#snippets

[spoofymcgee]

Stone grew up lonely. Every other word out of his parents' mouths, his teachers' and siblings' was 'we'. 'This is what we do', 'that's just the way we think', 'we believe that's what happens'. He was never quite sure if everyone else genuinely felt connected all like that, one massive web across the globe sharing all these tiny little connectors, or if it was another lie. Either way, he wasn't stupid--he saw the way people started to watch him from a young age, too blank and quiet compared to the children around him, how they flinched back when they pushed him too far and he lashed out. If they were God's sheep, he was the wolf amongst the herd, quiet and docile up until something made him snap. He didn't blame them. He could watch, stuck behind reactions he couldn't control and didn't know how to change, observe exactly how different he was, how far even from the edges of their proclaimed crowd he'd been left behind. He'd grown up, though, turned the ivory mask of his face into an asset instead of a failing, the constant calm and the sudden violence into his tools, and made something useful of himself. It took longer than it should have for him to realize that he didn't have to be useful to the people who'd abandoned him. It took meeting the doctor. For the first time, Stone felt the addicting rush of being a speck of dust in the universe, some tiny miniscule part of a whole greater than he could comprehend. If he could be there to bring the doctor coffee, fill out the paperwork and herd squirming, bigheaded superiors away from his work, keep the rest of the mundane, everyday world as far as possible from the doctor's singular brilliance, he was something. It didn't matter how many times the doctor yelled, the insults that spilled off his tongue like being caught in a torrential downpour; painful and shocking and dangerous, but exhilarating if you were brave enough. The shattered coffee cups and raving and soreness of his jaw in the blooming shape of fingers was nothing compared to the electrifying experience of watching the doctor demonstrate the seamless flight pattern of a new swarm and know he'd soldered the seams and coated the wiring for some of that perfection. Stone had waved goodbye to any religion he'd been raised with three days into his acquaintance with the doctor. It wasn't like his parents' god had given him anything more or less than the doctor could provide, and he'd never felt like he could leave his fingerprints on the world more than he did watching the doctor wipe the smudges of them off the badniks' lenses. The doctor was indifferent. Any praise or condemnation on his part was mercurial, forgotten or remembered according to a pattern as senseless as the topography of a junk drawer. Stone was ultimately beneath his notice; nothing more than a stepping stone, a cupholder, an easy way to dispose of snags in his plans in the form of men with weapons capable of tearing open the fragile human shell containing his untouchable brilliance. He was universes away from Stone, and Stone was nothing more than a faceless solution to minor annoyances. But he was the one who got to stand here, who got to serve the doctor, argue for him and squabble for him and spill blood for him. It was more than anything he'd ever dreamed of getting, and everything he could have wanted.

[liketwoswansinbalance]

Fic Excerpt:

@heya-there-friends I figured you might be interested since I've mentioned this potential fic to you.

⸻

General Note on Content: My intent is not to be preachy/moralistic/politically-charged but to depict an interesting scene and characterization in the context of a broader, would-be chapter, in which I've tried to match a setting from One True King. So, for the sake of storytelling and the existence of conflict, do not expect everything to be perfectly politically-correct. I'm going to leave a blanket tw: bigotry.

Context: Set during Rafal's desertion of the School in Pifflepaff Hills.

⸻

Rafal waited in line irritably. He had places to be. And he couldn���t stand putting up with this bureaucratic nonsense of Pifflepaff Hill’s. Wasn’t even his ruling. He glared at his boots and the heads behind him.

A whine speared out of the line from in front of him.

“Aw, but Mum! The squer-rills are out today!” A child no doubt.

“Keep in line and be a Good little girl,” a gentlewoman's voice chastised.

“Naah,” the child’s voice rang out, with a stamp of its foot. “I don’ wanna. And I’m not going through that damn pink door!”

The woman tittered and clucked. “You’re not a gnome, dear.”

Rafal felt a sharp tug on his coattails and turned, summoned by the little being.

“Silver-for-your-thoughts, sir?”

Unimpressed, Rafal gazed down at the child. Who in their right mind struck up conversation with the Evil School Master? Then again, he’d hadn’t a chance to visit Putsi yet and could do for a coin, even just one, to tide himself over with. No, that would be foolish. He had sorcery. Why bother with it? “Go away.”

