#bully snippet

[shycorvid]

Danny- *glaring at a field of grass* You all better be on your best behavior. Sam- *holding a picnic basket* We've already talked about this, Danny. Just because it's green doesn't mean it's ghost-related! Danny- *hisses*

[cheatingtime]

randoms

[uniquethingtastemaker]

Rook x Observant Reader snippet:

The Pomefiore dorm leader grips Rook’s hand just as tightly, before sighing. He produces a handkerchief from his pocket and hands it to the hunter.

“Don’t get snot on my clothes, and I’m sorry for scaring you. Thank you for leading the others. I’m proud to have you as my second in command,” Vil tells him.

Ace interjects, “He led us better than you ever did. [Y/N] says that emotional damage is real, and I expect some compensation.”

You snort as Vil’s mouth drops open in offended shock.

“Ace!” Deuce cries, looking horrified.

Grim cackles, “There’s our classic Ace! He doesn’t hold back the punches.”

The redhead smirks at the varied reactions.

(Was rereading the story, saw this and went “this is hilarious. I must share this in a snippet)

[the-broken-pen]

Hey can you do one about a villain with teleporting powers

The hero woke up gasping, scrambling upright in bed as the back of their neck tingled in warning. Their eyes darted around the room, blurry, before settling on the far wall.

The villain watched them, idle and unimpressed.

The hero’s lungs, traitorously, forgot how to breathe. They wheezed slightly, one hand clenching onto the blanket, the other sliding underneath the pillow for their knife, where–

The villain hummed, and the hero’s attention snapped back to them at the same time they managed to draw in a painful, terror-addled breath. The villain’s gaze was unnerving as they flipped a knife over their knuckles.

The hero’s knife.

“You,” the hero managed, but they couldn’t think of anything to say, and they were so tired and their pulse was jackrabbiting in their ears.

The villain seemed to know this.

“I warned you,” they said. They didn’t even sound mean about it. Just a gentle reminder��hey, don’t forget to check the mail, hey, it’s your mom’s birthday, hey, can you feed the dog?

‘If you keep interfering, I will hunt you to the ends of the Earth and make you stop. There is nowhere I will not find you. Do you hear me? You cannot run from me, so don’t make me chase you.’

The hero swallowed.

“I didn’t think you would actually do it.”

The villain nodded like they had expected this. “You’ve learned from your mistakes, though, yeah?”

The hero knew the right answer. They knew that the proper response would be to slide off the bed onto their knees, to swear in every language they knew that they wouldn’t do it again. That the villain would be the only one allowed to splash blood onto the streets of their city, and the hero would choke on the pain of doing nothing and stay silent in it.

“You knew I wasn’t going to listen to you,” the hero said, and it was accusatory. The villain shifted slightly. “You had to have known I wouldn’t stop just because you threatened me.”

The villain shrugged one shoulder. 

“Of course I did. If you were the type of person who would have stopped, I would have killed you instead of giving you a warning.”

The hero’s grip tightened on the blanket. “That doesn’t make sense. If I was going to stop then why kill me–”

“I don’t believe in weakness,” the villain interrupted. Their gaze was searching and heavy on the hero’s face, knife still spinning over their knuckles. “Which is why you’re alive, because you have never been weak.”

The hero’s jaw tensed.

“You wanted this.”

The hint of a smile pulled at the villain’s mouth.

“Of course I did. You think I didn’t know you would try and run? You think I didn’t know exactly how you would react the moment I threatened anyone in that cursed city?”

“So you weren’t actually going to kill anyone?”

“Oh, no,” the villain corrected. “Of course I was going to. They don’t matter to me.”

The hero’s stomach turned. 

“Those are people–”

“They’re a drop in an ocean of humanity. You know better than to think I would care about something so trivial,” the villain said.

“They’re not trivial–”

The villain sighed, harsh in the darkness of the room.

“I bore of this. Get dressed. We’re leaving.”

The hero jolted back.

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

The villain sighed again, as if they were dealing with an unruly child and getting a headache for their efforts. It sent the hero bristling like an angry cat.

“There’s nowhere you can go that I can’t find you. You know that, right? There is no end of the line for this. You can drive until you run out of gasoline, until your feet bleed, and you drain your accounts of money. And I will follow, and I will leave every person who helped you nothing more than a stain on the ground, until you decide the trail of bodies isn’t worth avoiding me. Is that really something you want?”

The hero set their jaw, rising to their feet. 

“You won’t find me,” they swore. And the villain–

The villain laughed.

“I know your face. Of course I can find you.”

The hero was missing something, and the lack of knowledge felt like a sword over their head. 

“I don’t–”

“There’s no way you would have known,” the villain said gently, like they knew how much it bothered the hero that they were missing something that was apparently vital. 

They probably did know.

The hero glared.

The villain looked on the verge of another laugh.

“Once I’ve seen a face, I can find a person anywhere in the world. No matter how far. That’s all I need. You could go to the other side of the planet, and I could teleport to you without a second thought.”

