#al’s snippets

[nathanbatemanfucker]

Oh my goooood everything you're working on sounds sooooo good... I will take a snippet of literally anything so here are some random emojis, pls feel free to share a snippet of whatever you're most excited about (or if you're equally excited about all of them, let's do touch starved Joaquin 😈)

😊🤩👀🫠 - ips anon

touched starved Joaquin just for you! for context, this is joaquin’s ex who invited him to her house warming party!

[uniquethingtastemaker]

This is from Vil x Reader -- Overblot Slap:

“Please, don’t look at me… Stop looking at me like that!” Vil screams, cowering away from you. “Why? I wanted to become the most beautiful in the world, but why am I so–so ugly! I’m so ugly!” 

The dorm leader clutches his hair, hyperventilating. Poisonous gas seeps into the hallway.

“Roi de Poison, you’re not ugly,” Rook refutes.

You give him an incredulous expression. Vil looks pretty ugly to you. He hasn’t looked good since you became an unwilling participant in the reality TV show that’s his life. He has such an obsessive and self-important attitude. It pisses you off. 

“Yeah! Neige and Rook didn’t drink the juice!” Kalim agrees. 

You gape at Kalim with wide eyes. Is he excusing Vil’s actions? That man attempted murder! He might not have done irreversible physical damage, but you have psychological trauma. It’s been accumulating since day one. You can’t do this anymore. You have to hit him before he overblots. As a magicless student, you’re pushed to the sidelines during overblot fights. However, you have a personal grudge against Vil. You’ve put up with his pretentious behavior in your house for a month. You’re going to express your feelings with your fists.

“Please, Vil, come to your–”

You stomp up to Vil and slap him. The sound reverberates off the walls. He stares at you. His eyes are wide, and he has a searing red handprint on his face. One of his gloved hands brushes over it in disbelief. You put your hands on your hips.

“Yeah, you’re ugly,” you confirm. “You’ve been acting ugly for a while now. You almost murdered Neige because of your stupid ego and inferiority complex. Not everything is about you. You don’t get to decide you’ve lost the competition before you’ve even performed. You have a whole team behind you. You’re not being a good leader.” 

There’s a period of silence. The dorm leader stares at you. After a moment, you slap him again. 

“Your face pisses me off,” you explain, “Get your act together and stop whining. You have other things to do, like apologizing.”

(this is the first page of the Overblot Slap fanfic. u're welcome and i'm sorry. u're going to be so mad at me. this isn't going to come out in a while. i'm mostly working on Rook x Observant Reader. Then, the Dreaming of You series... however... I will say that once I get Riddle and Azul's finished, I might work on this more)

[baambastic]

Mother spoke of Father often.

She spoke of his skills, his resolve, his mind. His greatness. And certainly, he must be a great man, to have won Mother’s affection.

But none of this answered the question that had found its way into Damian’s mind, night after night.

He asked her, once. Why Father’s greatness had no room for she and him.

“My heart,” she’d said, with a kiss upon his brow, “his greatness is for the world, and everyone in it. If our place within it seems so small, it is only because his heart is so very large.”

This answered soothed him, for a time. However, as all children do, Damian found more questions as he grew.

“Mother, why have I never met Father?”

“Because your father has undertaken a great quest, and it takes him far from us.”

“Why do we not go with him?”

“Because, my heart, family is something you return to. If family accompanied your father on his quest, he would never need to come home. So we wait for him, at the end of his quest.”

And so it went. Mother’s answers brought solace, but they invariably planted the seeds of further questions. Until Damian found a question that could not be answered. For the day came when he learned of Father’s other children. Those who joined him not through blood, but something else. His family, accompanying him on his quest.

And Damian could not ask Mother, “If Father has a family with him on his quest, how long must we wait for him to return to us?” He feared the answer, you see. How could the family waiting for Father be as important as the family who had joined his quest, if his quest would never end? Whatever the reason, the truth remained that these other children were with Father, while Damian was not, yet he dearly wished he was.

[louroth]

All this nervous energy just running off of you as long as you. keep. moving. The adrenaline feels lovely as it surges, past the last set, into another, and a third— you're going for failure, aren't you?

Always.

It is not enough to coast the high of enough. It has to be more. There has to be the tenuous sigh of relief as your body scrambles to survive within the frame you've made for it. Just one more. Another.

