#snippets of a fic

[munsonkitten]

Eddie doesn’t know how this became a thing between them. He’s wrapped up around Steve’s back, arms and legs snaking around Steve’s body. He has one thigh between Steve’s, hooked over his hip and snug against his crotch. He can feel the soft bulge of Steve’s cock beneath his leg, and tries not to think too hard about it. 

One of Steve’s arms is tucked under Eddie in a way that makes it possible for him to scratch at Eddie’s hair through his hood. His fingers move rhythmically, sliding over the fabric covering Eddie's head. 

It’s cozy like this, tangled in a way where Eddie can't tell where he ends and Steve begins. It's not something friends do, especially not two guys, but neither one of them mention that.

Sometimes they just lay and talk, and sometimes, like today, they have a book in front of them, positioned in the hand Eddie has snaked beneath Steve’s neck. 

Eddie’s reading, soft and quiet into Steve’s ear, when it happens. Steve turns his head back and presses a kiss to Eddie’s chin. A quick little peck beneath his mouth. 

The words die in Eddie’s throat, choked off by a squeaky noise of surprise. He drops the book onto the bed, letting it fall shut because saving the page he’s on is the last thing on his mind right now. Steve just kissed him. A little kiss, not even on his lips, but still a kiss. From Steve. 

They’re both frozen there, so still Eddie doesn’t think either of them are even breathing, and then Steve’s disentangling himself, pulling away. The exact opposite of what Eddie wants to happen. 

He finds the front of Steve’s shirt clutched in his fist, holding him where he is. 

“I shouldn’t have done that,” Steve says, still attempting to pull away. “We’re friends — I don’t know what got into me, man. I didn’t mean to do that.”

One hand curls around his wrist, the other going to his fingers to try peeling them away from Steve’s shirt. Eddie closes his fist tighter, shaking his head. 

“Yes, you should have,” Eddie whispers, voice caught in his throat. “Done that, I mean.”

Eddie’s been kissed before. At bars and parties, by guys and girls alike, liquor on their lips or laughter on their tongues. The girls at parties in town were always dared — kiss the freak, see if he puts out (Eddie never did) — and the guys in bars were always drunk and too impersonal. It never went further than that, never felt quite right, especially not with the girls, but he’s been kissed before. 

None of that could have prepared him for the way Steve Harrington kisses him now.

#a snippet from an upcoming fic #sub to me on ao3 @ deadratz if you wanna know when this ones posted because i might not promote it anywhere #steddie fic #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve/eddie #my fics #stranger things #steddie fics

[creweemmaeec11]

Why is asking permission for certain things, both romantic and platonic, one of the cutest, most heart-fluttering things ever?

"Can I hold your hand?"

"Can I kiss you?"

"Would you like me to carry your jacket?"

"Can I hug you?"

"Would it be alright if we cuddled?"

"Can I play with your hair?"

"Might I walk you home?"

"Can I tickle you?

"Is it okay if I kiss you goodbye?"

"Can I hold onto your arm while we walk?"

"Can I rest my head on your shoulder?"

"Is it okay if I call you (nickname)?"

"I'd really like to kiss you right now, if that's okay with you,"

"Would you let me take care of you?"

#prompt #prompts #writing prompt #writing prompts #fic prompt #fic prompts #story prompts #story prompt #snippet prompt #snippet prompts #hero x villain prompt #hero x villain prompts #dialogue prompt #dialogue prompts

[flyingseacow]

Ok ok ok.

Finished Cult of the Lamb (right in time for the next update)

And now I got all these thoughts.

Like the bishops?

People are already doing so much interesting stuff with Narinder, so I got nothing new there. But the others?

Leshy is interestingly enough the most elaborate and thoughtful of them, the snippet about his crown was almost poetic.

Kallarmar however, he really surprised me. Based on his previous behavior, and what the others said (including ???) I had expected a frightened sniveling crybaby, not this calm sassy thing. Not only does he seems to be the most accepting of their new life, he is super calm and friendly with the lamb.

Then I realized.... Oh. Kallarmar has already gone through his worst nightmare. He has already died, multiple times. And since the lamb has done no new harm to him, he has no real reason to fear as long as he is a good little follower. (helps that he got the absolute cutest voice) Oh yeah, and the fact that not only does he claim he was pressured into helping with binding Narinder, but also that his relic summons a skeleton - one that seems very clearly to be based on Narinder?? I have thoughts.

