#malcolm bright wip

[the-flaming-nightmare]

Tagged by the wonderful @anewkindofme! 🧡❤

I decided to rewrite the beginning of chapter 2 of "Walk on With Hope in Your Heart", so here's that:

It had been two weeks since Malcolm was admitted to the hospital. Just as Gil had expected, Malcolm's headspace had ended up on the younger end of the age spectrum. He woke up in a newborn headspace the afternoon after Gil told him about everything that had happened with Watkins and he hadn't aged up in the slightest since, staying firmly in the one-week mark.

Normally when Malcolm was in a very young headspace like this, he was a relatively easy baby to care for, sleeping most of the time and only crying when he was hungry or needed a diaper change. However, given the pain from his injuries and the grief that was no doubt still present despite his current headspace, Malcolm was almost the complete opposite now. While Malcolm did still sleep a fair amount, he would also burst into tears at random and it would more often than not take hours for him to stop crying. Nothing Gil said or did in attempts to calm his son almost never worked entirely, and it took him crying himself into an exhausted sleep for him to eventually calm down.

Gil lost count of just how many days and nights he'd paced the hospital room's floor with an inconsolable baby over the last couple of weeks.

Fortunately, Malcolm's physical recovery was progressing smoothly enough that the doctor saw no reason to keep him in the hospital any longer. His stab wound was healing nicely and showed no signs of infection, which meant his stitches had finally been removed, and his bulky cast had also been replaced by a black splint that he would need to wear for the next four to six weeks. The doctor gave Gil a few pamphlets on various physical therapy programs for Littles and advised him that as soon as the splint came off, he was going to want to call one of the programs right away to schedule an appointment, since it tended to take about a week to get in.

Now, they just had to wait for the doctor to sign the discharge papers and then they would finally be allowed to go home.

In the meantime, Gil quietly packed up the room while Malcolm (mercifully) slept in the hospital issued crib. Aside from a few toiletries and personal items that Gil had brought from home, most of what he packed consisted of the stuffed animals and 'get well soon' cards that had come from the team, Dr. Le Deux, Adolpho, and Mr. David.

Just as Gil slipped the last of the cards into the bag alongside the various stuffed toys, there was a soft knock at the door before it opened to reveal JT. The younger man stepped inside and carefully shut the door behind him, keeping his voice low when he spoke.

"Hey, boss. You two about ready to head out?"

When Gil had let everyone know Malcolm would be getting discharged today, JT had offered to drive them home, so Gil would be able ride in the back with Malcolm in case the baby needed him.

Tagging (if you wanna): @angelique-of-the-volturi-guard, @pimento-playing-hopscotch, @snowviolettwhite, @phantomhiveroyaltea, @thegoeticcleric, @nottapossum, @autisticalastor, @snarkythewoecrow, @sinninghowlter and anyone else who wants to join!

[missshezz]

9 Crimes (Batman/Prodigal Son Fan Fiction)

Title: 9 Crimes

Fandom: Batman (comics), Batman: Under the Red Hood/Death In A Family, and Prodigal Son (2019 TV)

Characters: Jason Todd | Red Hood/past Robin, Bruce Wayne | Batman, Dick Grayson | Nightwing, Tim Drake | Robin, Malcolm Bright, Gil Arroyo, Jim Gordon, Alfred Pennyworth, Jessica Whitly, The Joker

Rating: Teen and Up

Warnings: Major Character Death, Canon typical Violence

Words: 40k (21 Chapters)

Summary: Can Jason Todd set aside his bad blood long enough to bring a killer to justice or will old wounds, and bad memories, prevent him from working with Batman?

This is the first of my two entries in the 2023 Finish Your Shit Big Bang @wipbigbang

Gifs are also done by myself and are part of the art I will be doing for this story

Gotham. 

A hard city.

One only the hardiest of individuals could survive in. 

Even the man who served as the city’s silent guardian had become hardened by it.

Of course, a mercurial clown hellbent on watching the world, and everyone in it, burn helped with that. The laughing man committed atrocity after atrocity for over a decade, none more despicable than beating a sixteen-year-old boy to death in an abandoned warehouse while a bomb counted down to zero.

All so he could add killing Robin to his already long list of greatest hits. 

