearing. It was one of those rare nights—no mission, no gunfire in the distance, no orders barking through comms. Just a handful of them out in the open, the cold air nipping at their skin while smoke curled into the dark sky.

Ghost sat across from you, mask off, but the skull-painted balaclava still hung around his neck. A rare sight, one not many got to see. His face was all sharp angles, tired eyes shadowed by the weight of too many sleepless nights.

“You keep staring like that, I’m gonna start thinking you’re in love with me,” you teased, poking at the fire with a stick.

He huffed, shaking his head. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

You smirked. “Maybe.”

Ghost leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees. The firelight made his eyes glow, sharp and unreadable. “You always like playing games?”

Something in his voice made you pause. The teasing between you was common, but there was something different about tonight. The air was heavier. Charged.

“Depends on the game,” you murmured.

He studied you for a long moment, the quiet stretching between you. Around you, the others had already begun turning in for the night, leaving just the two of you with the fire and the dark.

Ghost’s voice was quieter when he finally spoke again.

“You ever think about leaving?”

You frowned. “Leaving what?”

“This life. The missions. The constant fightin’.” His fingers flexed, curling into loose fists. “Ever think about just... walking away?”

You exhaled slowly, considering him. “No,” you lied.

Ghost gave a short, knowing laugh. “Bullshit.”

You rolled your eyes, but he wasn’t wrong. The thought had crossed your mind before—more than once. The weight of it all, the things you'd done, the blood staining your hands. There were nights you dreamed of just disappearing.

But you never thought he did.

You watched him carefully. “Why are you asking?”

His gaze flickered to the fire, jaw tight. “No reason.”

You nudged his boot with yours. “Liar.”

Something passed over his expression—something raw, something real. It made your stomach twist, made you want to reach for him, to—

“I just…” He hesitated, as if trying to find the right words. Then, softer, “There’s gotta be more than this. More than just killin’ and losin’ people and waiting for the next fight.”

For a moment, you didn’t know what to say. Because, in the end, that was all you knew, wasn’t it?

You forced a smile. “You planning on running off, Riley?”

He huffed, shaking his head. “Not without you.”

The words hit you harder than expected.

Not without you.

You swallowed, the fire crackling between you, the world feeling too small all of a sudden.

If things had been different...

Maybe.

You nudged his boot again, this time softer. “Better be careful, Ghost. Someone might think you actually care about me.”

He didn’t smile. Didn’t joke.

Instead, he just held your gaze and said, “Yeah. Maybe I do.”

And for the first time in a long time—you didn’t have anything clever to say back.

Present

Your wrists are bound. Ankles too. The cold steel of the chair presses against your spine, the weight of your capture sinking in. But you don't beg. You don't cry. You simply watch him.

Ghost stands before you, arms crossed, the balaclava masking everything except those sharp, piercing eyes. Eyes that had once softened around you. That softness is gone now. Replaced by something colder. Something lethal.

“You gonna start talking?” His voice is rough, scraped raw from battle, from betrayal. From you.

You tilt your head, feigning confusion. “About what?”

His gloved fingers curl into fists at his sides. He’s not stupid. You knows that. He’s watching, waiting, searching for the lie before it even leaves your lips.

“Don’t pretend you’re some meek, pathetic little girl,” he growls, stepping closer, the weight of him suffocating. “Not when I can see that vicious mind working behind your eyes.”

Your lips twitch—half amusement, half something else. “You always did see too much.”

“And yet, not enough,” he spits. His hands slam down on the arms of the chair, caging you in. “I trusted you.”

Something flickers in your expression, something so quick that most wouldn’t have caught it. But Ghost does. Regret? Guilt? No. It’s not that simple, is it?

“You shouldn’t have,” you murmur.

His fingers twitch like he wants to grab you, shake you, make you tell him why you did it. Why you sold them out. Why you left him picking up the bodies of men who should still be alive.

Instead, he exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his mask like it might help steady him.

“You don’t get to sit there and act like this wasn’t your choice.” His voice is lower now, dangerous in a different way. “You chose this. Chose to lie. Chose to betray us. Betray me.”

Your gaze drops to his chest, the black combat vest littered with dirt, dust, blood—none of it his. You wonder how much of that blood is because of you.

When you speak again, your voice is quiet. Almost regretful.

“If you were in my position, you would have done the same.”