The hero gaped.

“Any face?”

The villain paused. “Yes.”

The hero’s throat went abruptly dry.

Any face–

“You could do so much good,” the hero said, and their voice broke slightly. “Do you know how many people you could save? Natural disasters and missing persons cases and–”

“You misunderstand me.”

“You could–”

“I don’t want to do good.”

The hero stopped.

“You don’t want to do good,” they said flatly.

“I am not a good person,” the villain said. “I don’t want to do good. I want power, and I want to do as I please, and I want you.”

The hero was going to be sick on the wooden flooring. They were barefoot, and weaponless, and that fear still ran up their spine.

“I am a person. You cannot have a person.”

“You are a glorious, powerful being,” the villain countered.

“That doesn’t make me less of a person.”

“No,” the villain agreed. “But it does make you something other than trivial. How could I do anything other than want to have that?”

The hero backed up a step.

“You can’t have me.”

The villain matched them, silent even as they stepped forward.

“You plan to run?”

They sounded amused.

The hero supposed that was better than anger.

“Stay over there,” the hero said shakily. The villain obliged, settling their hands into their pockets. Like this was a means to an end. They had flipped to the back of the book and read the ending, and were watching the hero catch up to the scenes they had already seen played out. The villain’s eyes burned into them.

And abruptly, skin going cold, the hero realized there truly wasn’t a way out of this for them.

The villain would never let them be. They could run, like the villain said, and the villain could kill every person who so much as looked their way. They could hide, and stumble through cities and down alleys and the villain would always be around the corner. 

They had little doubt that every other person in this shitty motel was already dead. 

The villain grinned like they could read every thought as it crossed the hero’s face.

“Where will you go,” the villain said. They stepped forward until they were close enough to touch. 

It wasn’t really the sort of question that wanted an answer.

“Everyone else in this building is dead, aren’t they?”

The villain cocked their head, as if to say, Come now, you know the answer to that.

The hero didn’t think they would ever be able to draw a full breath again.

“Where,” the villain said, soft like a secret. “Will you go, little hero?”

It felt like dying. It felt like reaching out to help someone a second too late. A second too slow to catch the building as it fell. The wrong side of a fire before it blew up.

“With you,” they whispered, and the villain smiled wider.

“What was that?”

“You heard me,” the hero snapped, and thrust their hand out. The villain took it without hesitation.

They tugged the hero into them, leaning to slot their mouth next to the hero’s ear. The hair on the back of the hero’s neck stood up.

“You could do so much bad,” the villain whispered, and the hero ground their teeth hard enough to hurt.

Anger flared bright enough to drain every ounce of fear from their body. Because this was the worst case scenario, wasn’t it? What could be lost.

“Every step you make, every blow you deal and fire you start, I’ll be there. And I'll stop you. Again, and again, and again. You want me?” The hero bared their teeth. “Then have me.”

The villain tugged them closer, and laughed.

“I look forward to it,” the villain replied, and then darkness swallowed the both of them whole.

A week later, a team of agents entered the motel to find it coated in blood and the smell of death.

A month later, everyone knew there was a fight of immovable power and unstoppable force shattering its way across the world. 

A year later, the victor panted through a bloody grin, bruised and crackling with vicious unleashed power, and laughed. Because truly, the ending had been on the horizon since the moment the two of them had first met.

[envysparkler]

ambushes

Dick started it.

In his defense, his replacement was a twelve-year-old who looked like he was nine, and Dick overcompensated when he grabbed Jason’s arms and swung with far too much force for the surprisingly light frame.

Dick had meant to twirl him.  Get that annoyed scowl off his face, because Jason could imitate a storm cloud like no one’s business, but when he blushed his whole face turned as red as a fire truck.

It was practically Dick’s brotherly duty to tease the kid, and the cuter his little replacement was, the less Dick’s stomach felt like clawing itself apart, so.

He’d been intending to twirl the kid.

But his grip was too loose and his force too strong and Jason slipped out of his grasp with a yelp as Dick sent him flying.

Thankfully, his trajectory was met with a couch.

Jason clawed himself out of the cushions, spitting mad, his cheeks turning pink, and Dick laughed.

It was hilarious.  Jason’s dark glare promised revenge, but Dick was the older brother, and Jason was a whole foot shorter than him.

Dick ruffled the kid’s hair as he passed by, still grinning.

~#~

Jason continues it.

Jason continues it with Damian because the League’s where he learned it – Bruce never let them train in the Manor, and Jason had never been stupid enough to drop his guard on the streets.  But the League, yes, it had been a home once, but never a safe place, not when tests and traps and tricks lurked around every corner.

Damian’s eased away from that ever-present state of alertness.  Dick’s trained it out of him with praise and cuddles, most likely.  Just makes Jason’s job all the easier.

He stalks down the corridor silently – Titus gives him a look but doesn’t bark, the dog is far too trusting – and, when he gets close enough, attacks.