“Please?”

Rafal took the coin up and fished out the novelty matchbox he’d bought as a present for Rhian at the night market. It was a set of Clive-Sons-&-Goblins speciality matchsticks, each coated with a powdered element that when lit produced a different color of the visible spectrum. His brother didn’t deserve it anyway—Rafal dropped it into the child’s now empty hands. “Avaunt.”

The child ran off, matchbook clutched with a death grip for fear of confiscation, and ducked into a small grove of trees nearby.

Rafal looked on, amused. That one would know how to use it. He could see it in the eyes.

“How dare you speak to my child that way!”

“Madam?” Rafal regarded the gentlewoman with derision.

“Prudence! Get back here this instant!” the woman called. She spun to Rafal. “You’re going to make my daughter and I tardy for our counseling appointment.”

“You’re holding up this blasted line.”

The woman gasped, clearly offended. “Sir! That is—”

Her eyes lit up with recognition and widened in fear as she realized she’d been conversing with the Evil School Master. “Oh, dear me, I don’t want you to consort with my daughter ever again!” she harrumphed. “You might fill her head with more raging, Evil thoughts! Like the last one she’s latched onto.”

“And what might that be?”

“Oh, it’s just a phase. Quite an enduring one though. For some reason, she’s got it in her head that she’s a boy—keeps insisting on it.”

“Uh-huh.” Rafal glanced over at the child jumping at a branch, dressed in culottes instead of skirts and a newsboy’s cap over its crudely shorn head.

“I dealt with adolescents daily and you’re wasting my valuable time with not just another child’s insubordination but your own. I don’t care what runs through their undeveloped heads. Just let your offspring pick whichever door without dilly-dallying, and let me through, if you so insist that it’s your turn now. And frankly, I don’t care what children believe about themselves or what they do so long as they’re productive. So, once again, you’re at a crossroads, one that probably seems complex to your simple mind: let me through the damn door if you’re delaying your turn, or move along now.”

“Why I never! It’s all I’d expect from a Never like you—corrupting innocent, young minds.”

“I don’t care if my basic job description as an educator upsets you. I’m not in the business of distributing good cheer and rainbows—” he began, with marked pith.

“You should be more like your brother. The Good one,” the woman suggested as if she’d stumbled upon the discovery of the century.

“Madam.” Rafal smirked to himself, “If I were anything more like my brother, it wouldn’t be such a far leap to assume you’d find reason to hate me more than you already do.”

“Goodness, what’s there to hate about him? Why, Rhian’s a pillar of Goodness and Godliness.”

“That is certainly… one way to define him… ” Rafal sighed. “Listen, your choice in naming wasn’t very prudent. Now, I could give you another problem to worry about, but I won’t because I have things to do. So, let me by," he seethed, towering over her.

She quailed and burbled, “I just need to collect my daughter and—”

“In all fairness, I think your son’s gender is the least you’ve got to worry about. It seems that in all that frenzy of yours, you haven't been paying attention to his morality.”

“Wha—what’s morality got to do with it? You’re the immoral one! You, you Never! I’m a woman of my word!”

“And I’m a man of action.”

Not the insult she seems to think it is, Rafal mused to himself. He himself was an exemplary specimen of a Never.

A squeak pierced the air.

She and Rafal glanced over at the copse of trees.

The boy had completed his squirrel chase and was holding a lit match burning a brilliant blue which smoked pink and white, to the creature’s throat.

“There. You see? Least of your problems. I’ll swing by and collect him in eight years. Should make a fine student if he keeps it up. And with that initiative, he’s certainly on track to become a Leader.”

The henpecked mother looked like she’d swallowed a toad and shouted, disoriented, “WHAT IN THE BLUE BLAZES IS HE DOING! Good God, please tell me I haven't birthed an Evil imp!” She wailed at the cotton-candy sky.

The Neverboy, whatever-his-name-would-be, waved ta-ta as Rafal watched and winked.

Rafal continued on his way through the blue doorway, whistling, having sown an impending uproar.

New problems really did extinguish the old. Worked like a charm. At least Rhian would be pleased when Rafal told him about his Good deed of the decade.

“SIR!”

Rafal turned back.

The boy waved his matchstick, sparks flying, as if he’d had an epiphany. “THE NAME’S CLIVE!”