Ghost goes still. His entire body. Like a predator moments before the kill.

“I’d never be in your position.”

You smile then—small, sad. “That’s what you think.”

For the first time, uncertainty flickers in those dark eyes of his. And you know you're still in his head, whether he wants you there or not.

But Ghost is nothing if not relentless. And he’s going to get his answers. One way or another.

And you?

You're going to make him work for them.

It’s a standoff, a battle not fought with fists or bullets but with patience and will.

He’s waiting for you to break.

You're waiting for him to snap.

The dim light above you flickers, casting shadows that stretch and twist across the cold concrete walls. Somewhere outside this room, soldiers are cleaning up the mess you left behind. Counting bodies. Patching wounds. Cursing your name.

You wonder if any of them are still defending you. If any of them think maybe there’s an explanation.

But Ghost isn’t like them. He doesn’t deal in maybes. He deals in facts. In truths. And right now, the only truth that matters is that you put a bullet in the trust he once had for you.

His fingers twitch at his sides. Small. Almost imperceptible. But you catch it.

He’s angry.

Good.

You tilt your head, pushing against the restraints just enough to test them, to remind him that you're still here. “You gonna hit me, Simon?”

His jaw tightens.

You say his name on purpose, tasting the weight of it. Simon. Not Ghost. Not the soldier. The man.

But the man is gone, buried beneath layers of war and loss and rage.

“You’re not worth the effort,” he mutters.

You chuckle, the sound light despite the situation. “That’s not what you used to think.”

Ghost stiffens.

There it is. The crack.

You lean forward as much as the bindings allow, your voice dropping to something almost conspiratorial. “Tell me, do you hate me more because of what I did? Or because you didn’t see it coming?”

Ghost’s breath flares through the mask. His shoulders square, tension winding through every muscle like a wire pulled too tight.

Then, suddenly, he moves.

You barely have time to process before his gloved hand grips your chin, forcing you to look up at him. It’s not gentle. But it’s not cruel either. It’s something in between, something laced with frustration, with an anger he doesn’t quite know what to do with.

His thumb brushes against your jaw, just for a second. A ghost of something softer.

And then—

“You have no idea how close you are to finding out exactly how much I hate you,” he murmurs, voice dark.

You swallow. Not fear. Something else.

His eyes burn into yours, and you realize with certainty—

Ghost is not here for vengeance. Not yet.

No, he’s here for the truth.

And he’s going to tear you apart to get it.

Ghost steps back, a shadow falling over you as he moves to the table beside you. The clink of metal as he retrieves something—a pair of pliers, a knife, a set of instruments. Tools for precision, for control, for breaking a person in more ways than one.

You don't flinch.

Don't give him the satisfaction of reacting.

“Still playing tough?” he asks, voice low and dangerous.

You don't answer. There’s nothing left to say.

Simon’s fingers linger over the pliers before he sets them down with a soft clink, his eyes still on you. “I should’ve known better. You were always good at hiding what was underneath.”

The words catch in your throat. A memory—of laughter, of something real between you, of trust that now feels like a cruel joke.

Your lips part. "I never lied to you."

Ghost’s eyes flash at the statement, like the very idea of you suggesting any innocence on your part angers him. "You didn’t need to. You betrayed me without saying a word. Without hesitation."

A beat of silence, and then he steps forward again, crouching so he’s eye level with you. The mask hides everything, but his posture speaks volumes. This isn’t just about information anymore. It’s personal.

"Tell me why," he demands, voice raw, "why the hell you did it."

You meet his gaze—cold, calculating. There’s nothing in your eyes now. Not fear, not guilt. Just silence.

The silence eats at him. You know it does.

And he knows that you know.

Simon’s hand snaps out like lightning, grabbing you by the jaw with an iron grip. Your teeth click together, the pressure of his fingers hard enough to make you see stars.

"I won't ask again," he growls.

You don't blink. Don't give him the satisfaction of even a flicker of weakness.

"Then you’ll never get an answer," you retort, voice tight but defiant.

His grip tightens.

"God, you’re stubborn." He lets out a harsh breath, more exasperated than angry now. His fingers leave your jaw, and he steps back. "Fine. You wanna play it like this? You wanna be a goddamn enigma?"

You don't respond.

For a long moment, he stands there, staring at you, calculating. You can see the storm swirling behind his eyes, and for the first time since the betrayal, you wonders if he’s considering breaking you. For good.