An arm around Damian’s chest, trapping his arms, and another clamped over his mouth before Damian can even think to struggle.

Damian stills, and then twists a wrist, and there’s a knife poking somewhere Jason does not want it to poke.

Eased out of hyperawareness, but you don’t forget your instincts, not if you’ve been raised by the League of Assassins.

“If I’d been trying to kill you,” Jason whispers, “You’d already be dead.”

The knife pokes harder as Damian spits enraged, incomprehensible sounds against his hand.

“Just proving a point, demon brat.”

He lets Damian go and moves for the knife in the same instant that Damian turns on his heel – it’s easy work to disarm the kid, twirling the knife as he grins down at a furious child.

“You’ve forgotten who you are,” Jason hums idly, tapping the flat of the blade to Damian’s head and leaving before the demon brat can come up with a suitable threat in his speechless rage.

~#~

He sees the new Batgirl – he thinks she’s Batgirl right now, anyway, Babs seems to enjoy playing musical chairs with that thing – sprawled out on the couch like it’s her own home, like she isn’t mooching off a billionaire that she regularly insults.

It’s things like this that make Stephanie Brown his favorite vigilante.  She has the same awe for Batman as she does for a roadside weed, she somehow managed to win reluctant approval from Damian, she drags the Replacement out of his hidey-holes, and she’s Cass’s favorite.

Considering that Cass is Bruce’s favorite, it’s another blow to the old man.

She registers him leaning against the doorframe, and tenses.

It isn’t a big thing, she’s still staring at the TV screen, but it’s obvious she’s tracking him as he gets closer.

So Jason makes no attempt to hide it.  Just gets close enough, and lunges.

Steph immediately scrambles out of the way, and Jason has to boost himself over the couch to catch her – he catches her shoulder and takes her down, using every drop of his weight advantage to pin her to the ground, arms above her head.

“Jason?” she asks warily, tracking his eyes as she tests his grip.

“Stephanie,” he mocks in her hesitant tone.

Steph’s eyes narrow.  “Get off me, you asshole,” she snaps, twisting her hips – forcing him to either let go or use a lot more force to keep her down.

Jason chooses to let go, straightening back up and staring down at the wary teenager.  He grins, and offers her a hand up.

Steph takes it, still suspicious – but her suspicion doesn’t save her from being dumped head-first onto the couch.

“Jason!” comes the muffled cry as he saunters out of the room, “You bastard!”

~#~

The Replacement, surprisingly, is the easiest to ambush.

Jason maybe expected slightly more self-preservation from the kid – Jason’s legitimately tried to kill him two times, after all – but Tim clearly falls into the same trap as Damian.

The Manor’s home, thus it must be safe.  No matter how many formerly-undead previously-psychotic killers have keys.

All Jason has to do is wait for the kid to step out of the study, his gaze fixed on his tablet as he mutters something under his breath, before reaching out and snatching him.

The Replacement is short and light, two things that make it easy for Jason to carry him, especially when the kid goes startlingly limp at the sight of Jason’s face.

He doesn’t even protest when Jason snags the tablet from his hands and sets it down on one of the side tables.

The pliant meekness is almost worrisome, if it wasn’t what Jason wanted in the first place.  He carries Tim all the way to his room, rolls his eyes at the absolute mess, tucks the wilting – and sleep deprived, Jason was counting – teenager into bed, and pretends he doesn’t see the wide eyes as he turns to leave.

He pauses on the threshold.  “If you leave the bed, I will hunt you down,” he promises, and makes no attempt to hide the threat in his voice.

Tim ducks underneath the covers.

~#~

Cassandra Wayne is, no doubt, the most formidable of his opponents.  He cannot sneak up on her.  He cannot even try.

Well, no, he can certainly try, which is how he ends up wearing the contents of a water bottle as Cass blinks down at him from on top of a bookshelf.

Jason sighs, eyes the bookshelf, and pretty quickly decides that it won’t be able to hold his weight.

“I’ll get you one day,” he warns before leaving.

~#~

“No, Jay, Jay,” Dick clutched Jason’s shoulders, failing horribly at hiding his grin as Jason rounded the edge of the deck, “I swear, Little Wing, don’t you dare –”

“I think you need to cool off,” Jason laughed, and tried to pry Dick off.

“Not getting rid of me that easily, Jaybird,” Dick said, holding on tighter.

Jason considered him for a moment, before his face split into a wide, devious smile.  Dick had just enough time to think uh oh before Jason sprinted the last few steps and jumped into the pool.  Dick yelped, but there was no time to disentangle himself before they hit the water.

“Told you I’d get revenge,” Jason grinned.

[madin-writes]

“So, this is meant to be a representation of you?” Nico asks, holding up the figurine. When Leo nods, he quirks his lips in an amused smile. “You see yourself as a dragon?”

“I—” Pausing, Leo blinks and feels heat rushing to his face. “W-well, of course! What else would I be?”

Nico thinks about it for a moment, then shrugs. “If we're talking about animals, you seem more like a rat to me.”