The weights fall to the floor with a clatter and your mouth splits into a wide grin of approval as everything— your vision, your limbs, your spirit— trembles, quakes: the good kind of exhaustion. The ceiling is the loveliest view you've ever seen— you did it. The something you can do. Colors dull in comparison to it. As you lay on the mat, tracing worms of fracturing color that twitch with your heightened breath, a face steps in, swirling your vision into whirls of lights and traces of sweat. A smirk, a raised eyebrow— distant, not staring, but aware. He hefts his own weight. Flicks his focus to your red, flushed face. Meets your eyes for a fraction of a second before curling the iron once more.

"A sight for sore eyes."

You, at a lack for words, trace an eye over his form. He rolls his lips. You flick a brow.

And that is all there is to it.

[playingplayer2]

Just for kicks, assigning Batfam members bands/songs from my own music tastes

Alfred - ASIA (Never Again, Days Like These, and Without You, Listen Children, Bury Me In Willow, and Nyctophobia)

Bruce - MCR (Welcome to the Black Parade and Helena) and It's Alright by Mother Mother, Drinking Song for the Socially Anxious by The Amazing Devil, and It Hurts Too Much To Speak by Lina Cooper

Babs - Paris Paloma (Bones on the Beach, Hunter, and Notre Dame)

Dick - The Crane Wives (Take Me to War, Never Love an Anchor, Canary in a Coal Mine, and How to Rest)

Cass - Little Dancer by Leroy Sanchez, Shallows by Daughter, and Luna by Iniko

Jason - Sleep Token or Autoheart (Dark Signs and Take Me Back To Eden // Wretch and Hungover in the City of Dust) AND Concrete Jungle by Bad Omens, King by Lauren Aquilina, Immortal by MARINA, Artificial Nocturne by Metric, and Finger on the Trigger by ASIA.

Steph - MARINA (Seventeen, Family Jewels, and Soft to be Strong)

Tim - Far Too Young To Die by P!atD, 100 Million Years by Taylor John Williams, and Detective Detective by Static-P

Duke - Come and Get It from Me by Sun Heat, Sunflower by Post Malone & Swae Lee, and Pompeii by Bastille

Damian - Heirloom by Sleeping At Last, Will I Find My Home by Juniper Vale & Vian Izak, and Language of the Lost by Riproducer

[drowned-cypress]

“There’s something that’s been bothering me,” said Robin. “You said you copied yourself to my brain. Does that mean you’re not the original Al-An?”

“By definition, yes,” Al-An replied with equanimity. “But the distinction is negligible.”

Robin boggled at his dismissiveness. “Not to me! The original you that was in storage died! And the one before that, before you went into storage died as well!”

“Your statement is not false,” Al-An said with infuriating calmness. “But you are ignoring the facts of the situation. My pattern remains.” There was a pause, then, “This appears to be provoking an emotional reaction in you that does not seem commensurate with the circumstances.”

“Well, yes! It’s kind of an upsetting thought!” The Al-An in that storage cube had died right in front of Robin, and she hadn’t even realized it until now. She took a deep breath. He was right, she was getting emotional about this. She should probably try to calm down. It’s just… “Are you even the same person?”

“Of course.”

“But you’re not the original! You’re just a copy and your original self no longer exists. You can't be the same person. There’s no… no continuity of consciousness.”

“Please, Robin, do not minimize my existence.” Al-An’s voice was sharper than usual. “I am not lesser for having been transferred.”

Robin cringed, mentally kicking herself for her phrasing. “Sorry! I didn't mean it like that. Obviously you're still a person. I just meant… doesn't it bother you?”

“No, it does not bother me. Continuity of consciousness is an illusion. Is your consciousness not broken every time you experience unconsciousness? Every time you sleep?”

“Yes, but that’s different. I’m still in the same body.”

Al-An was quiet for a moment before responding, “The question must be asked, how do you know?”

What did he mean, how did she know? It was obvious! “Because I remember!”

“I also remember being in my previous vessels. Is that not the same?”

“No!”

“But I remember it. From my perspective, I have always been myself. Choices that I made in previous vessels continue to affect me even now. The fact that my data has been transferred has no bearing on my identity.”

“I don’t know how to articulate to you that it’s not the same,” Robin said with frustration. “You're a being with the memories of several other, nearly identical beings, mentally speaking.”

The momentary silence between them had a sudden, brittle quality to it. “That,” Al-An finally said, “is an enticing perspective. It would mean I am not responsible for actions taken in previous vessels. But it is not a perspective I can accept without compromising my scientific integrity. You are perceiving an arbitrary boundary. Are you not also a being with the memories of a previous, slightly different being? Are you not changed by your experiences? Not even my people ever remain exactly the same.”