Then, to your surprise, he steps back even further, turning his back to you.

A loud clink echoes in the room as he picks up a chair, spinning it around before sitting down, his broad frame leaning into the backrest, arms crossed over his chest.

"Not gonna make it easy, huh?" he mutters, almost to himself. "Thought you might’ve learned something from your time with us."

You lift an eyebrow, the barest hint of a smirk curling your lips. "I’m not your puppet, Simon. Never was."

He narrows his eyes, glaring over his shoulder. "We’ll see about that."

Another long silence.

Then—

Click.

Your head snaps up at the sound of something sharp. Ghost is holding a knife now, just barely out of your line of sight, running it lightly over the edge of the table. The sound alone is enough to send a shiver through you.

"You’ve never been good at waiting, have you?" He tilts his head, his voice softening just a little. It’s the calm before the storm, and you both know it. "You always had to be in control. I gave you control. I trusted you. And now look where we are."

Simon’s eyes narrow dangerously. He leans forward slowly, placing the knife on the table with deliberate precision.

And for a moment, just a fleeting moment, Simon hesitates. His eyes flicker toward the blade, then back to her.

“Answer me, and I’ll make it quick,” he says, his tone now laced with an edge you haven't heard in years. "Why. Did. You. Do. It?"

You don't answer.

Because the truth is too damn heavy.

And Simon—Ghost—isn’t ready to hear it.

[mostly-marvel-musings]

Drunk words, sober thoughts

A/N: Another entry for the amazing @elixirfromthestars ‘s Writing Challenge. Leave a heart, comment or reblog if you’ve enjoyed reading this!

Pairing: Logan x F! Reader

Warning: 18+ fluff. Drink responsibly kids.

Prompts used: 🥪 ✩｡⋆⸜ "Do I need to remind you that we're not actually married?"

Hugh Jackman/Logan Masterlist

Haze.

That was all your brain could comprehend. How you’d gotten yourself to this point was still obscure. But a rapidly diminishing rational part of your brain was sure your drink had been spiked.

It wasn't how the evening was supposed to go. Not at all. You were on a mission, albeit it was your first official one, it couldn't have gone any worse. The team carried out their respective tasks flawlessly while you - the rookie, were going to be in big trouble once they'd realized you had screwed up.

Deep down you were hoping Logan - your pretend husband for the evening would come and find you, rather rescue you. As you were cornered by a few men that were way too tall and burly to escape, you vaguely felt the comms from your ear been taken off, your limbs felt like jelly.

Were you being kidnapped? Where were your teammates? More importantly, where was Logan?

Any attempt to protest was silenced when they taped your mouth, taking you away from the banquet hall and towards a deserted alley. Before the men could shove you in their car, you felt their grip on you loosen, the familiar chink of metal claws being unleashed and a fight ensued.

It must've ended pretty quickly, or you were experiencing time gaps thanks to the drugs coursing through your bloodstream, but you felt a light but persistent tap against your cheek and a concerned looking Logan Howlett in your line of vision.

"Are you alright, bub? Y/N? Can you hear me?" he called, worry clear in his baritone.

"Mm?" You shook your head in a violent no, quickly realizing it was a bad move as your world shifted, making you dizzy.

You closed your eyes tight and tried to pull yourself together, failing to do so while Logan caught up with the rest of the team. They deciphered you'd had more than your fair share of alcohol given your state, and decided it was best to get you home. Logan had also picked up a smell that was definitely not your regular alcohol, probably the reason why you were so out of it, he'd realized. The team was concerned but probably not as much as the man before you.

A comforting mix of steady hands and a scent that was distinctly Logan enveloped you and lifted you off the ground and into a car.

"Ay! Look it's my husband!" You exclaimed loud enough to make Logan pull a face as he helped fasten your seatbelt.

“How are drunk are you?” He gave you a glance as the car pulled away from the venue, his brows furrowing when he saw you lean over to his side with a lazy grin on your face.

“Can I kiss you?”

“A lot, okay.”

With a firm grip on your shoulders, he made you lay back against the car, letting the back of his hand against your forehead that was slightly warm to touch. He was relieved to have found you before anything worse could happen, especially when your powers were compromised. Unbeknownst to you, Logan had developed some what of a soft spot for you. Not that he'd ever admit, but he found himself drawn to you more and more each passing day. For someone so seemingly fearless, he was terrified of confessing his feelings towards you.