The Joker spent years stalking Robin. He set a multitude of contemptible traps to capture the Boy Wonder, used friends to lure him into buildings rigged to explode, and when those failed, hired the mercenary, Deathstroke to kill him. Initially, murdering Robin had been about bringing the Dark Knight down to the Joker’s level, forcing him to see; realize he was as insane as the rest of the inmates housed in Arkham. 

In the Joker’s warped view, anyone could snap after having “one bad day”.

Shooting Robin following the failed heist of a rare jewel didn’t cause Batman to finally give in and kill him, though. 

Resulting in the Joker becoming more obsessed with pushing the Dark Knight into breaking his “golden rule.”

A line he came increasingly close to stepping over in the months following the brutal death of Jason Todd. 

He hasn’t crossed it, though. 

Keyword: yet . 

While the Clown Prince of Crime failed to push Batman over the edge, he had managed to turn him into a one-man wrecking crew. 

Nobody was safe from Batman’s wrath. 

Not even they — the children he welcomed into his home and the cartoon circus world that was his life — remained unscathed. 

Instead of embracing them, as a normal parent would after suffering the tragic loss of a child, Bruce banished them from his home, and his life.

Dick retreated to Haly’s Circus to nurse his guilt and grief while her cousin, Barbara opted to simply disappear altogether. 

As for her? 

Well, she chose to remain and serve the city as Special Agent Raya Kean since she was no longer allowed to use her alter-ego, Fenix. 

Batman could take away her mask, after all. 

He had no control over her badge. 

That particular decision remained solely up to the police commissioner. 

Her refusal to comply with his order to leave Gotham went over about as well as new Coke did in the 80’s. 

Batman confronted her outside Arkham a month after she failed to leave the city as he mandated.

Raya remained firm in her stance, however. 

Gotham was her home as much as it was his . 

And I’m going to serve and protect it despite what the Bat-ass says. 

A sound — a barely discernible thwump   — interrupted her dark musings. 

There was only one man —outside of Batman — who’d drop down behind her like that. 

Only he’d dare. 

“Hello, bird boy.”

To keep reading click:

[martsonmars]

Thanks for the tags @monbons @hushed-chorus and @whatevertheweather. I'm back and it's pick a WIP Sunday!

I really want to get back into writing Snowbaz and participating actively in the fandom. I don't exactly have more free time but I did graduate and I am technically on holiday until October, so let's try.

So I'm sharing snippets from 6 WIPs and maybe I'll be inspired to finish one of them. Help me out!!!!

1. Where Baz is a different blood sucking creature than usual. Prince and the frog but the prince is just a guy and the frog is trying to steal your blood.

The heat would be more than sufficient to make Simon reconsider all of his life choices. Give up on meat. Never touch plastic again. He'd do anything.

But no, clearly whatever sin he's committed—was it writing Jesus/Judas fanfiction when he was 15? It wasn't even explicit!—was enough to condemn him to this.

2. Holiday with the Grimms, where Simon and Baz share a bed in the same room as Malcolm and Daphne.

“Sorry I haven't delivered to my father an updated list of all the cocks I've sucked.” He wasn't smiling, but I could hear the smirk in his voice. The fake smugness. I know he's sucked half a cock (half sucked one cock?) and it was quite a disaster. “He doesn't know how deeply my virtue has already been fucked.”

I still snort at the thought. (The answer is not deeply at all.)

3. TA Simon and Baz showing up to class in a slutty Blackbeard cosplay.

I don't need a complaint for assault (let alone sexual assault) to drive my doctorate even farther away from my grasp.

I just need Grimm-Pitch to leave my classroom and come back wearing proper trousers before my overworked brain cells decide to go on permanent strike. (I'm not sure they haven't deserted me already.)

More snippets and tags under the cut!

4. Where Baz is a dryad and Simon is a woodcutter.

Simon didn't know many things, but he was pretty sure that pines weren't pretty men with long dark hair and pouty lips. Of course, Simon had never seen a man with dark green skin before, either, but he resembled a man more than a pine.

“You are not a pine. You're a man,” Simon voiced his scepticism, and he was rewarded with one more pine cone hitting his forehead. If nothing, the tree man had an impeccable aim.