And Heket? Heket seems angry, but reluctingly accepting of her new life. And I realized, after what happened with Shamura, Heket was the one keeping the bishops together. For a thousand years, she was the only real thing holding up the old faith. Shamura too wounded to handle it. Leshy too young and well, chaotic. Kallarmar just wanting to hide away in his temple. She must have been under so much pressure. And she is the next youngest in the group!

Shamura is just such a tragic character. I had expected them to be more damaged without their crown, but seeing how disoriented and stuck in memories and half addled thought they are? Damn.

When I gave them the spider silk their reaction was a gut punch. I had this clear mental image of them running the silk though their fingers, mumbling to themselves, barely aware of the lamb.

Ugh, I really hope Sins of the flesh gives more lore. I got all these feels.

#cult of the lamb #fan speculation #I am gonna end up expressing all this in fics #I just have no overall idea #just all these snippets of scenes and feelings

[wispscribbles]

I want to eat your art and writing thank you so much

Haha well I'm always happy to keep you all fed. Here, have some old sketches <33

#ask #anon ask #ghostsoap #soapghost #doodle #my art #sketch #*throws old crumbs at ya because im currenty out of gourmet feasts* #these are from various times in the last year #but yea watch wisp's art style be the least consistent thing ever as they jump from brushes and programs due to indecision :> #some old aus in there too #kid au and mw3 fixit stuff and whatever the rest of this stuff is #nrftw doodle of ghost w the guitar #and beard too #also hi Gaz!!!! he's been randomly thrown in there to be glared at by ghost. poor guy #debated giving u some writing snippets as well but i didnt want to clutter my reply lol #im working on a fic that im so excited about #its actually making me write again pretty consistently so im happy

[lizardlicks]

a scene that presented itself to me with very little context:

Sokka is trying and failing to light a fire inside this chaos. At first it was a little funny, but the longer Sokka goes without successfully producing a spark with his stupid little rocks, the more frustrated Zuko becomes watching him. He could do this in his sleep. A baby could have sneezed and lit the fire by now.

Click

“Make the Avatar stop playing with his stupid monkey and light it.”

Click “First of all, Momo is a Lemur. Second: Aang can’t firebend, and third: fuck you.”

Click, click

“Oh for Agni’s sake, then untie me and I’ll do it!” “No. See again: fuck you.”

Click, click, click

Zuko has had enough. He scoots forward and leans over Sokka’s bundle of (he notes slightly damp-- no wonder the boy is struggling) kindling and fills his chest, forcing the air deep into his lungs. He’s only seen Uncle do this once, but Zuko had already learned the basics of the technique. Standard firebending involved stoking his inner fire with the correct breathing, then letting it flow with the movement of his limbs, down his chi paths, and out as visible bursts. Uncle had shown him how to hold that energy, feeding it through the pathways in a looping circuit that warmed him through. But where breath came in it also flowed out, and where chi could flow-- “What are you--” Sokka starts to ask, leaning back away from the prince crowding into his space. With no other warning, Zuko opens his mouth. And fire pours out. Sokka throws himself away from the flames with a yelp, but they don’t go any further than the sad pile of wood he had been failing to light. “Aaaah! How-- What-- You can breathe that!?”

Zuko sits back with a satisfied huff, tries unsuccessfully to shake off the sweat that’s beaded on his forehead. “Apparently.”

#sokka #zuko #atla zuko #prince zuko #atla sokka #fic snippet #atla #avatar the last airbender #lizard writes stupid things #atla fic

[allgremlinart]

Jet and Zuko meet on the ferry is TIRED. Jet and Zuko meet after S2E7 "Zuko Alone" is WIRED

#jetko #incapable of writing fic so instead I draw snippets from something that COULD be a fic. with snippets of dialogue #that COULD be going somewhere. and do nothing with it. #like I HAVE accidentally made myself enamored with this au so I'm probably gonna draw more for it but god forbid I actually write the fic #allgremlinart #zuko #jet atla

[coolshadowtwins]

During the Abyss Years(TM), there was a Peak Lord meeting. The only one not there was SQQ, but no one expected him there, really.