“Well, no, simply changing as a person doesn't make me no longer the same person that had those previous experiences.” Robin wondered why not being responsible for his past actions was appealing to him. Had he done something he regretted?

“This is true,” Al-An agreed. “And the fact that my previous vessels are gone does not make me any less the same person who existed in them as well.”

“It… it’s not the same,” Robin replied helplessly. “The Al-An in the storage cube had a consciousness, and the Al-An before the storage cube had a consciousness, and you have a consciousness now, but they’re not the same consciousness.” And even if they were, there would be no way to prove it because he would believe himself to be the same being either way. This wasn’t an argument either of them could win, Robin realized.

“For my people,” Al-An continued, oblivious to Robin’s train of thought, “our data patterns contain our essence. Our vessels are not our selves. I am data. As long as my data exists, I exist.”

Ah crap, she was also invalidating his identity, wasn’t she? “Okay… okay. I guess if you’re satisfied, then it’s not my place to tell you how to feel, even if I feel differently.” 

“I appreciate the consideration,” Al-An said. Robin wasn’t sure if she was imagining the wry undertone to the comment.

[uniasus]

Chapter 2 of Spliter is, surprise! Damain's POV. Or not a surprise to some of you, I imagine.

------

“Daniel mentioned a medical condition.” Tim crosses his arms, frowning at the stone floor. “Twice tonight while talking to me he clutched his chest. I assumed a form of cardiomyopathy, but if he was actually fighting for control all night…”

“We never noticed,” Dick jumps in. “We all thought he was interesting and worth watching, sure, but not because of that. He kept stiffening at random times, had a hard time keeping a conversation –“

“Which could have been signs of fighting for control –“

“That’s not why I found him interesting,” Jason cuts in. “The Pits… liked him.”

The family goes quiet.

“The Pits can like something?” Barbara asks via the computer.

“I didn’t think they would, they seem to hate everything. But did you see his, what are we calling it, ghost form? His eyes were Pit green.”

“No,” Damian says. “They were close, but the shade was off. He also never seemed out of control the few minutes I was with him. Danyal had a mission and got it done.”

He’d also recognized Damian. Maybe. On a subconsious level. Had this Masters messed with his memory?

“He lost control at the end though,” Steph pointed out.

“So Masters gives him some freedom,” Tim says. “but what, always reminds the kid that it’s a luxury? That he can take it away any moment?”

The cave goes silent. Damian feels sick to his stomach.

The League had always been about control. Control your sword, control your body. School your expressions and hold your tongue. Bow to Grandfather, and give up your life for the mission. The League oversaw every part of Damian’s life when he was younger, but he always had control over his own limbs.

Anki. He fists his hands.

It’s possible Daniel Fenton is not Danyal al Ghul, of course, but Damian thinks they’re one and the same. Wants them to be the same.

[damian-lil-babybat]

Talia’s Gambit: A Matriarch’s Tale by angeljas

Summary:

Talia is on the mission to save her family. If it extended to the Wayne family, then that would not be her problem. After all, when did in all known and unknown multiverses, in those in the living and the dead, did she ever asked permission to save her loved ones before? But first, she needed to correct her Beloathed’s misconceptions. Lots of them. And maybe, while she's at it, she might be able to reclaim her lost family, and pick up others, along the way. Nevertheless, her country is big enough to house all of them, and then some. OR. Pre-Morrison Talia got isekaid (vaguely) back to her old body after the events of RSOB, and she had to survive being the villainess of her own story, while saving her ex and son, and picking up discarded assassin kids. Thankfully, she is loaded and just insane enough to make things work.

First chapter is up!

Chapter 1: The ill-fated villainess returned from hell

[subnausea]

"What benefit does this serve?" The Architect inquired.

Ryley rolled his eyes, ignoring the alien in his head in favour of feeding the young Chelicerate before him.

"Is it a test subject?"

"She's a pet." Ryley answered, voice muffled by his rebreather. "And she's not an it, her name is Shrimp."

The small leviathan opened its mandibles, taking the Arctic peeper from Ryley's hands and swallowing it in two bites.

"Shrimp, as you call her, is a hazard to your safety. Chelicerates are an aggressive species of leviathan."

Ryley rolled his eyes once more, stroking his hand across Shrimp's light orange armour, having not yet grown into her red shell.

"I wouldn't expect a species that steals the DNA from others to understand what an interspecies bond is."

"We also keep various creatures as pets."

"Really?"

"Yes. They are to be assessed for potential gentic enhancements, although I do not believe humans have the ability to alter their genetic structure."