5. Secret concept for this one.

Tucked in a corner as if he was trying to make himself seem smaller, yet he's got my attention like the masterpiece in a museum. Even the dim light of the pizzeria is enough to imagine the shine of his bronze curls under the summer sun. He's pale and freckled, broad and solid. Sturdy like the old table in my living room. I can perfectly see how he'd fit there, between a stack of Spinoza's complete works and the cabinet where my grandmother's Capodimonte porcelain sits unused. His back to the floor-to-ceiling window that opens on the terrace, surrounded by the bright halo of the hours before sunset. Bright like a Michelangelo in a room that's all Caravaggio.

6. This one I'm going to continue for sure when inspiration strikes, so it's not part of pick a WIP Sunday. It's maybe guess the WIP Sunday in this case.

“Sounds like you could use a break,” his deep voice says from a corner of the hall, as if he's read my mind. I see a pair of long legs first—legs for miles—crossing the room towards me, wrapped in a pair of trousers so tight I can't help but wonder how he'll take them off. (Not that I'm thinking of Baz without trousers.) (I mean, I've seen him without trousers. He wears chitons most of the time.) (He also wears really short shorts.) (I just mean I'm not thinking about taking his trousers off.) (Just. I mean.)

Tags!! No pressure just saying hi because I miss you all!!!

@facewithoutheart @sillyunicorn @onepintobean @shrekgogurt @wellbelesbian @palimpsessed @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @forabeatofadrum @fatalfangirl @cutestkilla @ileadacharmedlife @bookish-bogwitch @artsyunderstudy @orange-peony @larkral @raenestee @stitchyqueer @technetiumai @brilla-brilla-estrellita @thewholelemon @theimpossibledemon @j-nipper-95 @imagineacoolusername @blackberrysummerblog @theearlgreymage @rimeswithpurple @messofthejess @alexalexinii @nightimedreamersworld @captain-aralias @jbrrring @prettygoododds @youarenevertooold @best--dress @theotherhufflepuff @run-for-chamo-miles @valeffelees @dragoneggos @gekkoinapeartree @ionlydrinkhotwater @erzbethluna @chen-chen-chen-again-chen @shemakesmeforget @basiltonbutliketheherb @otherpeoplesheartachept-2 @aristocratic-otter @noblecorgi

[secretly-a-catamount]

Malcabel WIP I guess

(They’re all horribly out of character in this, but I want them to be happy, god dam it! And I almost certainly misspelled Tavy’s name, but that’s just dyslexia for you. @lescahiersdesable)

  It was all Catarina Loss’s fault really.

  “Honestly, Malcolm,” the sky blue warlock had told Annabel’s husband when he’d called her positively panicking about being in charge of her (many times removed) nieces and nephews for a day, “why don’t you and Annabel just take the kids to the beach?”

  Trusting his friend’s judgment more than his own had been a rather terrible idea, Annabel thought amusingly as she watched the blond warlock race down the shoreline, waving his arms like a mad man, shouting that under no circumstances were the children to poke at that beached jellyfish with a stick, yes, Tiberius, even if it was already dead.

  After some whining (the children) and some poorly concealed begging (Malcom), the Blackthorn kids dispersed into the water and across the sand.

  Malcolm trudged back up the beach, and stood at the edge of the shade thrown by the umbrella stabbed into the ground.

  Annabel looked up from her drawing pad, her black brows furrowing in irritation at the shadow her husband had abruptly cast over her sketchbook. “You’re blocking my light.”

  His pale skin flushed a delicious raspberry red as he stammered out an “Oh, right, sorry” and moved to sit beside her on the blanket, smiling sheepishly. After a moment of comfortable silence, Malcolm absentmindedly ran his hand down her arm, stopping only to trace the black lines, curves, and whorls of her Runes. His touch was soft and light as a feather. “What are you drawing?”

  “You obviously.”

  “Obviously.” A pastel sketch of Malcolm in his striped bathing suit, looking tall and thin and almost frail, with softness to his frame and features that matched his disposition. A feint, salmon-pink sunburn on was his face and shoulders, and his lips were cracked (Annabel would solve that one way or another, either by the gifting him the tube of chapstick she’d squirreled away in her purse or by kissing him until he couldn’t breathe).

  “The kids.” Ty and Livvy and some golden-haired Mundane boy that Annabel didn’t know chasing a seagull. Mark and Helen teaching Tavy how to build a sandcastle. Dru, Julian, and a different golden-haired child that Annabel didn’t know, this one a Shadowhunter girl with a spill of bright curls and a practice training sword, diving into the ocean and swimming around in the shallows.