Clive. Clive of Pifflepaff Hills, the Evil School Master noted. One more name for the ledger.

[thesongistheriver]

thanks @bebravedearheart for the tag, even though I just did one of these and am woefully short of WIPs. LOL.

Rules: you will be given a word. Then you share one sentence/excerpt from your wip(s) that starts with each letter of your word! My word is SHIP.

S: So Arthur pressed on, ignoring his uncle’s attempts to get him to give up the search. 

H: “Hardly a lie in, sire,” Merlin retorted, and the tease in his voice made Arthur bite back a smile. “It’s barely past daybreak.”

I: In the shadows, Merlin’s sapphire eyes seemed to shine. He’d draped his arms loosely over his knees, tilting his head to regard Arthur carefully, almost as if Arthur were something precious, and a soft, devoted smile flickered over his lips.

P: “Perhaps everything would have turned out differently.”

no-pressure tagging @citharaposts @shana-rosee @ravenwilds and anyone else! Your word is SNOW

[gothsuguru]

petty!geto / bratty!geto you mean the world to me

[diaspro-back-here]

Bahahah second tag in this game, I love it, thanks @bluedandylyon !

I have a bit to share from a just-posted fic, but let's go with the beginning of Ch2 for last week XD (it's about a time-travel fic with LS trapped in a loop to fix her bullshit lol)

She was… numb for a moment. The rush of new power was gone, the oppressive air of her surroundings had cleared, her ears filled with noise now perceived only a comfortable silence, and her face, which she was still covering, felt… smooth again. That was when she realized it. With a gasp, she finally looked up, only to find herself back in that fateful meeting. —Light Spinner? —What is going on?— she weakly asked. —Are you… alright? —No. This can’t be happening again!— she groaned, not intending it as an answer to him but rather just stating facts. Ignoring the murmur of the Council around them, Norwyn remained pensive for a moment, now a bit concerned. He gave everyone a stern look to keep them quiet and approached the woman. —If you’re not feeling well, Light Spinner, maybe we should call off the meeting and let you rest. —No amount of rest can fix or explain what’s happening to me!— she exclaimed, enraged.

Hmm... now, more people to tag...

@lyndexv maybe? 👀

Oh! Or @thestargayzingetherian !

Have fun!!

Thank you so much for @kierarhawke for tagging me in this!!

The rules are as follows: post the first line of your wip, the first line you worked on today, or any other “first line!”

For this I decided to post the first paragraph of a Locked Tomb WIP im working on with the lovely @d0c-help-us-all !!

The spit and crackle of the amp reverberated through Gideon, grounding her in place. She angled her Gibson so that the pickups were in the direct path of the sound, and the response was instant. A high beading building hum of discordant noise, a thrumming current of feedback which was hers alone to control. She flexed the neck of her guitar, bending the mahogany wood back while keeping one hand on the body to steady it. The feedback responded in kind, its pitch rising and falling in turn, layering upon itself to blanket the room in a wall of sound.

Tysm again for tagging me!! I'm going to tag @d0c-help-us-all , @eviebebeevie , @aprillikesthings , and @cynnamonfomx !! Absolutely no pressure at all to do it!!!

[piltoversfinest-caitvi]

Caitlyn Kiramman and Vi from the Artbook

Please note there are 221 pages in this artbook. I am not posting everything! But here are some of the spreads for both Caitlyn and Vi that I decided to upload. Some tidbits are also incredibly interesting!

If you want more snippets, I'll be over on twt posting them (@FelurianRose)

Temporarily out of stock but here is the link to buy the artbook: https://www.amazon.com/Art-Making-Arcane-Gaming/dp/B0D47SKF19

[torakowalski]

I was thinking about post S4 Dustin finding some songs that Eddie wrote and he decides he's going to record them as like, a memorial. But on the day he's too upset to do it, so Steve steps in and does it for him.

And it's only meant to be for the Party, but people hear it and the lyrics are good and Steve has a nice voice, so it gets on really local radio. Which leads to a bit more attention and then a bit more.

People want to interview Steve about it, this singer-songwriter from the town that was just destroyed by an earthquake.

