#snippets and bits

[mothfables]

Without warning, Ravio scoops Legend up off the ground, one arm under his hips for support. The other boy squawks, flushing bright red as he stammers in surprise.

“You’re tired, honeybee. Pretend all you like, but I can see it in your eyes.” That shuts him up and he bites his lip, glancing away. Ravio looks around at the rest of them. “You all make yourselves at home. I’m going to put this one to bed.”

With that, he starts towards the stairs, Legend beginning to protest loudly as he goes. The other heroes muffle their laughter.

“I’m perfectly capable of going to bed by myself! You don’t need to carry me like I’m some helpless little —!”

“You’re going to bed, and you’re going to stay there, or I’ll have Sheerow watch you to make sure you don’t try anything.”

“You keep that bird away from me!”

[zombubble]

For this blog's inaugural Six-Sentence Saturday, I present to you all this snippet from chapter one of In Memory; In Truth:

“It never ceases to horrify,” Lan Zhan says softly, “one merely becomes more adept at handling it.” Sizhui says, “I see. I wonder, why us, though? Why did Mo-gongzi hide us and not people who needed help more than we did?” “That ghost’s power rendered you and the non-cultivators equal,” Lan Zhan says. Given the evidence—how quickly it arrived and tore through a household, the ease with which this thing slaughtered over a hundred people and the sense of power to which bystanders have attested—the juniors stood no better chance than even the least of the Mo Family’s servants. “In the aftermath of such a thing, cultivators are of more benefit. Such slaughter often leads to great resentment.”

I would have posted it earlier but I forgot to make the banner this week and wanted to do that, first. As it is, I have 9 minutes until Saturday ends where I am, and so this is Technically On Time.

[colleenmurphy]

"So what do we do when faced with confrontation, Colleen?"

"Physical violence?"

"No...we use our..."

"Brute force?"

"No. Colleen I don't think you're getting this we use our communication skills to talk."

"If I say "Hey Fuck Face?" before knocking their lights out does it count?"

"Technically...yes..but we don't do that."

"I'm HEALED! Check's in the mail, Doc. Buh-Bye!"

*door slams*

[aroaceleovaldez]

i have suddenly become obsessed with a theme that HoO established but never proceeded to extrapolate on, which is:

You are Percy Jackson, and you have been swapped with a boy who was allegedly everyone's favorite person, but they have decided to replace him with you. They just met you. You stand next to his best friend and the people he's known his entire life. In his home. In his cloak. In his place. They stopped looking for him.

You are Jason Grace, and you have just found out you have a long lost sister who completely replaced you in her life with this girl you just met. Your lives and personalities are mirrors. She is you, living the life you were robbed of.

You are Annabeth Chase, and you have just become starkly aware that you have been inhabiting the void left behind by your best friend's long lost brother. You and Luke were just replacements for him. Now you have to look him in the eyes when he has nothing and know you took that life from him.

You are Piper McLean, and you have just found out your relationship is fake and built entirely on the memories of Annabeth Chase. You have been given a boyfriend when hers has been taken away. You have no idea how much of it is real or not but regardless you feel like if your relationship isn't exactly in their image that you have failed.

You are Leo Valdez, and you have just learned that you are the echo of your great-grandfather. You are not your own person. You just exist to be a mirror of him. A doppelganger. An actor and stunt double facing all the danger he never had to but wearing his face. To be there for his best friend decades later simply because he couldn't. You are playing a role. A seventh wheel and a pawn for a goddess who carefully sculpted your entire life for her own purposes.

You are Hazel Levesque, and the only reason you are alive is because your brother couldn't save your his sister. You are a consolation prize. An apology. Your existence here is misplaced in every way but you inhabit it anyways.

You are Frank Zhang, and you are a shapeshifter. Inhabiting your own body feels strange and clumsy when you could be literally anything at any time. You are anything and everything and live your life with the simple certainty of knowing exactly how you will die.