It wasn't long until you found yourself in Logan's arms once again, this time with him carrying you up the school stairs towards your bedroom.

"I mean you could've carried us all the way across the threshold. Wait through the main door, did you—" You giggled mostly to yourself but with Logan and his sharp hearing, it was hard to ignore.

“Do I need to remind you that we're not actually married?" He mused with a faint hint of a smile on his rugged features. Unable to stop his chuckle at your adorable little pout, he gently set you down to your bed, hovering above you for a minute too long.

“We can’t leave the bed now. The pillows have accepted us.” You sighed dreamily, patting the place next to you for Logan to join.

Under any other circumstances, it would’ve been impossible to resist your offer, but you weren’t the right state of mind, and Logan was nothing if not a perfect gentleman.

“Get some rest, kid. You’re in for one hell of a hangover tomorrow.” Logan let his thumb caress the soft skin of your cheek, his eyes mapping your beautiful features.

He’d already made a mental note to get proper meds for you to help get the drugs out of your system. Just as he was about to close the door behind him and leave, he heard you mumble something else. He would’ve let it go, but the words that came out of your mouth nearly made his heart stop.

“What was that, bub?”

“Love you, Logan..” you mumbled against your pillow, clutching one tightly to your chest as sleep took over finally.

“Love you too. More than you’d ever know.” He smiled, finally saying it out loud, albeit not to you directly, felt good. He walked happy knowing you probably shared the sentiment.

Like they said, drunk words, sober thoughts.

[zhelin-thames]

Bat Family podcast - Oracle's Receipts: The Unseen Files

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

The Batfamily in the Batcave, all gathered around a computer screen. Barbara (Oracle) smirking as she plays back audio.

Barbara: "Tim, care to explain why you ordered 5 pizzas to a stakeout and forgot to mute comms?"

Jason is dying of laughter, Dick is facepalming, Bruce looks disappointed, and Tim is regretting all his life choices.

She then proceeds to expand it and show more videos

[ The Batcave, dimly lit, the Batfamily sitting in their usual spots. Oracle is at the computer, smugly glancing at her screen while the others stare in horror at the upcoming video.]

First Clip:

[Video: Tim on a comms call, whispering urgently while munching loudly on pizza.]

Tim (muffled, chewing): "Look, just a few more slices, and then we can go after the Penguin, okay? This is important intel. Trust me."

Barbara (smirking): "And here we see Tim trying to multitask while also betraying every stealth mission protocol. 5 pizzas, Tim? Really?"

Jason (laughing uncontrollably): "I swear to God, he's more distracted by pizza than he is by actual criminals."

Second Clip:

[Video: Dick, mid-fight with a thug, getting way too close to a random civilian and accidentally flirting.]

Dick (charming): "Well, if you ever need protection, I'm your guy. But only if you're into capes... and bad decisions."

Damian (eyeing Dick coldly): "Pathetic. You're supposed to be a hero, not a walking disaster."

Bruce (stoically, but a little disappointed): "I thought we talked about this. Focus."

Barbara: "Do you hear yourself, Dick? I swear, even the criminals know you're just flirting with the wrong people."

Third Clip:

[Video: Jason, clearly agitated, muttering under his breath while watching a news broadcast about Batman.]

Jason (grumbling): "Oh yeah, Batman did what? Great, just what Gotham needs... another lecture from the Caped Crusader. Can't even get a moment of peace without his speeches."

Barbara (laughing): "Jason, do you know you've been ranting for 15 minutes straight in front of a mic? You've got no chill."

Tim (deadpan): "Shouldn't you be taking notes, Jason? You're on thin ice."

Fourth Clip:

[Video: Bruce, unknowingly leaving a voice message on Alfred's phone while he's distracted.]

Bruce (gruffly, clearly unaware of the recording): "Alfred, I'm heading to the Bat-signal. I need that...no, the suit's too tight, I need something else-no, don't give me that look, I know what I'm doing. Just... the usual, okay?" Alfred (from the kitchen, voice faint but amused): "Sir, you left your message on again. I'm sure the Batcave doesn't need any more unfiltered Bruce Wayne."

Barbara (chuckling): "This is what happens when Bruce doesn't turn off the mic. Classic."