  “Church.” The fat, blue feline crouched down in the dunes, fluffy tail held erect, eyes focused on a mouse in front of him, mere seconds away from a pounce that Annabel knew would end in failure.

  “The L.A. Institute.” An imposing building that Annabel didn’t think could ever have the ability to look homely.

  “Home.” A snapshot of their living room, a Polaroid pinned with a paper-clip for reference, Malcolm’s latest draft of the Codex — her illustrations not yet accompanying his neat, meticulous writing — spilling off the end table onto the soft, red couch, one of Annabel’s favorite mugs (which would always be filled with tea, Annabel and Malcolm both hating the taste of coffee) filled with paint-streaked paint brushes and colored pencils.

  “And my first love, the sea.” Cerulean and cobalt-blue waves crashing to the shore.

  “Should I be jealous?” Malcolm had moved from her arm to her hand, gently interlacing their fingers together.

  “Oh, immensely. Definitely.”

[pimento-playing-hopscotch]

WIP Wednesday

Thank you for the tags, @carlos-in-glasses @lemonlyman-dotcom @lightningboltreader 🥰

This is for my TK has a little sister fic-

2013-

“IT’S GOING DOWN I’M YELLING TIMBER YOU BETTER MOVE YOU BETTER DANCE”

As the vocals in the song blasting above his head changed from Ke$ha’a to Pitbull’s, TK took the shot from Malcolm and downed it in one swallow. TK wasn’t sure if it was his third shot or his fourth — but he didn’t feel affected by them at all. He felt good. I knew Dad was wrong, TK told himself. I do too know my own limits. I can’t handle pills, and I’m not taking the pills. But social drinking isn’t the same. It’s being social. It’d be weirder if I didn’t. I can totally handle it. TK turned to join Malcolm and felt a little woozy.

Okay, so that last shot was probably his fourth. But that didn’t matter; the man that TK had been sleeping with for over a year had finally agreed to be seen with him in public. And he was in a club on New Years’ Eve; TK had been waiting for this his whole life.

TK stood up on his toes to kiss Malcolm. Malcolm wrapped his arms around TK and squeezed TK’s body against his own. This from the same guy who would swear up and down he didn’t know TK if their paths crossed out in the open. For a moment, TK was worried he was really drunk, or imagining all this.

“Thank you,” TK shouted to be heard above the music. “For getting me in”.

“You got it”. Malcolm grinned and TK noticed how bright his teeth looked under the lights. Malcolm’s long blonde hair had fallen perfectly over his shoulders, making it look like he had a halo.

“Another?” Malcolm said, gesturing towards the bar. Tk only hesitated for a brief second before he nodded.

This time, he went with Malcolm to get the drinks; the last two Malcolm had given him, TK had no idea what they were.

“Here”. Malcolm handed another shot to TK. “This will make you feel like you got shot in the tongue”.

“Cool”. TK laughed. “Being twenty sucks. I wish I could get into a place like this on my own”.

“You’re far from the youngest person in here,” Malcolm called. He pointed to a couple who were weaving through the crowd and stopped at the bar. “Miss trying-too-hard with those hooker boots,” Malcolm said. “Way younger than you. Probably still in high school”.

“Well, that’s judgey”. TK rolled his eyes. “My sister has boots like that”. Though TK didn’t know if she had them anymore, though. Lorraine had given them to her, and had sent his mother into a what-could-that-woman-possibly-be-thinking-who-gives-boots-like-this-to-a-teenager tirade. His dad and Lorraine had been married for five months, and TK had yet to hear his mother refer to Lorraine as anything other than “that woman” (usually in the context of “who does THAT WOMAN think she is!”)

“Ah, shit”. TK heard Malcolm say as the song playing ended.

“What?” TK asked.

“I think I saw one of the kids who works with my dad,” Malcolm replied. TK saw the familiar expression of alarm wash over Malcolm’s face. “I’m gonna lay low,” he told TK. “Stay here. I’ll be back”. With that, he turned and was making his way through the crowd.

“Really?” TK said, mostly to himself. He had hoped they could have a little more than forty minutes at the club together before Malcolm freaked out.