[paintedcrows-caws]

"What is a Rizzler? I don't know what a Rizzler is. I wanna run it over with my car"

GRUNKLE STAN SAYS SKIBIDI FIDDLESTAN ❗❗ REAL ❗❗ (NOT CLICK BAIT ❗❗)

[cubedmango]

「安達が魔法使いにならなかった世界線の話」 + 「もしもの話」 — english translation

[wordsofwilderness]

Found this beauty in my writing notes:

[o3o-lapd-o3o]

'friends in higher places' au masterlist

tumblr posts:

the thread that started it all - part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

dinner scene - part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 (is planned)

poseidon snippets (not chronological) - part 1 | part 2 | part 3 (i have an idea)

other bits - potential future thoughts | a potential angsty idea |

ao3:

chapter 1 | chapter 2 (coming soon?) |

[hemlock-dreams]

I can totally see Peter draining some of his venom before going out, because he might see Wade. Like you know those cup things with rubber or something on the top, that they use to extract venom from venomous snakes? Yeah, I can see him not wanting to risk using to much in case him and Wade... You know? And he doesn't want to hurt him to much.

Peter has done that before! But unfortunately, to no avail. His body is always generating venom at a steady rate, and he uses it as to power his physical abilities/webs/stingers- so if he drains less than he generates, it won't matter, but if he drains a huge amount all at once, he's leaving himself incredibly vulnerable in combat.

Also you'd be shocked, but H!Spidey has not bitten any of his enemies. He has way too many hang-ups and fears surrounding the damage his venom can do + the vulnerability of leaving himself so open/weak afterwards.

Thankfully, Wade needs huge amounts of venom to experience the debilitating side effects, but Peter still has like 10 miles of mental wall to break down before he can get there.

[save-the-villainous-cat]

The hero let out a wet groan, pushing themselves up as the blood ran down their side. It was in itself a funny feeling.

It was a good feeling.

Absolutely no one in this rotten city was able to challenge them. Physically, they were stronger. Mentally, they were quicker. And their dedication, their devotion was like a holy prayer that guided them through their nights.

The hero knew it wasn't a good thing - the longing for a challenge, the desire for an opponent that could actually make them a better fighter. It was a dangerous wish and they had to remind themselves regularly why they were doing this job in the first place.

To do good. To be good. Not to find someone who was their very own nemesis.

However, with the villain's boot on their ribs and that brutal nature of theirs, the hero was struggling not to find this utterly satisactory.

"Yeah, right there," the hero wheezed. "Make me scream."

The villain tilted their head and tutted, nearly bored of the hero's games. They let out a sigh and grabbed the hero's hair, yanking them up.

Another wheeze.

And the villain crouched, holding the hero by their hair. Very close. Very intimate.

"Do you think I am stupid?" the villain asked. Their lips brushed the hero's ear and despite the pain, or maybe because of it, the hero could only concentrate on the adrenaline rushing through their body.

"No," the hero said. They had to grin. Sometimes, they wished they could devour the villain, that they could change them and ultimately, that they could control them.

The hero knew it wasn't right. They knew it wasn't good. But they had never felt this kind of obsession towards anyone. In previous relationships, they hadn't gotten jealous, they hadn't gotten angry. They had never struggled like this. They had never doubted themselves like this.

"I know your dirty little secret," the villain said. "I know you like me. You like this."

"I didn't try to hide it," the hero said.

"Not from me. But the public."

"What are you trying to...?"

"Oh, poor hero," the villain murmed. "See, the difference between you and me is, that I do not care about you. If this gets to one, just one flimsy reporter, the people will turn against you. I can ruin your entire career. Your entire life."

The hero had miscalculated. Obviously, they hadn't expected their nemesis to feel the same. But they also hadn't expected them to tell the public. To use the public against the hero. It was a little shameless. But the hero was even more disgusted by their admiration for it.

"So?" the hero asked. Losing the public was a detrimental loss, that much was clear. But was it even measurable next to the fights with the villain? Did it even matter? When the hero could feel this euphoric? This alive? When had the public ever made them feel that way? "I would still have you."

"I do not love you," the villain argued. "You're not as important to me as you think."

"Give it some time," the hero said. "You will love me, don't worry. Everyone does."

The villain simply laughed at that. It was nearly soft. Or maybe the hero wanted it to be. It didn't matter.

"I have to admit, I am quite interested in what you have in store for me. How will you act once the public calls you a traitor? What will you do when I refuse to fight you? You are-" with their index finger, the villain traced the hero's thoat "-so very unique."

"Is that attraction?"