Fifth Clip:

[Video: Damian, in the middle of a tense conversation with Talia al Ghul on a private comm, struggling to keep his composure.] Damian (coldly, but clearly annoyed): "No, mother, I will not be joining you for tea. I'm not a child. Yes, I am busy saving Gotham. Again."

Barbara (voice dripping with sarcasm): "Oh, look, it's Damian, proving once again that family drama doesn't stop even in the middle of a mission."

Jason (snickering): "She's got him wrapped around her little finger. I can't even handle it."

Dick: "Damian, you've got the attitude of someone who's always 5 seconds away from a meltdown."

[The Batfamily stares at Barbara, who is clearly enjoying this a bit too much.]

Barbara: "Next time, maybe mute the comms, guys?........You thought you could hide, but Oracle sees everything. EVERYTHING."

[woradat]

2 Road 1 Together

SUMMARY - you float around in space like it's your home, and the exosphere is your backyard. The one that he have passed through twice, two times passed, two times met at different times

PAIRING - drift x reader, deadlock x reader (mostly)

Wandering through space with no rules, no map, and absolutely no idea what counts as "dangerously close to death" or "might get shot down just for blinking wrong"—now that’s your style.All you need is a curious cluster of stars, a planet with an unscanned surface, and a weird energy signature that makes your gut go: “Yep, I wanna poke that"

You’re the kind of curious that’s probably going to get you killed one day—or any minute now, actually. But hey, you’re still here, right? If the universe wanted you gone, it would've tossed you into a black hole eons ago. But no, you're still out here—vibing, floating, sipping lukewarm energon, and flirting with fate like it's an ex you never really broke up with

So, of course, you turned toward it

Like always and of course, you really shouldn't have

That was the first warning—the radar pinged something it couldn’t categorize, just before it cut out completely from interference that wasn't in any of your logs. You blinked slowly at the screen while your ship’s front cam caught it: a gleam of black and silver slicing through the void like a shark in deep water. Yeah, that’s not a meteor

You leaned back in your pilot seat, cradling your half-empty metal mug of slightly-warm energon, eyes narrowing from the star-glare bouncing off some uncharted, no-name rock in the distance “…Well, hello there, flying corpse” you muttered, flicking the comms open just as a voice came through—deep, stern, and not particularly in the mood for jokes

“Identify yourself. Unaligned vessel. You are trespassing in Decepticon patrol territory"

You made a face—not because you were scared, but because the word Decepticon always made your energon taste a little like regret

“Chill. Do you guys always open with that?” you replied casually, swirling your mug

“I’m not here to pick a fight. I just got… wildly off-track. As one does”

There was a pause

You half expected lasers, half expected dead air.Instead, your screen lit up—someone patched through the visual. And the face you saw? Yeah, that definitely wasn’t some border grunt, sharp frame, red optics that looked like they wanted to extract your spark and write your sins on it in high-grade. His face was so calm it was actually unsettling, like he’d done way worse than kill people and still didn’t lose sleep. You could practically see dried oil on his plating—except you had the feeling it wasn’t always oil

“I am Deadlock” he said coldly “Who are you? And who owns that ship?”

You smiled, shifting in your seat like you weren’t very much sitting under a Decepticon fleet’s laser sight

“Ship’s mine. Bought it used—nameless rock, three months ago. Total steal. As for me…” you lifted your mug for a sip, real slow “...do we ask names before killing now? Kinda kinky, but alright. I’m no threat. Ship doesn’t even have weapons"

Another long pause

“Land your vessel at the coordinates. Sent”

“Copy that, scary-voice”

—

The planet's surface was dry, dusty, and iron-flavored. You landed inside a neat little circle marked with a big ol' Decepticon symbol—like a passive-aggressive welcome mat that said “Congrats, you didn’t get shot. Yet” The ship door hadn’t even fully opened before something banged hard against the outer hull

“Exit the ship. Slowly” You did. Hands up. Easy smile. Totally unarmed. You scanned your surroundings—three figures, but only one stepped close enough to make your instincts twitch

Him

Deadlock stood tall, all hard lines and silent threats. His plating was scratched, weathered, and battle-worn—less a bot, more a weapon with legs. Red optics, still sharp, still watching like they could slice through lies with a blink. Every part of him screamed danger. Your processor finally caught up and flashed his stats across your HUD

DEADLOCK

CLASS: ENFORCER / SIC

STATUS: ACTIVE – TURMOIL UNIT

You swallowed. Great. Out of all the possible space-gremlins you could have annoyed today, you picked the tall, deadly, not-even-bothering-with-a-gun guy

But, hey. You’ve danced with worse. Probable

“I ask again” he said, voice like a warning shot “Why did you enter this sector?”