“A rat?”

“Hear me out,” Nico says, trying to act serious despite failing to hold back giggles. “You’ve got the pointy ears and you’re clever, resourceful, in unexpected situations. That’s not a bad thing, right?”

“Shut the fuck up. Oh my god.” Leo hides his head in his hands, mind reeling as he reconciles with the knowledge that this apparently is how Nico perceives him. “I can't believe you broke through my window and came into my dorm room just to call me a fucking rat—”

Laughing openly now, Nico peels away Leo's hands, takes in the comically offended look on his face, and bumps their shoulders together lightly. “I’m kidding, Valdez. The dragon is really cool,” he says, voice soft as he glances down again, tracing the edges of the carved wood with his finger.

[gasps-inspanish]

Snippet from the current fic I’m working on, Of Fear and Falling Apart

“Sir yes sir” Kyle said. Hal cracked a smile and ruffled his hair. “Oh come on my hair”!

“It was already messed up,” Hal laughed as he shrugged on his jacket over his uniform and climbed out the window. “I just helped”!

And then he was gone, and even though Kyle was by himself, for the first time in a long time he didn’t feel alone.

[impyssadobsessions]

Excerpts from my WIPS ;3 Guess Which story and when- or if its a story even up. If ya want.

----DPxDC

“Keep communication lines on, we'll be moving towards your location.” Batman had replied, which made Nightwing clicked his teeth. “How much should I bet you're not going to do that?” Dick turned to ask Jason as both of them hopped off the bike. “Do what? I didn't hear anything.” “Okay, so a hundred at least.” Nightwing hummed, as he followed Red-Hood back towards the abandon lab.

----DPxDC

"-One time she sent DASH! To babysit ME! I'm older than both of them now. Y'know how awkward that was? Though the look on Dash's face was hilarious.” Dick smirked, raising a brow. “The guy that bullied you? Why did she ask him?” “Ah, probably because he's a puppy that'll do whatever my sister asks. She knows it too.” Danny clicked his tongue as his face grimaced at the implications of it. “I may or may not have... scared him a few times. I do like a disappearing act.” Dick grinned as he could imagine what Danny meant. He did seem to take any form of “keeping tabs” on him as a challenge. Danny smirked back, a mischievous glint in his eye, before dropping his face. “Jazz was REALLY upset about it. I had assumed this was her being overbearing and protective like usual-I didn't realize how hard this was on her.” The guilt thick in his throat. “She broke down crying and.. I promised her I'll stay out of the house when she's not home. 'Cause I didn't know what to do.. or say. I just..” “Thought of the easiest solution?” “Yeah... I guess.” Danny shrugged, defeated.

---------DPxDC

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. Shouldn't you be resting, sir?” Alfred scolded. A small amused smirk on his lips as he carried lunch on a tray. Bruce just made a grunt. His eyes glued to the screen of the laptop. Images, news articles, videos. Whatever he could find was displayed on the screen, while he bit at the end of his pencil. A notepad next to him. “Ah yes, very informative answer, Master Bruce.” Alfred set down the tray on the nightstand beside his bed. There was more than just lunch on the tray as it carried a medical kit. Bruce sighed. He shoved the laptop to the side and struggled to sit up more so Alfred could replace his dressing. “This whole situation just crawls under my skin.” “I say it does, sir.” Alfred's hands move quickly to help replace the doctor's handy work. “Secret government organization, children in peril, and the boarder between life and death getting thinner by the day. Certainly sounds like a recipe for disaster.”

---------BULLY

Pete glanced back up at Mr. Smith. The man was eyeing him carefully, waiting for a reply. He must care about Gary in some way to go through this much trouble, right? And... it would be easier to contact Gary's grandfather than dealing with the headmaster. Pete bit his lip as he thought. “Um, Okay. S-sure.” “Atta boy! Hahaha!” Allen laughed as he smacked his hand on Pete's shoulder, making him stumble. Pete really needed to work on not being pushed around so easily. “Though, if you can mange to keep little Garreth in line, I'll add in a little bonus for your trouble. Since you're doing more than half what I was paying this damn school to do.” “That's not-” “Some good advice. Never work for free, Pete. Consider it a token of gratitude. After all, I think we both know watching my grandson isn't an easy task.” Allen winked.

--------DPXDC

Tim had no idea how he was going to pull this off. His eyes glancing from the Fenton parents to the boy he met yesterday, Danny Fenton. He knew he was dead. At least, was ghostly in some way. Danny didn't act or looked how Greta did, but Greta was visible as Deadman wasn't. So perhaps ghosts varied drastically? Either way, Danny being dead wasn't even the part that was bothering him. It was knowing he had to pretend he didn't know- while Danny sat right next to his oblivious killers. Well, the word killer might be too harsh. Tim theorized it was an accident regarding with a portal that opened on top of Danny. Which might also explain Danny's unique qualities.