"Obligatory interest."

"And you say you're not in love."

They stared at each other until, finally, the villain dropped them. They cleared their throat and tilted their head. But the hero swallowed blood when their head nearly smashed against the concrete floor.

"I like toying with you, that is all."

"Sure," the hero said. They clutched their heart, tried to breathe. Being close to the villain was a gift, no matter how much it hurt. The hero loved it, loved their words, loved their personality, loved the challenge. It was insane, the hero felt completely deranged. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

And the hero was excited. So very excited for the next weeks.

[sandflakedraws]

so i'm readin various stuff on the xray cause this silly film is my current source of joy and

wait

hold up.

what...

WAHT ??? WHAT

XRAY CAST DESCRIPTION????

YEARS???

xrAY dESCRIPTION eXPLaIN!!! WHAT DO YOU MEAN FLOYD WAS HELD CAPTIVE FOR YEARS, WHAT SECRET INFO DO U HAVE ACCESS TO???

[mothfables]

@cripple-cat

Four was sitting against one of the trees behind Wild’s house enjoying a book when he heard footsteps approaching.

Most of the time the other heroes left him alone when he was reading, acknowledging his need for time to himself, only tending to bother him if he was needed for something. Whoever it was coming towards him now didn’t seem to want his attention- in fact it seemed like they didn’t want him to notice them at all, steps quiet and careful.

Glancing up from his book he saw Legend, tiptoeing barefoot through the grass towards him.

Legend looked up at almost the same time and froze, the veteran hero’s eyes going wide. After a moment he glanced around, like he was making sure there was no one else outside, before scurrying over the rest of the way to where Four sat. Four noted he was still walking on his toes.

When he reached the smith, Legend didn’t sit but instead swayed in place, licking his lips nervously and not meeting his eyes.

“Uh- um. Could you, um.” He stuttered, staring at his toes instead of looking at Four. He began fidgeting with his fingers, and Four realized they were bare of his usual array of rings, leaving only his heart and green holy rings. “I was, um, w-wondering if...”

He trailed off, voice quiet and shy in a way Four had never heard before from the older boy. His shoulders were hunched inwards and he kept playing with his hands, ears tilted down. He looked... small.

Four tilted his head in thought. Legend rarely initiated interactions outside of teasing or bets, and when he did it was usually confident and sure. He was hardly ever shy, and certainly never so quiet.

The longer neither of them spoke the further down Legend’s ears went. He began to turn away, drawing into himself dejectedly, and something in Four’s chest clenched.

“Hey, hold on. I haven’t said no yet. You haven’t even asked me anything.”

Legend turned back at that, a tiny flicker of hope in his eyes that he was trying hard to hide. “B-but you, um, y-you dun’ like it wh’n people b’ther you.”

Four ignored the odd way he was speaking in favour of giving him a reassuring smile. “Normally, yes, But you’re not bothering me. Promise,” he added at Legend’s doubtful look. “What it is you want to ask me?”

Legend bit his lip nervously. “C-could you... couldyoureadtome?” he asked in a rush.

The smith blinked in astonishment. Legend wanting to spend time with him was already a surprise, but wanting to be read to? He shook it off quickly, though, instead patting the ground on his left with another smile. “Sure. Come sit with me? It’s always nicer to read when you’re sitting down, in my opinion.”

The other boy lit up and bounced happily, dropping down to sit next to Four and drawing his knees up to his chest. Four found where he left off before beginning to read aloud.

A few minutes passed where the only sounds were Four’s voice and the chirping of birds. Then there was a pressure on his shoulder; glancing over, he saw Legend curled up against his side, eyes fixed on the book in his hands. One of Legend’s hands drifted up to his mouth almost subconsciously only to be snatched back down.

The whole thing was a little odd, but it didn’t seem harmful, so Four decided to let it be. He continued reading, leaning his head on the other boy’s and earning a happy little sound. Legend curled closer, one hand clutching at Four’s sleeve as the other came up to his mouth again. He didn’t seem to notice.

[warmsol]

cleaning out my screenshot folder, don't mind me 🧹

[awriternamedart]

"How do you do it, gambler?"

Aventurine glanced up from the drink in his hand, an identical one clutched tightly in Dr. Ratio's.

"Do what?"