“I didn’t know it was your sector" you shrugged, hands still up “I saw an energy spike. Looked interesting. So I checked it out. That’s kinda… my thing"

“Lying?” he said flatly

"Exploring” you replied with a grin “Freelancer. No allegiances. No interest in your war. I’d offer to let you search the ship, but honestly, I’d rather you didn’t rifle through my underwear drawer”

He stepped closer. Way closer than was reasonable unless you had a death wish—or you were him. For a second, he said nothing. Then he turned to his subordinates

“Return to base. I’ll handle this one"

You blinked “..Ohhh, so that’s how this day’s going..”

.

.

The light from an unfamiliar sun stretched long across the ochre stone, painting shadows like veins on the broken skin of a dying world. The ground was cracked, breathless—as if the planet itself had exhaled its last—and in that breathless silence, only the sound of metal kissed the gravel underfoot

Deadlock moved slowly, every step deliberate, the rhythm of a ghost not yet ready to stop haunting

He was approaching you

And you—

You were seated beneath a jagged outcrop of native rock, its harsh form worn smooth by time, your back resting against its flank like you belonged there. Like you'd always belonged in the quiet places that war forgot

Your gaze was tilted to the sky, distant and full of wonder, like an astronomer from myth tracing constellations no one else remembered.

There was no tension in your frame, no fear, no urgency

Only that soft stillness of someone who had long since stopped expecting answers from the universe—and had begun, instead, to listen. One hand moved through the air, slow and unhurried, drawing symbols only you could see—delicate arcs, invisible lines, like mapping a star’s secret trajectory across your mind, the way a poet might write with light

“You can’t leave” His voice broke the silence like a blade slipping into a lake—sharp, but careful

You didn’t flinch

Instead, you turned to look at him the way one might acknowledge a passing signal: calmly, politely, almost absentmindedly

“Still being interrogated, huh?” There was no sarcasm, only mild curiosity—like he’d asked you what frequency you were tuned to, not just informed you of your captivity

“You searched my ship already, didn’t you?”

You returned to the sky without waiting for confirmation, like the answer didn’t matter, not really

There were stars out there still

Stars that had seen wars rise and fall, and didn’t blink for either

Deadlock didn’t reply right away. He stood there, the shadow of his frame stretched over you, his optics unreadable

He didn’t know what held him in place

There was no protocol, no justification – You had no weapons. No data caches. You weren’t a spy, or a threat, or even an asset. You were, in every practical sense, nothing

And yet—that was the part he couldn't let go of

You were the only one who had ever looked at him and not recoiled. Not bargained, not grovelled ��� You just sat there — Unchanged, unbothered, unreachable, like the stars above you

“You are on your own” he said at last

“No crew. No defenses. No shields or countermeasures”

“That’s right”

“Why?”

The question came out rough. Not because he wanted to accuse you. But because he didn’t know how else to ask the thing that was clawing at him inside: "Why do you risk this?" "Why are you not afraid?" "Why are you not trying to escape from him?" "don't you feel.. lonely?"

You turned to him again, the way one might turn toward warmth in the cold—softly, gently—and offered a smile.

Not mocking, not performative just a quiet honesty, carried like a candle between hands “Because I only want to see the world. Not conquer it”

It wasn’t the kind of answer that struck like thunder. It didn’t burn like fire. It was gentler than that — Like a drop of clear rain falling into a war-scorched desert and disappearing without sound, yet leaving behind something that didn’t quite evaporate

Deadlock stared at you

He had seen empires fall and comrades bleed out in the silence of space. He had delivered death in cold precision, had seen entire planets turned to ash in pursuit of conquest. But he had never, never, heard someone say they simply wanted to see

No dominion. No survival

Just presence

He didn’t understand it and he hated what he didn’t understand. But he didn’t leave – Instead, he lowered himself slowly to the ground beside you

No fanfare, no force

Just the quiet, unfamiliar act of choosing to stay. He left a small space between you. Enough not to intrude, not so much as to sever the thread between you, thin and strange as it was

And you—You didn’t shift away, didn’t question it, didn’t even ask “How long are you going to keep me here?”