TK edged closer to the bar and put the shot on the counter. Besides the fact that he wasn’t super pleased with Malcolm right now, it looked kind of like blood.

TK looked around, his mood a little bit more sour than it was a few minutes ago. The woman who had boots like his sister’s was at the other end of the bar, doing a shot. If she hadn’t been standing underneath the strobe lights, TK wouldn’t have noticed.

If his…. Whatever it was that he and Malcolm were to each other, he wouldn’t have noticed.

But while looking for something else to distract him, TK realized with horror that this girl had a lot more in common with his sister than just the boots.

TK pushed through the other people at the bar until he was closer and then he shouted, “SOPHIE!” His sister turned around and saw him. She looked exactly as surprised as he felt.

“TK?” she said as the music got loud again. “What are you doing here?”

“Me?” TK shouted back. “What are you doing here?” He grabbed his sister’s wrist and started dragging her through the crowd towards the coat room area. Now he was really glad he hadn’t taken that last shot; he was having enough trouble with the situation as it was.

“Okay, enough”. Sophie said loudly, even though now the hallway they were in was a lot quieter. “TK, you are not supposed to be here. You’re only twenty”.

“You… I’m…” TK started a few sentences but didn’t finish them. “You’re fourteen! And you…” TK hadn’t really stopped to look at his sister, who in addition to the six-inch boots, had on a sleeveless silver top covered in sequins and very short black shorts on. “Why do you like… not have clothes on?” He asked. “It’s eighteen degrees outside!”

“God, you’re turning into Dad,” Sophie groaned.

“Don’t start,” TK pointed his finger at her. “How did you even get in? Where does Mom think you are?”

“At a sleepover”. Sophie said, hands on her hips. “Where does Dad think you are? You’re supposed to be sober”.

“I am sober!” TK exclaimed, emphasizing the last word by stomping his foot. “I haven’t even thought about taking pills even once. Having a few drinks doesn’t count”.

No pressure tags - @dreamingofmickeywaffles @rachelsversion1 @firstprince-history-huh @reyestrandd @tailoredshirt @sugdenlovesdingle and anyone else who wants to do it 🫶

[blaineandsamevanderson]

What are your current fandom obsessions?

Oh boy....maybe I'll just list the ones I have WIPs I'm activly working on LOL! In no particular order:

9-1-1: Buddie (Evan 'Buck' Buckley and Eddie Diaz)

2. 9-1-1 Lone Star: Tarlos (TK Strand and Carlos Reyes)

3. Red, White and Royal Blue: First Prince (Henry Fox and Alex Caremont-Diaz)

4. Star Trek: McKirk (James T Kirk and Leonard McCoy)

5. Game of Thrones: Braime (Brienne of Tarth and Jaime Lannister)

6. Game of Thrones: Jonsa (Jon Snow and Sansa Stark)

7. Hawaii Five 0: McDanno (Steve McGarrett and Danny Williams)

8. Prodigal Son: Malcolm Bright and Dani Powell

9. Supernatural: Destiel (Dean Winchester and Castiel)

10. Teen Wolf: Thaim (Liam Dunbar and Theo Raeken)

11. Ted Lasso: Tedependent (Ted Lasso and Trent Crimm)

12. Ted Lasso: Roy Kent and Jamie Tartt

13. Ted Lasso: Roy Kent, Jamie Tartt and Keeley Jones

(Bonus cute pic with Roy's niece Phoebe)

14. Leverage: Eliot Spencer, Parker and Alec Hardison

[sequencefairy]

Hello Jess it's time for fun fic authors self rec! Kindly tell us your favorite five fics you've written, then pass this on to spread the self-love ❤️

Oh! Thank you beloved.

♦ 'Cause This is Devotion - Ten/Rose, Bad Wolf!Rose, 4.6k, M

“You do not get to die on me now, you daft alien, not after I’ve been through so goddamn much to get back to you.” Rose sits up to pound her fist into his chest. “Fucking breathe, damn you,” she swears, and when no one says anything to stop her, she pounds the Doctor’s chest again. She wonders if she can break his ribs the way she could break a man’s. There’s no one left to ask now, not with him so still, so silent; splayed across the asphalt like a puppet with his strings cut. His face is slack, eyes closed and mouth parted. OR: The Doctor dies in the road, and Rose Tyler tells the universe no.