He hadn’t been doing goo, did you hear? He has been withering away, mourning over that disciple of his. Truly, the entire sect feels for the man-

Then SQQ burst in the room, kicking the door open and looking at them with a glare. The room freezes, because this is the most he has looked like himself in years.

Yue Qingyuan is the one to finally break the silence. “Shidi,” He said, standing. “Is something the matter-?”

“Something is the matter.” Shen Qingqiu said coldly. “The ‘matter’ is that I’ve been possessed for six years, and none of my so called martial siblings did anything about it!”

“You can’t blame them for not knowing.” A new man muttered, peeking in from behind SQQ. He looked like SQQ, but different. Softer, maybe? SQQ glared at him as well.

“I am not listening to the man that had possessed me, but thanks for trying.”

Shang Qinghua started to choke on nothing. No one went to go help him.

Part two

#svsss #shen yuan #shen qingqiu #shang qinghua #shen jiu #yue qingyuan #my fic #snippet

[mysterycitrus]

[a roy pov companion snippet to persephone part two]

There was a time, just after his father’s death, when Roy would fall into fits of choking suffocation.

His throat would close, his mouth turning itchy and hot and tight and he’d gasp and claw at his own flesh, desperate for air. Wheezing, bent over on all fours, struggling to breathe and desperate for relief, swallowing around that phantom smoke in his lungs that clung to him and refused to leave.

Brave Bow would find him in the dirt, press a calloused hand to his forehead and brush his hair from his eyes. He’d had the same hands as Roy’s father, then – steady from years fletching arrows.

Calm, boy, he’d say. The fire is gone, and you remain. You remain, and for that you must breathe.

It’d taken years before Roy felt it again, crouched with a needle in his arm and Oliver Queen’s shadow casting him in darkness. That same, encompassing squeeze that pushed his organs taut against his bones, stretched like taffy and drawing all air from his body. It’d been Dinah there with him, that time. Different callouses, with that same tender gentleness.

Then, Jade. Lian. Ollie. Donna. His comfort changed shape, and he learnt to drag himself out of the fire by himself, breathing around the fist in his mouth. The feeling became familiar, and so did the way it would leave him trembling and skittish. In and out. Inhale, exhale. You remain, and for that you must breathe.

Now, he’s sitting on a rooftop in Queens, and the smoke has returned to drown his best friend, because Dick Grayson believes there is evil in him. That all the good he’s done is poisonous. That he bears the burden of a grown man’s mistakes. Because – because Bruce Wayne couldn’t let one good fucking thing in the world lie.

He carries through the motions, watching himself from outside his own body as Dick thrashes, refuses to breathe until Donna physically compresses his lungs for him, forcing him to inhale. His heart is beating so fast it’s as if it’s not beating at all.

Never in his life has Roy wanted to kill someone more.

Donna is staring bullets into the side of his head as they descend into Dick’s apartment, holding him with a tight grip. Dick, younger Dick, seventeen-year-old hurt and miserable and alone Dick, stays silent but his eyes flutter like he’s about to pass out. The bruise on his face has only darkened in the hours since they left Jason Todd’s apartment, and the yellow spots on his cheekbone have started to purple. The bags beneath his eyes are deep.

How did I never notice he was like this? Roy thinks, half incredulous at himself. How did we let this happen that first time?

There was an answer, but it was for an older Dick who still carried all his cards to his chest. Would they be forgiven when that Dick found out what they knew about him? How they knew him now, better than they had before?

Garth, bless him, is holding a performatively casual pose as they gently push Dick through the open window. The soup is in a bowl – the slightly misshapen one that’d been Damian’s first try with a kiln – and Garth looks at him, then the soup, and pivots to start the kettle instead. What Dick really needs is solids, and maybe some protein, Roy knows, but the chances of him just throwing it back up again are high.

“Garth,” Roy says, and Garth turns those big, glistening eyes at him. It’s like staring into a lava lamp. “I’m sorry, but nobody wants any fucking soup.” Then he risks putting his hands on Dick’s shoulders – the kid doesn’t flinch, thank God – and says: “You, stay there. I need to go put my head in the shower.”