As if you'd already decided the answer didn’t matter. Not compared to the way the stars still shimmered, ancient and unapologetic, above a planet that had nothing left to give

.

.

He was quiet for a long while, as if the words had to crawl their way out of the wreckage inside him “…You like it, then?”

“the stars?”

“No… I meant the way it makes you feel”

You didn’t answer at first

You just smiled—that faint, elusive thing, like starlight trying to find its way through the dark of a half-shuttered window and then, without a sound, you laid yourself down fully on the flat, cold surface of the stone

It cradled your form like a long-lost memory—unforgiving in texture, but strangely familiar in its silence

“Of course I do” you said at last, voice barely above a whisper “It never demanded anyone to pick a side. It never pulled anyone into a war they didn’t ask for..”

There was no venom in your tone, no bitterness. Just an old ache, worn smooth like the stone beneath you—like something you'd carried for so long it had stopped cutting into your circuits. Deadlock stared down at you, at the way your optics held no urgency, no defense

You weren’t trying to justify yourself, weren’t trying to change his mind

You were just… being

“Are you running from it?” he asked, though the words felt foreign in his own voice. You let out a breath that could’ve been a sigh, or a laugh, or maybe just the sound of something letting go

“I’m not running” you said

“I’m just not chasing it anymore”

He didn’t understand

Not really

Not in the way he understood blades and missions and silence that followed orders. But something about your words lodged itself inside him, like a shard of light piercing a place he’d forgotten he had

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Because what he wanted wasn’t something he could ask

He just… watched

Watched you trace invisible shapes in the stars with your optics, your fingers twitching slightly like you were sketching something only you could see.

Watched the way you seemed content to let silence fill the air between you— not as a weapon, not as a shield, but as a choice

He wondered how long you would lie there if he said nothing. How long you could let peace settle over you like a cloak. How long before the world demanded something of you again—and whether you’d yield, or vanish, or simply turn away

He didn’t know and it scared him—this not-knowing

This ache for something he couldn't name

Because deep in the pit of his spark, in that place no training could reach, he feared that if he let you go—he might never see that kind of freedom again

—

The stars were bruises in the night sky—deep violet and silver, bleeding slowly across the horizon as the remnants of a distant supernova whispered through the black. Cold wind stirred the dust around the rock you sat on, sharp with metal and ozone, the smell of a world long-abandoned

Deadlock stood a few paces away, framed in the dim light like a statue too stubborn to erode. His armor caught the faint gleam of a dying moon—scratched, dulled, but still solid as the name he bore. He hadn’t moved in a while. Not since you both fell silent

Perhaps it was the silence itself that unmoored him

“…What are you, really?”

His voice broke the stillness not like a blade, but like the creak of ancient hinges—rough with disuse, but careful not to slam anything shut too quickly. He spoke with edges, yes, but underneath those edges was hesitation. A low hum of something that could be called longing, if he had the words for it

You didn’t look at him immediately. Your optics remained fixed upward, toward constellations that didn’t belong to either of you. They were just… there. Unclaimed. Free

“An explorer? A wanderer? A drifter?”

You let each word roll lazily off your glossa like you weren’t quite sure which one fit “Take your pick”

He shifted his stance. Barely. But you caught it. The uncertainty behind the motion

“No mission? No objective?”

“I follow gravity” you said at last “Whichever way the pull leads. A planet, a moon, a quiet stretch of empty space”

“I move toward what draws me in. That’s all”

Deadlock’s optics narrowed faintly

“That sounds… senseless”

You finally turned to look at him, head tilted just slightly “Maybe. But it’s mine”

Then, quieter, almost like an afterthought: “What about yours?”

He hesitated

Not because he didn’t have an answer—he had one ready, and you could see it form on his tongue. But saying it aloud here, in this quiet pocket of the universe where war wasn’t echoing off the walls, made it feel… false. Outdated

Still, he answered “My duty is to eliminate the enemies of the Decepticons..”

The wind blew again. Cold this time

It caught on the edges of your plating and rustled loose grains of shattered stone. He didn’t move. But something in him seemed to shift. The tension between you both wasn’t combative anymore. It was quieter now. More like a question waiting to be asked. And then, he asked it

“What’s your name?”