One night, @zjofierose and I were spelunking through our WIP folders and I found the skeleton of this and it sparked something inside of me and I immediately desired to finish it. I love Bad Wolf!Rose, I love creating actions that have far-reaching consequences we do not explore on the page, I love writing Doctor/Rose angst.

♦ Rush Light - Jaskier/Yennefer, canon-adjacent, post-s2, 22k, E

He’d been headed back from the taverns down by the wharf, having done a tour of the establishments to see if one would take him on for the weekend, when he’d seen it: a flash of purple in the light of a street lamp, swiftly followed by several large men in dark clothes. Something had turned over in the bottom of his stomach at the sight. Even if it wasn’t who he thought it might be, this wasn’t a neighbourhood for someone with the kind of coin to afford a cloak that colour to be wandering around in. So, against his mostly better judgement, Jaskier had let himself turn down the selfsame alley, steps slowing so as not to arrive as a too hasty surprise. He creeps forward, glad of the rushing rain as it muffles his footsteps. Some people also forget that he is quite capable of being quiet when needs must. Very good that he did go to this trouble after all; he hears her before he gets close enough to see them. “Get the fuck off me!” she snarls, and oh, Jaskier would know that voice anywhere. In which a sorceress gets herself into a spot of bother, and Jaskier happens to be in the area. It's all rather more serious than he expects.

I finished s2 of The Witcher and immediately descended into my google drive with forty ideas and this was the one that floated to the top. I love this fic. I had so much fun writing it. It gave me back my fantasy voice, it reminded me that I can write things that are fully for my own self and that other people will also enjoy them, and it was fun as hell to do a bunch of silly research for this.

♦ Signal Fire - Prodigal Son gen!fic, Malcolm Bright-centric, post-series finale, 2.8k, M

Dani’s footsteps crunch over brittle and drying grass as she approaches. Her weapon is still up. Sunlight glints off the barrel. “Bright?” she asks. Malcolm doesn't look down.

I got into Prodigal Son before realising that it didn't have an ending and when I got through to the end of what we got, I was left with so many questions. None of them are answered in this fic, but I did reaffirm the love I have for whumping the pretty boy.

♦ For Your Eyes Only - Shyan, 007 AU, 6.2k, E

The door to the elevator opens and Shane's stomach sinks. He’d know the breadth of those shoulders anywhere. “Moneypenny!” Ryan crows, as he sweeps towards Shane’s desk. Shane thinks wistfully of the long rice noodles and sweet-spicy sauce he has been dreaming about all week. Mr Daeng’s Tom Yum would also have been such a nice addition to Shane’s fridge for the weekend. “Don’t call me that,” Shane says, and regrets it immediately. OR: It's Bergara. Ryan Bergara, and he'll have his martini shaken, not stirred. Shane, on the other hand, manages M's calendar with an iron fist and has no time for nonsense. Or does he?

This fic is so sexy, if I do say so myself. It's got spies, it's got a little violence, it's got the author's kink discovery in the middle of it. What's not to love?

This Tornado Loves You - Shyan, Storm Chasers AU, 22k, E

“Thing’s a fuckin’ monster,” TJ says into the phone, “you should be able to see it now.” Shane turns to look out the truck window. The sky is black, and around him, the corn tops are still. Nothing moves. The air feels terrifyingly full. Shane looks under the storm. It takes him a moment, but then he sees it, backlit by a flash of lightning. All the hair stands up on the back of Shane’s neck. Or: Shane Madej is a serious scientist, not just some yahoo with a camera and a death wish. Ryan, on the other hand, has a camera and a plan.

When they said write what you know, I took them at their word and wrote 22k about storms and chasing them and filled it full of weather and romance and the kind of proposal I might even say yes to, if it ever happened to me in the future.

[writethrough]

The WIP Tag Game

Rules: Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it.

Thank you for tagging me, @steph-speaks! 😊

I don’t even know where to start! I have so many WIP for lots of fandoms. Here are just a few:

Finnick Odair friends to lovers situation

Various Avatar the Last Airbender/Legend of Korra fics for a whole spectrum of characters

Flightless

Witch

The Evolution of Us

Only One

I've Got You

Bad Boy Type (Part II)

A Sign of Heat

004

Malcolm Bright Request

*Titles are subject to change

Tagging: @bookshelf-dust, @billysbabyy, @alloftheimagines

[girlscience]

Wip titles game!