---------DPxDC

“...Danny has traces of... Lazarus pit... stronger than yours.” Tim answered, with a concerned tone. They were afraid of how Jason would take it. And Jason was not taking it well, as he felt cold rage deep in his veins. The icy chill as he acknowledged that not only was Danny his blood... he shared the worse part of his blood. The reminder that they... Had died. Those scars... that was how Danny died and so far knowing their luck, he doubted it was painless. “Little Wing? Jay bird? You there, I'm almost at your location. How's Danny?” Dick called on the comms. Jason pulled the boy more into his jacket, giving him the best attempt of a hug he could. “Better than the fuckers who did this to him will be.”

------DPXDC

Danny had made an unfortunate discovery. His powers, like all ghosts, were based on emotion. Other's emotions. Even worse, the strongest one was fear. Fear fed on itself and grew stronger and stronger. And what made him discover this, made his heart sink with dread. He was stuck powerless in Gotham as his friends were laughing themselves to death along with other hostages in the room. Danny cursed at himself for listening to Sam. He should have phased them out of there, regardless of Batman's no meta rule. Now the only fear emitting into the room was his own. They were too far from others for him to feed off of, and ectoplasm was low. No.. more like the ectoplasm was being pulled away from the ground of Gotham and seeping into some other being that was far too greedy. “Well, well, well~ Look what we have here? A little party pooper!” A man with green hair and clown painted face cackled, as he waltz his way over to Danny. The black-hair teen ripped his eyes from his friends, glaring at the man. He gritted his teeth and clenched his fist, while he stayed knelt over his friends. “Funny, most parties I've seen at least has music.” Danny was feeling sweat dripping off his face. He needed to do something fast, but if he couldn't transform.. then he wasn't sure what else he isn't able to do. Not like this man looked fit, but... Danny knew danger when he sees it. “Ah, but this is music! To my ears at least, ehehehehe!”

----------CAMP CAMP

“Ah. Smell that, Gwen?” “Smell what.” “That fresh breeze! We had gone a full twenty-four hours without a single camp activity catching on fire.” “Huh, I guess you're right! This camp only smells half as shitty-” “Where's Max?” Both Gwen and David utter out in realization as it had dawn that neither of them had seen the troublesome trio since breakfast. --- “Don't worry Max! We'll save you once I finish chewing off my leg-” “Nikki! DON'T!” “Well... I'm fucked.”

[sodomhipped]

This week's snippet for WIP Wednesday!

Fandom: The Outsiders & That Was Then, This Is Now Pairing: Dallas/Ponyboy Characters: Dallas Winston, Ponyboy Curtis, Bryon Douglas, Mark Jennings

[crimsongrimoire]

save me gallahill yuri. Save me

[slippery-minghus]

System Breach Sunday... Rewind ⭕

#7

“Connor!” Hank dropped to his knees in front of his android charge. Sidearm holstered, he reached out, hesitant. 

Still frozen, lifeless like a broken doll, Connor could only watch as Hank took one of his hands from where they rested in his lap. The sight seemed almost far away… nearly glowing under the weak midday sun. Even still, Connor could feel it as Hank’s warm, calloused palm squeezed his own—he could hear the Lieutenant’s elevated respiration, feel his anxious pulse through the contact in his palm—but he couldn’t react. Couldn’t reciprocate in any way.

Connor was fine, but the remaining seconds that he was powerless to prove it made something inside him hurt. 

>WARNING: COMPREHENSIVE MOTOR REBOOT REQUIRED

>Time Until Motor Reboot: 53 seconds

>

>Software Instability ^

Gently, almost fearfully hesitant, Hank reached to Connor’s chin, tilting up his head. The sensation was a stark, cutting contradiction to the deviant’s forceful grip—and in a flutter of irrationality, Connor once again found himself verifying his anti-virus program’s readout. 

Still clear. Still nothing. 

He was alright. 

Connor’s vision rose, panning from the Lieutenant’s knees before his own, up to the man’s concerned, gray-framed face. Hank’s expression was pained, his voice tentative, “Can you hear me, son? You okay?” His gaze shifted slightly to Connor’s right, and the finger at his chin tilted his head to follow—Connor’s LED was still an angry, cycling red. 

“Shit, you still in there, Connor?” Hank asked with a bit more urgency. But then his gaze shifted away, and his hand gently lowered Connor’s head. His tone took on a more inward quality, “His LED’s still goin’, probably means he ain’t dead… the fuck did that deviant bastard do?” Careful, probing hands prodded at Connor’s sides, his arms, shoulders, his throat—barely brushing the data panel below his jaw—yet Hank found nothing amiss. “This is why I didn’t want you going off alone, you dumbass!”

>WARNING: COMPREHENSIVE MOTOR REBOOT REQUIRED

>Motor Reboot Initiated

Finally, after so many frustrating, powerless minutes, Connor began to regain physical functionality.