He presses down gently until Dick sits on the couch, carefully avoiding Donna’s gaze as she tries to catch his eye and rubs his hands over his face. Inhale, exhale. The smoke thickens, twists, chokes. Roy tilts a little but manages to regain his balance, and passes Donna as she goes to Garth, still fretting in the kitchen. Trusting, finally, that Dick wasn’t going to bolt right this second, he walks out towards the bathroom and immediately collides with Wally.

Wally’s still buzzing a little, and the hairs on Roy’s arms stand on end as he’s zapped when Wally grabs his elbows to hold him upright. There’s a deep line between his eyebrows, but when he looks up over Roy’s shoulders at Dick, his face goes slack. This worked out, actually. It’d keep help keep them both occupied to talk out their feelings, until Roy could get back in control of himself.

“Easy, fleetfeet,” Roy says. “Babysit for a second, would you? I need to wash my face.”

“I thought we decided we didn’t want him to run,” Wally hisses back, but Roy just gives him a shove in the couch’s general direction and staggers down the hall.

He hears Wally move forward as he manages to kick the door shut, falling against it as he starts to gasp. Roy presses his head back against the tiles, squeezing his eyes shut and desperately inhaling in through his nose and out his mouth. His throat itches. A throbbing pain starts at his temple, beating with his heart and radiating to his jaw and neck and shoulders until he tenses into a spasm.

In, out. Breathe, hold, release. Roy manages to swallow, but the noise he makes sounds like a sob, and he fumbles with the faucet until he can trust that the water is drowning him out. Again, and he claps a hand over his mouth. Everything feels ready to snap.

He got through it that first time, says a voice in his head. It sounds a lot like Connor’s patient grace. Remember? He’s still here, just the same.

But this is so much worse, Roy replies internally. Can’t you see? Because now he knows it’s not gonna end. It’ll never end.

No. This is too much.

The first time he grabs at his phone, it falls from his trembling fingers and lands on the floor with a crack. It takes him one, two more tries to retrieve it, and instead of standing he folds himself onto the floor, sat pressed against the wall next to the basin. The blue light makes his eyes sting and seeing Lian smiling back just makes that rolling nausea return, thinking of a young Dick Grayson stare at his daughter in wonder. Eight years old, like Dick’s own father hadn’t fallen when Dick was that age. Like Dick had lost a father all over again a decade later. It hurts so bad.

Thankfully, when he swipes through his speed dial, she answers.

“You’re late with an update, boyo.”

For a moment, he can’t even get the words out, just audibly breathes into the receiver with his eyes shut and his free hand twisted into his hair.

“Roy? What happened? Is Dick alright?”

He has to swallow around the lump in his throat again.

“Is Lian there?” Roy manages to get out in a croak. He truly doesn’t know what he’ll do if Mia’s taken her to MOMA or something. Maybe permanently move into Dick’s bathroom. “She free to talk?”

“Sure.” He hears Dinah move and begin to walk. She’s calm, but her steps are quick and loud down the line. “Give me an answer, Roy. If you want to talk to her because you’re bleeding out-“

“No, no,” Roy says. “No, it’s just – it’s been a long day.”

It’s only about twelve pm, but Dinah doesn’t comment on it. He hears a door open, then shut. His heartrate picks up again.

“Dinah,” he says, and he hears her stop. “Dinah.”

She knows, clearly.

“He’s seventeen, Dinah.”

“Yeah, Babs said.” A pause. “Seventeen, huh?”

“He’s…” Roy stops, tugs at his hair a little. “I can’t tell you –he’s been saying-”

“You were all kids. You know that right? The stuff you were doing wasn’t normal, in retrospect. Makes sense he’d freak you out.”

But it’s not just that. It was the casual acceptance of baiting Deathstroke. Dick’s conviction of his own fault about losing Robin. His terror of confronting Bruce. The profound, absolute loss of everything. Dick Grayson lost his father at eight years old.

Roy can’t reply to that, really, so Dinah says:

“Here she is.”

There’s a shuffle, another pause, then –

“Daddy?”

The tension leaves his body so fast he almost drops the phone entirely, and his legs properly unfold into a sprawl.

“Hey, princess.”