The human groaned. "That's not a pet."

Shrimp nuzzled closer. Ryley smiled softly as the young Chelicerate expressed her affection, letting out chirps as she poked and prodded him with her mandibles.

She showed a surprising degree of intelligence.

"This behaviour is unknown to us." Al-An mused. "We were unaware of—"

"You're unaware of everything except your own goals." Ryley cursed. "It's what got your facility destroyed."

Al-An was silent for a second. Only one.

"The destruction of the research facility and escape of the bacterium into the water was an accident we could not have forseen."

"Yeah, I bet."

[snowlikeash]

The rooms were simple and sumptuous at once; everything was of the finest quality, the draped colors muted to browns and yellows and deep greens. High pile carpet allowed bare feet to sink into it as if into fresh loam. It was a comforting place with a comforting smell, incense clinging to the curtains. At this hour, moonlight drenched the room with white-blue light. Here was Ra's al Ghul's public study, where his finest pupils were allowed to approach him.

Bruce leaned against the door, feeling unstrung. He was too tired to mind his posture. All he remembered to do was lower his eyes.

"Ustadh," he said, voice crackling like his throat was raw. It was. He had been weeping.

From a sunken section of the floor, Ra's observed his guest. His eyes, a clear glass-green, were questioning at first, then softened.

"Mahzun," he said, sadly, leaning back in the divan he was sitting in. "Come to me."

Shoving himself off the doorframe, Bruce slunk forward like a wounded dog. He collapsed on his knees in front of Ra's, his forehead bowed deeply, almost touching Ra's knees.

A ringed hand rested on Bruce's head, then pushed through his hair, a soothing motion.

"Habibi," said Ra's, with a gentle voice. "I am sorry. I had to be sure."

Bruce flinched. It hurt to know this man, that he trusted, that he believed in, would inflict harm on him like this.

[nathanbatemanfucker]

Are you still doing those emoji snippets because if so: 🪽

(And if you're not then please disregard this entirely and I hope you're having a great day!)

thanks for sending in an emoji, here’s some fixer!reader x joaquin :))))

[5-turtleducks-in-a-trenchcoat]

I just started another relisten of rqg and I thought it would be fun to animate that moment from episode 4 when Bertie drops a piano on a guy.

The audio of the piano falling down is piano crash.wav by CGEffex on freesound.org because apparently I'm not allowed to throw my mom's piano out of the window.

I also put just the backround under the cut because I do kinda like it.

[subtle-as-an-earthquake]

"Wrap your head around that" - RU Mine? at FlyDSA Arena Sheffield, September 2018

[localcryptic]

tagged for WIP wednesdaythursday by @westealtoys and @autumnfangirler ! and technically @b33tlejules so i’m using that as an excuse to post 3 things lol 😋

it’s sidesteps all the way down. enjoy some tal and ortega chargestep kisses, ripley and hollow ground, and allen egg% speedrun with his puppet that maybe one day i’ll finish <3

i do not know who to tag. if you are reading this 🫵 post your WIPs and tag me

[lovelikedestiny]

Coming next Thursday: a tiny (really tiny) superhero!Joe ficlet. Here is a first look!

Joe realizes that his boyfriend Nicky is not gifted with superpowers like Booker had assumed and insisted on in their meetings for months now, when Keane – villain and Joe’s fucking nemesis – drops him from the roof of a seven-story building.

[drowned-cypress]

“Do you mind if I play some music?” Robin asked, shuffling through her PDA.

“What is music?” Al-An asked.

Robin had to stop and think about that one. “It’s… a form of expression,” she answered, setting the PDA aside.

“Expression?”

“Communication. Art,” Robin clarified. “Music is a combination of sounds using rhythm or harmony or melody or words, or some combination of those, which attempts to communicate complex or elusive ideas and emotions.”

“Is this not already a function of your system of language?”

“Well, yes, but music isn’t nearly so precise, and there’s an aesthetic component to it as well.”

“If it is not precise, why utilize it?”

Robin frowned. “The value of music isn’t in its utility. Music is often very beautiful, though not always. Usually music is just… more visceral than language. We experience it on an emotional level.”

“It is instinctual?”

Robin opened her mouth, then shut it again. Oh. Al-An wanted an explanation from a biological standpoint. “There is evidence of a biological basis for music. There have been arguments that it was an adaptive trait for our ancestors–a means of social cohesion when living in large groups, to convey and regulate emotions. It’s a kind of communication that’s thought to be older than language. Some research suggests that language evolved from music.”