His breathing was the first to come back online. In a warmer setting, the influx of air would have been vital to cool his arrested biocomponents—but as his synthetic lungs expanded, Connor was met with the frigid rush of Detroit winter. Some basic, hard-coded instinct sent a violent shiver juddering through him, and Connor’s eyes squinted shut before he realized he’d even regained the ability to blink. He wheezed again, exhaling harshly as if the next breath would not come just as cold. 

“Connor!” Hank gasped, moving to grip the android’s shoulders. “Hang on kid, hang on. I’ve gotcha.”

Though the shivers persisted, each tremor was more fluid—more lifelike—than the last. And before long, Connor was able to perform simple movements of his own volition. With meticulous focus, he strung a sequence of actions together, then executed. First, Connor reached for the Lieutenant’s wrist and grasped it lightly. He slowly shook his head. Then Connor opened his mouth, activated his vocal synthesizer, and whispered, “I’m okay.” 

Yet he sounded anything but. Connor’s voice had come out small, rattled, afraid. He hadn’t queued an emulated well of emotion, hadn’t plotted the expression he could feel furrowing his brows. Androids weren’t supposed to—

“Like hell you are! What the hell happened? What’d that fucker do to you?” Hank’s tone was rough now that the imminent danger had passed, but the sharpest edges had been sanded smooth by relief. Connor couldn’t help but think back to the echo of Hank’s anger—his fear that he might lose…

Connor blinked, then jerked his hand away from Hank’s arm. He tried to right himself, but only managed to sway in Hank’s persistent grasp. The danger had passed, but— “The deviant—” Connor pressed, eyes wide, “It can’t have gotten far. I can track its progress through the cameras from here—” 

“Woah, woah, woah, hold it,” Hank rumbled, biting back a curse as Connor nearly slumped further to the ground. “I’m not going anywhere until I’m sure you’re actually okay. And not just saying it. Why’re you moving like a drunk bag of rocks?” 

[dyedblueuniverse11]

"Bakugo are u listening? " Bakugo bobbed his head twice, without looking up, running his fingers through his hair as his head rested on the desk.

He wasn't listening. But he doubted Aizawa would like that answer. The class droned on. Maybe he was burnt out. He hasn't been paying attention to a lot of classes right now.

The realisation that this was all real was hitting him. There was only so much negativity and shunning a person could take. Even his delusions and defiance was losing.

[headphonemouse]

Follow up to this post brought to you by @forgetme-eternally-blissfully, in fanfic snippet format because I gave up on drawing the comic (the fanfic was supposed to be a comic draft but I added too many details)

Kim Dokja lays on the ground among the rubble of a ruined building. He twitches a little before his eyes open. The world is blurry. In the distance, he can see a dark blur fluttering around his surroundings. As his vision comes into focus, he can recognize Yoo Joonghyuk searching through the debris.

A sharp pain coming from his side causes Kim Dokja to let out a groan as he struggles to push himself up to a sitting position. The sound catches Yoo Joonghyuk's attention and immediately he starts making a beeline in Kim Dokja's direction.

As Yoo Joonghyuk approaches, Kim Dokja takes note of Yoo Joonghyuk's tattered coat, his bloodstained body, the wounds on his face, hands, legs. None too serious though some deep enough to inevitably leave scars later.

Yoo Joonghyuk is getting closer, kneeling down, reaching his hand out towards Kim Dokja's face, making a move to pull Kim Dokja in when Kim Dokja decides to open his mouth.

"You're not losing your balance and having trouble standing are you? I'm not going to carry you on my back this time."

"Shut up," is all Yoo Joonghyuk says as he wraps his arms around Kim Dokja's shoulders. His grip is tight, one hand on the back of Kim Dokja's head, the other circled around his upper back.

There is a gash in Kim Dokja's side that throbs with pain. Blood loss has his head spinning and his vision blurring again. From where his face is pressed into Yoo Joonghyuk's shoulder, Kim Dokja can smell blood, sweat, smoke. Buildings continue to crumple in the background and the sound of something falling pitters in his ears. His hands tense and untense, relax and remain by his sides.

Kim Dokja lets out a breath and leans into Yoo Joonghyuk, just slightly. Just enough so that Yoo Joonghyuk can tighten his hold by a hair.

----------

Author's notes (what would normally be my image caption):

I said in the referenced post that Kim Dokja has no trouble reciprocating affection once someone else initiates, but I think Yoo Joonghyuk is the exception. Always exceptional, that one. At least during the Scenarios.

Kim Dokja can read his movements, see what Yoo Joonghyuk is aiming to do, can read his mind, dammit. But he can't comprehend his actions. Yoo Joonghyuk acting in a way that Kim Dokja doesn't know about is something that happens more and more often as time goes on, and serves as a reminder of the wall that exists between a protagonist and a reader, but also the wall that exists between two normal people. Because at this moment, Kim Dokja is still struggling to see Yoo Joonghyuk as his own person instead of a protagonist or a 1863x-regressor-to-be. He's blinded by what he knows and has seen in his own past, which he assumes will be Yoo Joonghyuk's future. When he looks at him, does he see those ghosts of the future flickering superimposed over the shape of the man before him? This is the sort of wall that exists between them.