“You okay?” Her voice raises in pitch slightly, like when she’s getting nervous. He’d put a lot of effort into stopping her from sounding like that, so it’s jarring now. “Dinah said… Dinah said-“

“I’m fine. Really. I just wanted to check that Mia wasn’t buying you more Legos from the giftshop with my card.”

“They were mermaid Legos,” Lian tells him, worry gone entirely and now a little huffy. “And Mia said – Mia said you were a landlord. And could buy them.”

“Daddy is not a gazillionaire like Batman.”

“Does Batman have Legos in the Batcave?”

Batman has bloodied memorabilia of all the people he’s let down, Roy thinks privately, but says instead:

“No, but he has a dinosaur.”

“A real one?”

“No. It’s like the one’s out of Jurassic Park. A robot dinosaur.”

“A robot dinosaur,” Lian says rapturously. “Can we visit sometime? With Uncle Dick?”

I am never letting either of you near him ever again, is the correct answer, as much as Dick would throw a fit over it. Roy clears his throat, rubs at his eyes, and changes the subject.

“Maybe. But I want a school update. I didn’t get to talk to you about it, yesterday.”

“Well,” she stops, and he can hear her think it over. “I’m better at spelling than Cassidy, because she always forgets her ayches. But I taught her a trick for it. I can teach you too!”

My best friend was only eight, he thinks.

“Yeah, baby,” he says in a hoarse voice, and tilts back his head. “Tell me all about it.”

#this is an unedited snippet from september 2023 so plz no one judge me #roy harper #dick grayson #nightwing #arsenal #donna troy #teen titans #lian harper #persephone tag #fic #batman #dc comics #mart #roy harper is very dear TO ME!!!!!!!!!!

[kraken17]

Eugene: Can I ask your advice for something personal?

Wednesday: Of course you can ask for it, whether I can dispense it is another story.

Eugene: What is the best way to a girl's heart?

Wednesday: Through the rib cage.

Enid: Weds, I don't think that...

Wednesday: The sternum may give you trouble but it's nothing that can't be overcome.

Enid: Wednesday, seriously, I don't think Eugene was asking about... [looks at Eugene] Are you taking fucking notes!?

#wednesday addams #enid sinclair #wenclair #wenclair fic #wenclair fanfic #snippet #snippets #eugene otinger #wednesday netflix #wednesday

[sy-on-boy]

Damian's not nervous about who will win the right to dance with him. He doesn't care. Obviously.

Except Anya Forger is now lagging behind in the trivia quiz. She rattled off her first few answers with ease (genuinely surprising, how would she know about the milk and his dog? He can't imagine Ewen or Emile would tell her), but now she's struggling and giving out ridiculous answers. Who on earth is Benjerpoop Peeface GooFallo? Is Anya really that stupid? And why is he getting anxious about Anya not winning??

Someone has four points. One more point and this random girl will be dancing with Damian. Damian gulps nervously. Anya only has three points. The next question will determine his fate, and he doesn't trust Anya will know the answers to these highly specific questions—

Wait.

Highly specific question.

Damian can ask a question that only Anya knows the answer of.

Damian is so frazzled that he barely questions why Anya is the only one he wants to dance with. Or the integrity of him helping Anya win. All he wants is to the stop the imminent danger of someone snatching Anya's (rightful?) spot.

Damian raises his hand. "Ewen, can I ask a question to the ladies?"

Ewen looks a bit surprised by how the reluctant Damian is suddenly involving himself. "Sure thing, bossman! It's your dance partner after all. Come up!"

And now Damian's faced with the intense scrutiny of the five girls. Anya's stare seems particularly piercing, but she always has that effect on people. It's almost like she can read minds.

Anya suddenly jolts and looks away like she's nervous. Huh. Right, she's probably nervous because that other girl is one point away. Damian has to think of a highly specific question that the other girl will never know the answer to, and a question that only Anya can answer. It shouldn't be that hard considering they're in the same class and they did a lot of stuff together... Damian blushes at the thought of their extensive history.

But wait! Focus! This isn't time to blush. Except he's not blushing. Totally not.

Damian clears his throat. Everyone is looking at him. They're at question 13— an unlucky number, and coincidentally the number pinned on Anya's dress, so maybe it's a lucky number after all?