"Maintain a relationship."

Aventurine blinked, before his head shot up again to look at the doctor. Veritas didn't even spare him a glance, eyes glued to the scene in front of them— a grand IPC ball, held for investors and connections to be made. It was always a busy and grand event, one the Intellegensia Guild had to attend to maintain the IPC's investment.

It really wasn't Dr. Ratio's scene, but he had been chosen as their representative anyway.

"I'm not particularly adept at that, my dear doctor." Aventurine chuckled, watching the alcohol swirl in his glass.

"You are far more able then I am. Even upon falsities and fake promises, you managed to chat and converse with people in a sort of ease," Ratio slowly tore his eyes away from the crowd, glancing back to Aventurine before his eyes dropped to the floor in front of him. "..Its admirable."

Aventurine could just barely process what Dr. Ratio was exactly saying— direct praise?? From the good doctor himself???— before Veritas set down his now-empty drink on a bypassing waiters tray.

"Do you ever feel.. second-rate?"

Aventurine paused, taking another languid drink as he contemplated. It wasn't often the dear doctor opened up— he should tread carefully.

"I can't say for sure. Why?" He kept his tone even, trying not to distract from Veritas' thoughts. It was hard enough to get to know him in the first place, to squander his trust like this would be a waste.

The Doctor took a deep breath, practically hiding himself in the shadows of one of the many grand pillars decorating the room.

"I am not adept at conversation."

Aventurine could agree with that. Something about the doctor made it difficult to respond in kind— he was dry, a vague bit brutish, and if Aventurine dared, a little bullheaded. He seemed so sure of himself, founded confidence that was backed up by his many achievements. It was a little intimidating for the average person, he supposed. But as he looked on, that sort of Dr. Ratio seemed to fade ever so slightly, leaving behind someone who was still sure in his knowledge and discoveries— but struggled nonetheless.

"I find people.. grating, sometimes. But connection is one of the few necessities of livelihood, and so I try to converse with my peers as often as possible. It is.. difficult. It often feels as if they have no interest in what I am saying, neither asking questions nor inquiring further, and when I try to do so to show interest in their research, they often retreat back, saying it is not finished or the such. Offering to help only ever seems to drive them further away." Taking out the laurel clip in his hair, Veritas' thumb drifted over the gilded leaves, the polish in the finish reflecting his face back at him. "Despite my best efforts, I rarely ever follow up because I fear I intimidate them. I have seen them recoil at the mere sight of me."

Aventurine could just watch on in surprise— Veritas had never shown an inkling of this before. When he had first gotten to know the doctor, he had assumed Veritas simply didn't work with his peers due to a difference in dedication, or perhaps view. He was among the brightest and best in the Intellegensia Guild, always praised behind his back for being one of their stars.

Perhaps that wasn't the front Veritas had put up at all. Perhaps it was what Veritas was forced to wear in the face of his peers, forced to be seen as the cold unobtainable, the pinnacle of what they should be.

Being on a pedestal like that, it must be lonely.

"Do you not go drinking with your coworkers or something?" Aventurine leaned against the wall, cold of the stone seeping through his suit. Veritas glanced up at him, before looking back down.

"..I was never invited. It is against social convention to come along if you aren't invited, isn't it? I'd rather not strain and worry them more. It could impact them negatively if I were to come along and invite stress to what is supposed to be a time they unwind." He turned the laurel over in his hand. "..perhaps I missed my opportunity."

The light of the pedestal Dr. Ratio sat on seemed to blind all those who looked at it from underneath. They couldn't see his face, only his back— but as Aventurine leaned against the wall, gazing at the doctor in front of him, he got that different perspective.

There was.. resignation, in his eyes.

"Perhaps I am just doomed to be a looming figure above many. And yet, I'll still never be enough." His voice tapered off slightly, head dropping even just that hint bit more. "I am fully aware how much others are compared to me, and I hear them speak of my achievements behind my back. I wish they would stop, if I am being honest. Or at least tell me of my praise directly."

That surprised Aventurine.

"What, do people not give you a compliment or two? For someone so easy on the eyes and as esteemed as you, doctor, I find that hard to believe!" He chuckled— but it quickly faded out as Veritas looked to the side.