So when Yoo Joonghyuk acts outside of Kim Dokja's expectations, Kim Dokja tries to push them back on course with banter. "Yoo Joonghyuk is getting closer, kneeling down, reaching his hand out towards Kim Dokja's face, making a move to pull Kim Dokja in-" Kim Dokja sees all of this, takes note of all of this, knows what's to come of it. Doesn't understand it one bit. He's not oblivious. It's more like, "Why? Why me? Why would someone feel this way about and want to do these things with me?" He KNOWS the effect he has on people. He intentionally calculates how much he interacts with Jung Heewon and Lee Hyunsung to ensure their loyalty towards him in the early scenarios (not so much so after like Scenario 5-ish so we're talking early-early scenarios. After that point he more supports them in the direction they want to go (when that direction is the direction he already wanted them to go anyways. something something picking teammates because he knew they were already loyal and righteous by nature, nurturing them so that they would be able to carry out their justice no matter the adversary. He chose them because he knew they were loyal and strong, but they weren't loyal or strong at the time. But they would be in the future. But they wouldn't have been without him. But in another time where he didn't exist they were strong anyways see this is how he is able to have ultimate faith in his party members and know the kind of support he has given them while still being unable to recognize his own value in the grand scheme of things. Because they would have been fine without him, he's SEEN it. This is another wall between him and other people, another future ghost)). So he knows how much influence he has in other peoples' lives. But he values himself so little that he is blind to the emotional, sentimental weight he has to these people. No matter how much he knows he's done for them, he won't see himself as worthy of genuine praise or recognition, affection, love.

So this lack of self recognition extends to his perception of all of his companions, but especially so to Yoo Joonghyuk. Yoo Joonghyuk is probably the person whom Kim Dokja is the most strict about characterization with. Kim Dokja knows him the best, it's true, but he also doesn't know a damn thing about him as a person instead of a character and that makes him feel a certain way. Vulnerable, I think. Lonely. That childish feeling of betrayal when the characters walk off the page without him. There are sides to people and characters that you will never know simply because they weren't observed. And there are sides of people that you have no right to know. It is by becoming a person instead of a reader that you must abide by those rules and give up omniscience. Part of being a person and recognizing another's personhood is to willingly not know everything about them.

Anyways. He's not there yet. Not by Hug Attempt #2. This was supposed to have 3 parts with the last one set after the epilogue but we'll see if I ever get to it.

[seldomscilence16]

Alright so this all started with a lego set at work, turned into a long ass intro, then its 11 on Christmas Eve and I decide to just do the Christmas snippet and finish the rest/context later.

So please ignore spelling 😬 and Happy Holidays all! Also TW for a bit of Racism at one point, theres a bullying scene but a short one. "Well if it isnt..." is where it starts and "there a problem here." Is where it ends.

Hope you enjoy this snippet! Stay safe everyone and thank @autisticlancemcclain for the Bug boy Lance!

...

Lance could kick himself.

He knows better than this. He knows what happens, he knows that once they get what they want, they'll leave.

And yet, here he is, spending hard earned money, on four classmates. Sure he'd saved them for last, focusing on his families gifts first and foremost- its the main reason he got the job, part going to saving for emergencies, the rest to spend on Christmas- but he was doing the thing he'd sworn off.

No people. People hurt and use and lie and tease. Lance was supposed to he strong until college, his fresh start, but then these four had to go and be NICE and do their part and- yeah the bar was really low...

"This isnt going to end well." He mumbles, the hustle and bustle of the mall overwhelming with holiday traffic and leaving him worn out before he even enters an actual store.

He scans aisle after aisle, berating himself for putting so much thought into something he wasnt even supposed to be doing. His eye catches something green and he comes to a halt. Its legos, one of those collectors sets that costs an arm and a leg, but Lance hadn't even known Lego did THIS.

'The insect collection'.

"Blue Morpho Butterfly, Hercules Beetle, and a Chinese Mantis." He breathes in awe, eyes scanning every detail.

"Well if it isnt Mclame."

His head snaps up, a group of classmates before him, most of which are his very reason for his No People rule.

"Still a freak about bugs I see, surprised you havent married one yet- maybe even they dont want you!" He snorts when he laughs, a strange noise from the back of his throat that remind Lance of a Donkey or Pig.

"Not like he could even afford it, if you want you can have your mom come clean my house." One girl taunts from the back, Lances blood boiling at the blatent racist remark despite Lance's CUBAN heritage.

"If you do have money to spare you should buy me lunch instead, for having to be in your vecinity for this long." Another boy plugs his nose, like he showers every day. Lance sits behind him in English, and he does not.

"There a problem here kids?" A man in the mall security uniform eyes them all carefully, eyes giving Lance a once over that makes him uncomfortable.

"No sir." He replies polity, deciding another store may hold better finding anyway- at least better company.

....

Lance's budget was low to begin with, but eventually he comes up with ideas for the four.