I was tagged by @bagheerita :)

Rules: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! and then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

I don't write (wish I did, but if wishes were horses and all that) however! I sometimes I do write down stuff about oc's or worldbuilding so I'm going to count that. There aren't very many of them tho lol

Bright&Murphy

Fae Story

Zaz

I'll tag @lesbiansanemi @malcolm-reeds-pineapple and @filmamir no pressure though :)

[cauldronoflove]

six sentence sunday

tagged by @formosusiniquis <33

the only writing urge i've had recently has been from The Horrors (writing silly 911 fic that shant escape containment) so i combed through my trek wips and found something legible <3

Whoever's bright idea it was to play god with the artificial climate, Trip figures, should be drawn and quartered. Not one of his engineering ducklings, no, sir. One of Malcolm's little phaser runners. All yes, sir, Lieutenant Reed, sir, care for a spot of tea with your terrifying reputation, sir. The guy managed to catch a cold in a hermetically sealed, top of the line spacecraft and he's the one all the ensigns are scared shitless of. Wonders never cease, and overzealousness doesn't mix with delicate electrical systems.

open tag to my beloved mutuals

[the-flaming-nightmare]

Tagged by the wonderful @anewkindofme! 💛

Here's what I've got so far for the second chapter of "Walk on With Hope in Your Heart":

It had been four days since Malcolm was admitted to the hospital, and two since he regressed. Just as Gil had expected, Malcolm's headspace had ended up on the younger end of the age spectrum. He woke up in a newborn headspace the afternoon after Gil told him about everything that had happened with Watkins and he hasn't aged up in the slightest since, staying firmly in the one week mark.

Normally when Malcolm was in a very young headspace like this, he was a relatively easy newborn to care for, sleeping most of the time and only crying when he was hungry or needed a diaper change. However, given the pain from his injuries and the grief that was no doubt still present despite his current headspace, Malcolm was almost the complete opposite right now. While Malcolm did still sleep a fair amount, he would immediately burst into tears if he wasn't in somebody's arms, and sometimes even then he would still cry until he eventually tired himself out enough to fall back asleep.

Currently, Gil was pacing the hospital room's floor at six in the morning, trying (unsuccessfully) to calm his uncontrollably wailing son down. The Little had woken up about half an hour ago needing a change, but even once he was clean the tears just kept coming. A nurse had come in just a few minutes prior to ask if he needed any help, but Gil turned him away and told him he would hit the call button if he couldn't get the Little calm in the next twenty minutes.

Gil gently swayed Malcolm as he walked back and forth, all the while continuously whispering words of comfort and reassurance to him. Though, it seemed that no matter what the Caregiver did or said, the poor baby just couldn't stop crying.

Tagging (if you wanna): @angelique-of-the-volturi-guard, @autisticalastor, @stemroses, @reaperlight, @nottapossum and anyone else who wants to join!

[missshezz]

Chapter Three of 9 Crimes (A Batman/Prodigal Son Crossover story)

Chapter Three of 9 Crimes has been posted!

Chapters 1 and 2 can be found clicking the links

Summary: Jason Todd finds himself pulled back into the family when Malcolm Bright, one of the few members of the Batfamily he had no grudge with is targeted by a copycat killer. Can he set aside his bad blood long enough to bring this killer to justice or will old wounds, and dark memories, prevent him from working with Batman?

Post-Under the Red Hood

He stood at the top of a set of stairs as familiar to him as the cobblestone streets and dark alleyways of Park Row and Crime Alley. 

Pitch blackness surrounded him as he slowly descended those stone steps. 

Shadows taunted him, beckoned him, whispered in his ears with every step he took. Above him came the silky wet rustle of wings as the bats roosted amidst the jagged stalactites awoke. 

He reached the bottom of the stairs and crossed a footbridge over a slow-moving river to where a series of dark slate obelisks loomed.   

He passed them and continued up a steel ramp. From the corner of his eye he saw the changing area, workout room, medical area, and laboratory.  

He could feel eyes on him as he walked up another ramp to where the main computer grotto was located.  

Something shifted to his left.  