"Question 13: name one food in my ration can during the bus hijacking!"

There's a ripple of surprise when Damian mentions the bus hijacking. The other four girls look nervous. That's right, Damian knows Becky and Anya have suitors who admire their bravery during the hijacking, but no one seems to have mentioned that to Damian so far... and that scratches an uncomfortable scar in his heart. Hey, Damian was also involved in saving the class. Why didn't anyone admire his bravery, then?

See, this is a strategic question. None of the other girls seem to care about the hijacking, but Anya was right next to him on the bus. Her best friend's company provided the rations. Moreover, this is about food, and Damian knows how Anya invested is when it concerns food. She'll know the answer. He knows she knows.

In addition, Damian thinks he made the question quite open ended. She only has to name one food. Damian tries to recall them in his head: beef jerky, mints, digestives, hmm, what else...

"Salted nuts," Anya says.

A hush falls over the crowd. Everyone's looking at her, but she's looking at him. Damian's heart does an odd little thump.

"... I remember that because Sy-on boy gave the nuts to me."

Damian wasn't even thinking about that connection. Honestly, he had been so stressed that he could barely remember giving Anya her favourite nuts. Well, more power to Anya.

"That is correct," he says, and he can hear Becky cheer from the sidelines. Suddenly flustered and overwhelmed by how Anya remembers that little detail, Damian steps away and lets Ewen continue with the quiz.

Anya is up to four points, and she's tied with the other girl. That thought makes Damian nauseous. Anya only needs one more point, and they absolutely cannot let the other girl win—

Ewen begins what could be the last question. "Question 14: Which person does Damian love best?"

Damian instantly whips his head towards Ewen, his face beet red. "HUH?!" he screeches. He was already feeling fluttery and jittery from earlier, and now Ewen has to do this? Does his best friend want him to die, huh?!

At least it seems like everyone else is equally flustered. They yell out wrong answers, and Damian feels a rush of relief upon seeing the other girl with four points get it wrong. But wait, she isn't the only one with four points—

Anya presses her button. Her eyes are wide, as clear and as beautiful as glass, shooting a devastating arrow into Damian's resolve.

And before she says a word, Damian knows she knows. From her expression, he can tell she has the correct answer. Because of course she knows him the best out of these girls. Anya Forger, the commoner who stole him away.

He knows exactly what she'll say, and he's almost terrified by how she pinpointed that, but at the same time endlessly relieved that she knows such an important part of him. They're just kids who want their fathers to love them, aren't they? She understands him. She sees through him.

... Ah, why does it feel like Anya can see through all of him except for his heart?

Anya opens her mouth.

"Sy-on boy loves..."

"You," Damian thinks, his inner voice suddenly astronomically soft. "You win."

#spy x family spoilers #damian desmond #spy x family #damianya #fic snippets #anya forger #<3 #ok. brainrot NOT stopping

[hughmanbean]

Dick and Jason are dead. A causality of battle.

Well, not really. But the otherworldly hunter thought they were, and it really wasn't in their best interests to dispute that. It was too chaotic to get back to Bruce, so they decided to just wait it out.

There was a scuffle and the crate opened, the two of them taking the opportunity to jump out.

Jason scans the room. Dick stretches.

"What in the-"

---

"You sure, Skulker?"

"Trust me, High Whelp, these two were knocked out cold!"

Danny opens the door. They look at him. He turns back to Skulker.

"You know, for the Best Hunter of the Infinite Realms, you sure aren't good at keeping your prey down."

#dp x dc #dp x dc prompt #dpxdc #dp x dc crossover #dcxdp #dc x dp #dead on main #skulker #high queen danny phantom #Literally just a snippet of what could be a fic idk

[creweemmaeec11]

"I'm hungry,"

"I- I'm in the middle of kidnapping you!"

"Yeah, yeah, go ahead, I won't stop you, I'm just asking if we can get something to eat on the way,"

#prompt #writing prompt #writing prompts #story prompt #fic prompts #prompts #hero x villain prompt #hero x villain prompts #snippet prompt #story prompts

[the-broken-pen]

“Oh my god—“

“Not quite, love” The antagonist smirked. “If you ask nicely, however, I may be inclined to play along.”

“You’re—“

“A villain, yes.”