"Not often do I get comments directly on my achievements, no. Nor on my appearance, before you came along." He sighed. "You are.. the only person who does so."

The only one who's tried.

-

The Only One Whos Tried - awriternamedart

[amogus-real-not-clickbait]

part 1 of a little comic / art sequence that i've been working on! :D it's part tribute, part experimenting with brushes n colors and trying new thingz :]

| 1 | 2 | 3 | ... |

and thus continues my endless quest of spreading the carrot fics like a plague! if you've seen my art floating around you probs already figured that this au holds a very special place in my heart, forever and always!!

if you haven't heard of it, it's a fic series by @crowned-ladybug called carrot soup!! it made me wish i could speak colors and i need more people to share my struggle xd

go check it out if you're into sweet voice lore and qpr level gayness and just wanna feel warm and soft and warm (hurt/comfort my beloved) <333 there are some heavier themes cos everyone's traumatized but they're working through it! be sure to check the tags and stay safe! <3

[livesincerely]

Jack’s hauling all six feet of Davey’s deadweight back to his car, trying to shove his lanky, drunken, noodle limbs into the passenger seat—Jesus Christ, he really is all leg, ain’t he?—when Davey kisses him.

Jack freezes. Goes perfectly still, frozen in place, as panic pierces his chest like a shot to the heart.

Because Davey is drunk, drunker than drunk, really, his mouth warm and soft and a little sloppy against his own. He tastes like salt and tequila and that last round of fireball shots Racetrack ordered for the table, tastes like everything Jack’s ever wanted and nothing he’s allowed to have.

Davey makes soft, unhappy noise in the back of his throat, then loops clumsy arms around Jack’s neck and tugs him closer: stubborn, insistent, and drunk, so fucking drunk, because Jack knows better than to think he’d ever do this sober.

But he smells so good—like coconut conditioner and the fancy fabric softener he insists on and Davey—and he fits so perfectly in Jack’s arms and he’s kissing Jack like he wants him. Right here in the parking lot, half in and half out of the passenger seat of Jack’s car, with nothing but the buzzing street lamps overhead to notice Jack’s heart cracking into tiny little pieces.

Davey sighs against his lips, his fingers curling gently around the nape of his neck, and Jack knows.

Knows he shouldn’t. Knows it’s a mistake. Knows that Davey—clever, gorgeous, wonderful Davey—won’t remember this in the morning, and Jack will never, not ever forget.

But he’s only human. He’s just a man, hopelessly in love with his best friend.

And for just a moment, he kisses him back.

00000

Jack forces himself to pull away. Davey looks up at him with big, blue pleading eyes, his mouth wet and red and perfect, his cheeks pink from the rasp of Jack’s stubble.

“Why’d you stop?” Davey mumbles, a swirly curl of hair falling over his forehead. Jack’s heart skips in his chest. “You don’t want to kiss me?”

“Dave, I—“ What can he say? What can he possibly say?

He needs to apologize, needs to beg for forgiveness because Davey might be drunk off his ass but Jack absolutely is not, had a half a beer and a single shot, so there’s no excuse to fall back on. There’s no excuse for this.

Davey pats him on the shoulder with all the coordination of a wet mop head.

“‘S okay,” he says. “I don’t want to kiss you either.”

Jack’s pretty sure a baseball bat to the back of the head would hurt less.

He wants to stumble away as quickly as he can, wants to see if Kath and Sarah are still out front waiting for their Uber and if they’d take Davey home instead if he asked really, really nicely and walked away before they could ask him any questions.

Instead he sucks in a steadying breath. Carefully reaches around Davey to buckle in his seatbelt.

“There’s this guy,” Davey says, hushed like he’s sharing a secret. “I wanna kiss him all— all the time. He’s handsome and funny and way smarter than he gives himself credit for and— and he’s just the best, you know?”

Jack does not know. Jack would rather be force-fed his own liver than know any of this.

He starts manually lifting Davey’s legs into the footwells. Tucks his feet in so they don’t block the car door.

“His name’s Jack.”

Jack stops. Wonders, for just a second, if maybe someone did hit him over the head, actually, because—

Because the last ten minutes have been a fucking rollercoaster and he might have the world’s first genuine case of emotional whiplash, but—

His name is Jack.

His name is Jack, right?