“Will you remember it?”

A flicker passed behind his optics

“I don’t forget the name of something I’ve decided… not to kill” The way he said it—carefully, precisely—told you everything

How rare that decision was. How dangerous it felt to say it aloud. A soft laugh escaped you, almost involuntary

“That almost sounds romantic”

“It’s not” Too quick. Too sharp

And yet… not sharp enough

There was doubt bleeding into the edges of his voice now, undermining the flat certainty he tried to wrap around his words

You didn’t tease him for it—Didn’t press

You simply said your name

Soft. Unrushed. Like the first syllables of a melody that didn’t need to go anywhere

He stood still as stone

But his optics shuttered for a moment—just one flicker—like he was sealing the name into memory, not in the way a soldier memorizes a target…but the way a starless wanderer might memorize the name of the first light they ever saw in the dark

—

Space doesn’t remember you but you try to remember it

Time was a cycle on a ship—measured in rotations, daybreaks, dusks. But out here, there is only the faint light of stars that have not yet arrived. A delay of millennia between what was and what now flickers through the viewports. You sit alone on an old research vessel once built for Central Exploration. Once. Now it is yours. Yours alone

The lab is a chaotic graveyard of curiosity

Uncatalogued star samples lie scattered across the workbench, dimly glimmering like fossilized light. A datapad blinks open beside a half-finished cube of energon, lines of unintelligible code and notes scribbled hastily on translucent film paper. Your handwriting—jagged, erratic, alive with questions. The low murmur of galactic radio frequencies hums in the background, like the universe whispering to itself through static

You press a finger to the recorder and begin speaking into the dark

"Date... I don’t know. I’ve lost track time"

"Today I saw a star. Not a bright one. Not large. But for some reason… I couldn’t look away.. something about it felt familiar—as if I’d seen it before in another sky"

You stare out past the hull window where stars burn like slow-dying embers

“If a star dies… does it still exist in memory?”

A question. Not yours. Not originally

A voice from long ago, from one drifting bot you met in the deep of the black. You never remembered his name. Not truly

You don’t even recall the shape of his faceplate now—only the texture of his voice, like worn brass and hesitant gravity. You remember the way he asked the question, during a night you were both stranded on a derelict moon. It hadn’t matched him—this strange softness, this sudden philosophy. But he asked anyway and now you carry the question with you. Like a splinter in your spark

He stood still, alone in the quiet hum of his quarters.

Not Deadlock anymore—not in name.

But beneath the new plating and repainted insignia, there were fractures in the armor that couldn’t be covered. Slivers of memory embedded deep in his frame.

The past clung to him like dried coolant. Regret, like rust

They had made a brief landing on a backwater star system—standard protocol. Faint signal detected. Possibly a distress call. Possibly a trap. The Wreckers were ready for either. What they weren’t ready for was… nothing. A desert of broken scrap. Torn structures. Empty wind

Except for one thing

Half-buried in the sand like a secret someone tried to forget. A datapad, scorched at the edges, humming softly with preserved memory

He found it or perhaps it found him

“Still asking too many questions, huh…” His voice was low, hoarse—spoken more to the silence than to anyone present

He brought the datapad back with him

Now, sitting at his desk, the lights dimmed to a soft, amber hush, he stared at the familiar, impossible scrawl on the screen. The symbols, the tangled phrasing, the dense streams of data interspersed with words that shouldn’t have belonged there. Shouldn’t, and yet—you always made them fit

It was you. He knew it like he knew his own scars

No one else wrote like that, no one else could thread particle physics through metaphors of burning leaves, no one else could take gravity equations and lace them with longing

His hand trembled slightly as he swiped to the final line – There, typed alone in the last blinking entry:

"A nameless star… but once, I knew it well"

He read it three times. The fourth time, he didn’t need the screen

He could feel the words pulsing through his core memory, reverberating through every old protocol he had tried to bury. That you had been here—recently, possibly—That you had looked up and seen something familiar

That maybe, impossibly, you remembered him

Not his face, not his voice

But the version of him that asked questions beneath dying stars and maybe that was enough

He closed the datapad and sat there for a long, long time. The silence around him was no longer empty—it rang with a single memory: A voice, low and curious, in the echoing dark of yours—

“If a star dies… does it still exist in memory?”

He didn’t have an answer

But now, perhaps, he wanted to find on