He turned as a figure oozed from the shadows, it's great gaping maw, and glistening fangs looming closer and closer...

[justmoreocs-writing]

📜

Five facts about my favourite OC:

Hal (Peaky Blinders) – Practically grew up with the Shelbys as his family, considering them closer than his own flesh and blood; Hasn’t touched a drop of alcohol since his mother’s death, sure there have been times where he was tempted to, but he restrains himself; Was the first of the Peaky Blinders to sign up for the War, determined to help with everything; Used to make up excuses to take his car to Cece to look at before the two of them officially started seeing each other; Has never really had an ear for languages, but was always determined to learn at least a little Welsh for Cece.

Four things I’m most excited to write for:

Oskar and Frankie being there for each other (Detroit: Become Human); Matt and Lucy date (Until Dawn); Just anything really where Lily and Eggsy get to interact (Kingsman); Part of me really wants to write something about A.J. and Jason being reunited (Nightwing).

Three OTPs and why:

Annie and Malcolm (Prodigal Son), I’ve not done much for them, but the way they look out for each other is something that I’m excited to explore more of; Alina and Marcus (A Discovery of Witches), I always love writing for their dynamic, and the gentle teasing that they have but complete care is something I adore; Lucy and Matt (Until Dawn), there’s something sweet about writing for them that I enjoy, even if I’ve not done much for it.

Two fic authors I adore and their OCs:

pondsocs - Cassiopea (Harry Potter), because after the Halloween crossover I can’t help thinking of her with a smile on my face; fiercefray’s Cami and Eden (Constantine) will always have a very special place in my heart.

One WIP paragraph:

From Elements, Brains and Fangs (Teen Wolf): She let out a long breath. ‘Oh yeah,’ she said, turning her attention away from Stiles and bouncing her leg slightly. ‘Totally can’t wait.’ She paused before finally looking at Stiles, trying for a bright smile but worrying that it came across like a grimace. ‘Anyway, I should go in and hear the death sentence that’s been passed on me for sneaking out. See you tomorrow.’

[take-you-directly-to-hell]

IM TRYING TO DRAW IN THE CAR AND I CANT DO THE LINE ART WITH A FINE TIP AND OH MY ODIN THIS IS GOING TO TAKE A WHILE

[prodbionic]

All The Bright Angels Will Fall Down

{{A snippet in hopes that I get the motivation to finish the chapter}}

Someone in a dark uniform comes rushing in, heedless of Martin not two feet away from him. Malcolm wants to warn him. He tries. His tongue is heavy, throat working uselessly to push out non-existent words, mouth gaping like a fish out of water.

The guard crouches beside him and says something that doesn't make it past Malcolm's ears, they're tuned only with Martin's frequency. There's nothing else breaking through the haze encompassing him and his father.

Malcolm pushes with weakened legs, slides in small increments away from Martin who easily marches two steps forward for every inch Malcolm makes backwards. Like a sick fateful dance.

He can't escape. 

He knew all along he could never escape.

Helpless tears fall from his eyes, his chest hitching on his breaths, silently pleading with Martin to leave him alone.

Martin wears a smug expression, hands in his pockets, rocking on the balls of his feet.

Another man comes right in, helps the guard haul an unresisting Malcolm up. They place him on the mattress where he immediately slumps sideways, his spine incapable of holding him upright. 

Eyes still clinging to Martin's.

Together they arrange him on the bed.

The guard walks away, breezing beside an amused, unruffled Martin where Malcolm's eyes are transfixed. Until the second man, a doctor most likely, gets up close and personal with Malcolm's face.

Involuntarily, Malcolm's eyes shift away from Martin and looks at the doctor. It's the first time Malcolm sees him. He has kind eyes, he can't help but notice. He looks concerned.

"Finally," the doctor breathes, "I'm Dr. Kenton. How are you feeling, Malcolm?"

[breannacasey]

The Overwhelming Darkness

Malcolm stabbed his father, again, and he's not sure how to go from there, or whether he even wants to.

Malcolm Bright & Ainsley Whitly, Malcolm Bright/Dani Powell, Malcolm Bright & Martin Whitly, Malcolm Bright & Jessica Whitly. 1 568 words. Teen and Up, possible major character death.

Warnings: Suicidal thoughts, Stabbing, Attempted murder, Unhappy ending

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