The protagonist tried to stop their hands from shaking as the antagonist looked them up and down.

“Why are you in my neighborhood bodega?” The protagonist said finally, and the villain quirked a brow.

“Even famous people need to eat,” the antagonist tucked their hands into their exquisitely tailored suit.

The bag of chips in the protagonists grip crinkled, and the villain inspected them.

“Not the healthiest choice.”

They gave an unamused laugh. “The cheapest.”

The antagonist’s eyes ran over their face, as if taking in their slightly gaunt cheeks.

“Heroism doesn’t pay well, it seems.”

The protagonist looked them up and down.

“Villainy does, it seems.”

At that, the antagonist chuckled, eyes glimmering like they had finally found something to peak their interest.

Behind them, the check out counter beeped and spit out a receipt, which the antagonist promptly crumpled and threw away.

“I’ll be watching,” they said with a nonchalance that did not match the threat of stalking, and disappeared out the sliding doors.

The protagonist stood in front of the machine, slightly awe struck and slightly afraid, until a clerk sidled up to them.

“Old friend?” The clerk asked.

The protagonist glanced over at them, then back towards the door.

“Not quite,” they answered.

They paid for their chips and left, hands pink with cold by the time they got to their apartment.

Attached to their door was an cream colored envelope full of money, and a note in elegant handwriting that simply said “Buy yourself more groceries. Your fridge is a tragedy.”

The protagonist never quite got rid of the antagonist after that.

#writing #writing community #creative writing #snippet #heroes and villains #fic writing #ficlet #writing prompt #writblr #protagonist #villain #writers #original writing #gentle #soft #no bad things #protagonist x villain #y’all are going feral for this one oh my god

[ghost-bxrd]

Stony silence rings from the other end of the line, but Jason knows Bruce is listening. Listening and running through several possibilities of how someone could have gotten this number while simultaneously tracking the call signal.

This is gonna be fucking gold.

Time to sell it.

“Dad,” he sobs, pitching his voice until it breaks, teeth chattering exaggeratedly, “Dad, please, I’m scared, I-“ Jason cuts himself off with a scream and another series of sobs, “Please, I can’t— it’s locked! Please, no, Dad, it’s locked—“

A sharp intake of breath, the dull thump of something heavy colliding unexpectedly.

“Dad!” Jason cries, calling upon every single drama class he’s ever had, “Please… please- it’s almost to zero- please, I’m sorry, please, please, it hurts so much-“

Bruce breaks.

“Jason, Jason, hold on Jaylad, hold on, I will find-“

Jason smashes the phone against the marble dress of the creepy angel standing guard over his grave. The pieces vanish into the wet grass, like an occult offering eaten by Gotham’s soil.

Then Jason turns and walks away with a gleeful little smile.

But not without flipping the stupid angel off one last time.

— Grave Pretender sneak peek

#snippet #silly little one shot #this is gonna be pure crack #and comedy #jason todd #batfamily #bruce wayne #dick grayson #batfam #robin #tim drake #fic #fic rec #fanfiction #sneak peek #preview #red hood #Batman #Nightwing #batdad #pranks #pranks that go too far

[wispscribbles]

why are you and your drawings so cool 😭🙏

afdsasdfasg thank you !! irl ppl would laugh at me being called cool lol - Have a ghoap as thanks <33

#ask #chloe-is-slightly-epic #ghostsoap #doodle #i'm trying to get better at letting myself be a bit more open online #a bit more uncool if you will #im an anxious perfectionist so a lot of art and posts end up in drafts forever #like this sketch i drew..... 4 months ago #hope you all wont mind if I start posting a bit more #unfinished work like sketches or fic snippets #Im constantly making stuff and writing but I just dont post #womp womp anxiety #so yeah decidedly uncool but im happy you like my art :') #btw if youve ever sent an ask or asked a question that i've never answered... yeah its probably in my drafts because i got stuck on somethi #and then forgor #and now its been so long that it feels weird to reply #sorry!! I super appreciate everyone who take the time to write

[the-modern-typewriter]

Could you write something about the (lightly) injured villain waking up in the hero's apartment and attacking them, then getting surprised at the realization that hero saved and patched them up?

The villain woke up on a sofa. It would have been fine, except for the fact that it wasn't their sofa.