But all Steve wants to do is explain how they're not HIS songs, they're Eddie's songs. Except! Everyone thinks Eddie is a murderer, so he can't say whose songs they are, just sort of talks around it. And it accidentally sounds like he's talking around them having been written by an ex boyfriend.

Some people who read the music magazines are like GASP that boy who sings those songs is queer! Like us!! And then he gets a FOLLOWING.

He truly has no idea how any of this is happening, but everyone from Hellfire is so happy that Eddie's songs are getting heard that he just kind of keeps going. Plus he's making money from them, which he can give to Wayne.

(Eddie obvs gets out of the Upside Down and is like, why have you POP SONGED my lyrics??

Steve like, um excuse that's rock. Also I think I've fallen in love with you via singing your songs. That's chill, right?)

[kraken17]

On account of the "Enid is the stalker" theory resurfacing in some corners of the fandom...

Wednesday: So, of all people, you are my stalker.

Enid: ...yes.

Wednesday: Just a minute after Xavier gave me that infernal phone object you threatened to sever his jugular if he didn't give you my number and the first thing you do after getting it is send me a death threat.

Enid: [nods].

Wednesday: And after that you have spent the last four months threatening me, manipulating images and videos and getting me to suspect everyone but you.

Enid: [nods again].

Wednesday: And you have only chosen to confess the truth to try to stop my attempt to eliminate Yoko, whom you had made suspect number 1.

Enid: Yep.

Wednesday: Enid, why? Why all this?

Enid: [very quietly] I thought you'd like it?

[beat]

Wednesday: Querida [takes Enid in her arms] ...I loved it.

Yoko: Okay, cool, but can you untie me from this pole and keep the gasoline away? Pretty please? Thank you.

[cokoweee]

Srry drawing these guys make me happy atm

[light-koe-pinsky]

Thats a strange egg

"y si te parece que yo estoy enamorado tuyo, eso es un invento intuyo, no des credito al murmullo ♪"

[thundersarts]

Hands slip up from Regulus' waist to his shoulders, to the back of his neck, diving in the grown curls at his nape before sliding to cup his cheeks. James does it so reverently. Not like he's holding something fragile, or fickle. Regulus always hated being perceived like that– like something that needs protection, needs to be saved, that needs care and to be coddled. He's never even said out loud, but, somehow, James knows.

James doesn't do any of that. No. James holds him like he's precious.

James likes to care for what and who he holds close to his heart. He likes to protect it, and surely likes to pamper, to help, to care. But none of that is out of necessity, nor responsibility. James holds him simply because he wants to.

He looked at Regulus and thought, I like that. I'll cherish it.

[peppermint-whiskers]

Introducing:

An au by myself and @emositecc (all artwork here done by her, btw! 💖💖)

Premise: Because snake forms aren't common in Heaven, Pentious has to change forms per Sera’s orders in order to not make waves. At the same time, she places a spell on him that prevents him from speaking about who he was before and his time in Hell. Using the nickname Pen, he's sent down to Hell every once in a while to help them with redemption, acting as the representative. While there, he has a lot of trouble reconnecting because of the spell and because of the weird deja vu the others get whenever he's around. It also doesn't help that they're still mourning Pentious—he can't tell them that he's okay and that redemption works.

He does succeed in reconnecting with them, but only as “Pen.”

It'll be done in 3 acts:

Act 1: Reconnection

Sir Pentious, under the alias Pen, is sent to Hell every once in a while to help them with redemption. There, he struggles to reconnect with his friends, who are still mourning his supposed "death."

Act 2: Mind Wipe

After a disasterous event caused by Alastor, Pentious begs Sera to wipe his memories of his life before as it's the only way he can think of to ease the pain. This works for only a while, and the confusion between his two forms makes him restless. Emily smuggles him back to Hell to help him regain his memories.

Act 3: Consequences

After resolving the mind wipe, Sera realizes the error of her actions and tries in earnest to help Charlie's hotel with redemption. However, the reveal of the mind wipe and redemption causes waves in both Heaven and Hell.

Some artwork and snippets (written by me) under the cut!

No spoilers yet, obviously uwu

Snippet 1:

“The envoy is supposed to come today!” Charlie exclaimed, positively bouncing around the hotel lobby. “I'm sooooo excited! What do you think they'll be like??”

“Sexy,” Angel immediately said with his usual teasing tone.