“I would be interested to hear an example.”

Robin shrugged and scrolled through her PDA’s menu system to put on one of her favorite songs. It was a mostly instrumental piece, but it had choral accompaniment. She always felt like it conveyed triumph in adversity and a kind of breathless elation, the joy of success. It made her feel like she was flying. She closed her eyes and listened. There was one part of the song that never failed to give her chills.

“I believe I understand,” Al-An commented once the song faded to silence. “It has an impact on your pulse and breathing. It makes you move differently. This response could come from a kind of synesthesia endemic to your species, connoting combinations of sound frequencies with specific emotions in your brain’s emotional centers.”

Robin fidgeted with her PDA as she thought about that. He had apparently been observing her reaction as much as he had been listening to the music. “You’re probably not wrong, but the experience isn’t universal. The emotional responses people have to specific pieces of music depend on the kind of music they’ve been exposed to in the past, especially during their developmental years. It’s like language in that respect: a learned social behavior. Also, musicality isn’t limited to just humans. Plenty of other animals enjoy, and even make music. For example, there are many species of bird native to Earth that produce complex melodies as part of their calls.”

“My people have encountered species with complex vocal calls before. We have determined that those calls often elicit an emotional response in other members of the species.”

Robin nodded. “Exactly. Humans are not unique in that respect.”

“So music is the vocal call of humans?”

Robin hesitated. “We don’t really think about it like that, but you wouldn’t exactly be wrong to interpret it that way. Music can serve some of the same evolutionary functions as animal calls. Though, while humans are incredible vocal mimics, we use instruments as well as our voices to make music. These days though, music is mostly viewed as entertainment.” Robin paused before asking, “Does your species have a call? Even if you don’t use it anymore, I’d be interested to know more about the evolutionary origins of your species.”

There was quiet as Al-An gave the question some thought. “No, we do not have a vocal call,” he finally said. “We did not evolve a biological means of creating complex vocalizations. However, before we evolved telepathy, our ancestors first expressed emotions through bioluminescence.”

Robin’s eyes widened. “I would like to see that. That sounds amazing. Do you still have bioluminescence? Do you make visual displays with it as an art form?”

“Yes, we have kept the bioluminescence, but while we can control it to a small degree, it is largely an involuntary part of what you would likely call our limbic system.”

“Ah, so more like body language.”

“That is accurate.”

There was a long moment of quiet between them as Robin thought about what Al-An had said. “Didn’t you describe the network as a kind of harmony of strings?”

“Ah. Yes, but in a metaphorical sense. I had not realized your species utilized harmonies.”

“But you understand the concept of harmony? That’s a musical concept.”

“It is a known phenomenon. My people find the mathematics of sympathetic resonance to be aesthetically pleasing.”

Robin blinked. They found the mathematics to be aesthetically pleasing, but they held no opinion on the actual sound? She supposed that explained why he didn’t really understand music. Or perhaps they did have their own music, but it was unrecognizable in comparison to what she had played. “But why use that metaphor?”

“It is…” Al-An made an inarticulate, frustrated noise. “Trying to describe the sensation of the network to you is trying to describe a sensory experience you have never had using a communication method that is imprecise and inadequate for the task. Your language does not contain a word for the sensation because no human has experienced it. The best I can do is use one of your own senses as metaphor. It is like describing your tactile ability to detect vibrations as similar to your ability to sense temperature. They may be somewhat similar, and serve similar functions, but are by no means the same.”

“Ah, so the network doesn’t sound like literal strings.”

“No, it does not sound like anything at all. But as a metaphor for the network, the concept of harmony is appealing. Each individual has their own frequency, and when grouped properly, interactions may produce resonance. Your sense of hearing also works better as a metaphor than any other sense you possess, because humans communicate primarily through hearing.”

Robin chewed her lip, thinking. The picture he painted of his species was very alien: they didn’t produce complex sounds, and communicated through telepathy and bioluminescence. It sounded fascinating, but she didn’t want their differences to become a wall between them. “Will you still be able to communicate with me once you get your own body?”

“You need not worry.” Al-An’s usual monotone carried a softness Robin was not used to hearing. He was getting better at picking up on her emotions. “Even if I could not calibrate my telepathy to a frequency you are able to receive, I would still be able to produce sounds in your range of hearing through my cybernetic components.”

Robin smiled. “Want to hear more music?” she asked, changing the subject.

“Yes,” Al-An replied with a kind of eagerness that made Robin’s smile widen. “Please, proceed.”