They bolted upright, heart jack-knifing, gaze sweeping around the room. Plants and bits of scrap and bolts of metal everywhere. Tools. A mess of sharp things.

The hero stepped into the doorway, clutching two steaming mugs of tea. Their eyes widened.

The villain was already on them; tea flying, fingers curled tight around the hero's throat, knocking the air out of them as they tackled them down hard onto the floor, straddling the hero's hips.

"Easy!" The hero wheezed, holding their hands above their head. "I'm not-"

"-Where am I?"

"My home. I'm not going to hurt you."

"You kidnapped me."

The memories filtered through and the villain's brow furrowed. The hero was saying something, starting to look a bit frantic with the crushing grip around their windpipe, but the villain wasn't listening.

Distractedly, their hand rose to the back of their neck, where their neural network was. They remembered the splintering damage. Wiring visible. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

All they felt beneath their hand was smooth skin. Perfectly fine.

The villain's hand recoiled from the hero's neck, but they didn't get up, staring at them.

The hero gasped for air.

The villain's eyes narrowed.

"You saved me," they said. "You...fixed me."

The hero managed a nod.

"Why?"

"Can you...get off me?"

The villain put their hand on the hero's throat again, but didn't squeeze. They felt the hero swallow beneath their palm. Warm and soft and oh so fragile.

"Did you change anything?" the villain asked, low and lethal.

"N-no." The hero's eyes were still so very wide. "I didn't even know until I saw that you weren't - that you are -" The hero floundered.

The villain's jaw clenched.

Cyborg. Android. They weren't entirely certain which was the best descriptor for exactly what they were. Born, but not made. Born, then remade? Something. A human heart and human coverings, but not much else beneath the surface that could truly be called flesh and blood.

"I've never seen anything like you," the hero whispered. "But I did my best to help."

The villain's gaze swept the room again, catching once more on the scrap and the tools. Not a torture chamber. The cramped home of someone who liked to tinker. Who were, whether they were quite aware of it or not, exceptionally skilled at tinkering.

They should definitely kill the hero, for knowing as much as they did. It would be easy to do. They'd taken the hero by surprise, they already had them pinned. All it would take was a twist of their wrist and the hero's neck would snap.

The hero didn't claw at them. They didn't try and persuade the villain to let go. They wet their clearly dry lips, like they were considering trying to say something.

"Why?" the villain asked, again.

"Because that's what I do." The hero seemed nonplussed. "I try to fix things. I try to help."

The villain stroked their thumb along the line of the hero's neck. The hero's breath - already unsteady - gave a noticeable quiver. They swallowed again. Their fingers twitched on the floor.

"You seem fine, anyway," they mumbled. "So you can go, if you like. I should clean up the tea."

"You did not think to restrain me."

"I thought about it."

"But you did not."

"I didn't want you to wake up scared."

The hero sounded like they were being honest, but so did most skilled liars. Still.

The villain couldn't quite bring themselves to kill the hero, as convenient and swift as it could be. The hero was warm beneath them.

"I'm never scared," the villain said, proving precisely that point about liars and their convictions. They rose to their feet, watching the hero still splayed beneath their legs for a moment.

Stamp. End it. Fix nothing. The world did not, after all, deserve to be fixed.

"Thank you," the villain said.

The hero backed up, into the tea stain, standing when the wall was against their back to support them and they were as far away from the villain as they could be. Their eyes stayed glued to the villain, but they summoned a smile that also looked genuine.

A surprise.

Everything about the hero was surprising.

The villain wanted to smile back. They did not.

"I know I said you could go," the hero said, after a moment. "But I would like to run some tests. I'm pretty sure you're fine - the injury was mostly surface, minor. But..." They shrugged.

"You wish to examine me."

The hero cleared their throat, scrubbing a hand over the back of their own neck. "You can say no."

The villain did not say no. They backed up to the sofa they had woken up on and sat down.

The hero approached them, after a beat. They were gentle.

The villain fled out the window when the hero went to make more tea, heart jack-knifing for an entirely different reason whenever they saw the hero after that.

#heroes and villains #hero and villain #hero x villain #villains and heroes #story #story snippet #writing snippet #creative writing #fiction #fic