“Respectful,” Vaggie sighed. After failed extermination, they've had countless meetings with Heaven, and the head seraphim has been . . . less than helpful. As much as she hated to admit it, dealing with Emily was much preferred to dealing with Sera.

“I just hope you know what you're doing,” Husk chimed in. “Inviting an angel to stay longterm here could be dangerous.”

“It’ll be fine,” Charlie assured them. “We'll keep them safe, and they'll help us with redemption! It's a win-win!”

A circular portal opened up just outside the hotel. Squealing with joy, Charlie rushed outside to meet their newest friend and staff member. Out stepped a tall gentleman with dark skin, white hair, and a pale blue suit. His eyes seemed to look over the hotel with nostalgia—Charlie would bet anything that in life, he was a hotel manager himself. That would be just perfect! She could use a little more help than Alastor deigned to provide.

Snippet 2

Their new guest wasn't doing so well. Somehow, through fake coughs and weak insistence, Pen managed to convince Charlie that he didn't need to come out of his room, thank you very much. Charlie wasn't dumb, of course, and her sympathetic nature was just one of the many reasons Vaggie loved her. Instead of pressing the issue, she let Pen stay in his room for the day and let him continue claiming he was sick.

He may have convinced the others, but Charlie and Vaggie both knew better. Angels couldn't get sick, but this was one hell of a bout of homesickness.

Charlie herself brought meals up to his room and coaxed him to eat, and Vaggie went when she was busy, but he never once opened the door. After two days of this, Vaggie finally took it upon herself to see him herself and get to the bottom of this. Breakfast in hand, she headed up the stairs and prepared herself for a battle of wills of which she was sure she would win.

[honeycakelion]

find a divine machine today, in YOUR local abandoned factory

[creweemmaeec11]

Just a Sense

This is my secret santa snippet I wrote for @chaoticgoodthief. Their Prompt was:  "how about the joke villain going ballistic when someone hurts their designated hero?"

I really hope you like it!!!

"Alright, party's over," Hero's voice echoed through the empty halls of the museum.

Villain didn't bother turning around immediately, continuing to admire the painting they were looking at before casually turning to face their guest, "I'd have to disagree," They mused, hopping down from the ledge, "Now that you're here, the party can finally start,"

The Hero grinned, pulling their dagger out and twirling it between their fingers, "Alright, if you're looking for a dance partner-"

"Awe, come on!" The criminal interrupted, "We haven't even gotten to enjoy the museum yet!" they twirled with their arms out to gesture to everything around them, "We have the place to ourselves tonight! We can even go past the guard ropes, don't worry, I won't tell,"

The Hero raised an amused eyebrow, "You don't think I have better things to do?"

The Villain shot them a cheshire, all too knowing smile, "I think we both know you do, and we both know that's exactly why you're here in the first place,"

It was a distraction, for both of them. A game of cat and mouse that repeated like clockwork, comforting in its predictability. They were both safe here, in a weird way. They knew each other, knew the stakes, knew it wasn't actually a fight to the death, that no matter what, Villain would slip away at the end of the night, so they could do it all over again.

The Hero blushed, but rolled their eyes, failing to keep the slight smile off their face, "Sure, whatever helps you sleep at night,"

"Put that butter knife away; we both know you're not actually going to stab me with it,"

"Oh yeah? I do have an actual job to do here, you know?" The Hero countered, crossing their arms.

"Oh my god, are you two done flirting yet?" A new voice cut in mockingly,  as a figure came out from behind one of the museum's pillar supports.

"Supervillain?!" both parties cried in unison.

Hero instinctively reached for their communicator, but Supervillain flicked a hand. The device shot out of Hero's grasp, shattering against the far wall.

"Now, now," Supervillain drawled, their voice cool and condescending, almost like disciplining a misbehaving child, "Calling for backup would ruin the whole point of me going through the effort of getting you alone, wouldn't it?"

"Supervillain, what are you doing here?" Villain asked, a cautious edge creeping into their usually carefree tone.

Supervillain glanced over to them, surprise flashing in their eyes, like they were shocked the Villain had even dared to speak to them.

"Leave." They commanded, "This doesn't concern you anymore," turning back toward the Hero, who was slowly backing away.

Villain saw the Hero glance at them, the fear, the silent plea for help in their eyes. They clenched their fists at their sides.

"Back off, I was here first,"

The Supervillain spun around at that, eyebrows fully raised, shock morphing into an almost... impressed expression.

"Oh, you're cute," they replied, lips curling into a smirk. "I don't believe we've met face to face, have we? Small fries don't usually cause much of a blip on my radar I'm afraid. But don't worry, tonight I'm actually doing you a favour,"

"A favour?" The Villain replied skeptically, narrowing their eyes.

"Well, I'm about to take this little nuisance behind us out of the way for you-"

Suddenly, the Hero behind them made a dash for it, but it was no use, as they were immediately flung backwards, crashing through a wall and an expensive painting along with it.

"Seriously, Hero? Running? You should know better by now."

"Get away from them!" Villain shot back, running toward the Hero who was struggling in the rubble.

"All right, your entertainment value has expired. I needed them without their backup, which they never need with you. You've served your purpose, now get out of my way," the Supervillain gestured at the Villain, as if to send them flying, but to their surprise, nothing happened, "what-"

Suddenly the Supervillain's world seemed to be spinning, running laps around their skull as they could no longer tell up from down. It was like vertigo from all directions at once. It was only then the horrifying realization hit them that their vision was fading.

"What the hell are you-!"

"Sensory manipulation," Villain said calmly, striding toward them, watching as the Supervillain came crashing down to the floor. "A little something I haven't had to use in a long time."

"You insolent little-!"

"Sense of sight, balance, motion... kind of hard to function when they suddenly get thrown into a blender huh? Proprioception really is a wonderful thing."

Supervillain was very quickly beginning to feel sick.

"Certain senses are more fun than others..." the Villain mused, crouching down next to them, "Nociception... the sense of pain... for example"

A gut-wrenching, blood-curdling, animalistic scream suddenly erupted from the Supervillain on the floor.

The pain only lasted for a second, but that was one second too long.

They were flailing, trying desperately to get away, to get a sense of anything. They couldn't tell where they were. Were they on the ground? Were they stuck to the ceiling? Were they floating in water? Even worse, they felt like they were losing a sense of not only where they were, but what and even who they were.

Supervillain didn't even realize they were shaking. They could feel panic flooding their system.

"Interoception is probably my favourite, though," Villain mused, their voice almost playful. "The sense of internal body states. Hunger, thirst.... panic... fear...." The Villain mused, tilting their head in thought, "How high do you think your heart rate can get before it gives out? Shall we find out?"

The Supervillain tried to speak, they really did, but it felt like the couldn't get enough oxygen into their lungs. They couldn't- hyperventilating- their body was-

It was like their body couldn't tell how fast their heart was already beating, yet it felt in desperate need to beat faster.

Then, like a sudden plunge into icy water, everything in their body seemed to balance. Their head was spinning, but they could see their vision beginning to come back. They could make out a blurry figure standing above them that was starting to move away.

"If I ever see you anywhere close to my hero again, I'll get the answer to my question," they warned as they went back over to the Hero in question.

There was a flash behind them, and the Supervillain vanished as they crouched down, "Are you okay?"

"What-.... what the hell was-..."

"Where does it hurt?" the Villain asked instead.

"Everywhere?" The hero huffed, dropping their head to the marble floor below.

The Villain closed their eyes for a moment, and suddenly, the hero could feel the pain melting away.

"Better?"

"How the hell did you-"

"Let's just say I always go easy on my favourite hero," they stood up, extending a hand down to the Hero, "Come on, I'll stop the heist if I get to take you out to dinner, on me,"

"Only if it comes with a side of explanations." The Hero rebuked.

"Deal,"

With that, the Villain helped the hero to their feet. They may have had a lot of explaining to do. But they also had a steak to order, and they had their priorities in order.

[petiolata]

I want a civilian!Tim fic where he gets together with Kon and *that's* his pathway into vigilantism (he wants to fight alongside his boyfriend. Who's like, "but you're squishy and fragile, plz don't?" and so Tim is like "I'll show you squishy" *bites*).

Anyway in the end Kon is a pushover for his cute civilian human boyfriend and so gives into Tim. Sparing Tim from all the weird toxicity of the Batfam and Batman's bullshit. He gets a superhero persona that's not Robin.