It starts with Hunks treats. The things that get them through their library sessions when the projects blur. And Lances job allows him access to plenty of people who would love to share things with anyone who will listen. So painstakingly, Lance translates recipes to paper as the older generations he enteracts with give him a little baking show.

Shiro's, surprisingly, comes next. A single comment about how much he hates ruined shirt sleeves, as they get caught on his prosthetic port. Its winter, and tank tops simply wont do, so Lance finds himself knitting in his spare time. Doing hours of research to see what possibilities will be the most comfortable, with of course a very lame joke on the front.

Pidge's was an accident. Lance's bike- sabataged it would seem- leaves him crashing off path in a ditch on his way home from work. He ends up limping his way through thick folliage, dragging a broken bike in the late hours of the afternoon. The little squeak is almost ignored, the second one however, well its Lance.

The little thing is a puffball, Lance was almost sure it was a toupé, until it moved and blinked at him. He thinks its a dog, no idea what kind, but its tiny and fluffy and following him home. Lance has three allergic family members, but Pidge mentioned a family dog who had sadly passed away and nearly broke Lances heart. The green eyes tell him this little thing will be a lovely match.

Keith is the hardest. Lance honestly almost buys a knife, because the guy is a conspiracy theorist and gets into way too much trouble not to have a few knives on him. But it doesnt seem right.

But Lance see's how often he doodles.

Freakin gorgeous doodles.

Then he finds the brand 'Keff Artistry' and its too close to 'Keef' for Lance to pass up.

...

He almost tells his family to simply lock him up and burn the gifts, but then they'd be worried and he's trying to avoid that thank you, hes been doing an excellent job masking his turmoil thus far.

So, the day before Christmas Eve, Lance gathers his gifts in trembling hands, and slips out of the house unseen. If this turns into a mess, he'll deal with it himself this time. He has to grow up eventually, he cant keep crying about bullies to his family, its not a big deal anyway.

"What the heck happened to your face!?" Pidge's incredulous tone has everyone eyes snapping towards said face.

"Its nothing, bike accident." Lance shrugs it off, as he'd done when he'd come home with it, he had too little proof anyway. Anyone could have carved 'McLame' into the side of it.

"Accident huh?" Its mumbled by someone, but Lance cant place it and decidedly ignores it anyway.

"I uh... have gifts... for you guys." He changes the subject, directing the attention to the bags he carries.

"For us?" Hunk asks, eyes wide and sparkly, "You know you didnt have to buddy."

Well, supposedly.

"Yeah, its not much, but uh, here." He hands them out carefully, extra careful with Pidge's.

"Guess its a good thing we brought ours to you then." Shiro says, pulling a wrapped box from the spare chair.

Lance's eyebrows furrow, staring at the box in confusion, perhaps with a little trepidation,

"You guys got me something?"

"Yeah! We all pitched in!" Pidge grins at him, something she does sparingly- grin that is.

He takes it with clammy hands, still shaking ever so slightly. He holds it to his chest as he watches the others open their bags, watches their faces carefully.

Hunk holds the hand bound book tenderly, eyes shining as he flips through the pages carefully.

Shiro stares in awe at his sweater, a chuckle escaping him as he runs his fingers over the soft material.

Pidge squeaks, as the small dog bumps its head against her face, cold nose sniffing excitedly. She holds the animal close, the dog snuggling up like he always belonged there.

Keith is staring at his gift. The art set held half out of the bag, as if he hadnt been expecting it. He turns wide eyes towards Lance, and the cuban can see the emotions there.

This is one of Lance's favorite parts about giving. When he did good in the eyes of the reciever, when they LIKE what he gave, genuinely. No matter its monetary value.

"Lance, this is amazing." Shiro breaks the silence, turning wide eyes his way, smile big and bright and real.

"I cant imagine how long this took, this is amazing! I havent even heard of some of these!!!" Hunk is tearing up, book hugged to his chest, grinning at Lance like he'd been given a great treasure.

"I cant believe you got me a dog! He's just a little puff!" The excitement is so nice to hear, its practically contageous.

"I... havent recieved something this nice from anyone but family before. Thanks Lance." Keith is downright shy as he admits this little fact about himself, and Lance could cry.

"I'm... really glad you guys like them."

"Now open yours!" Hunk encourages quickly, sitting to watch him intently, practically vibrating.

Lance could almost feel scared, but....

He allows himself a little hope.

He opens the paper gingerly, savoring his first gift from anyone outside of family. A corner is revealed, familiar for some reason, another inch-

Lego Ideas The Insect Collection.

"What-" It comes out choked, shock clear on his face.

Is it a joke? Are they mocking him? It was expensive, theres no way they'd spend that much on a joke right?

"Its the one you wanted right?" Pidge asks, a slight pinch to her brow.

"We only saw you from across the mall, so we didn't know- You're crying oh Gods, whats wrong Buddy-" Shiro Panics, quickly kneeling by the chair Lance had collapsed into.

"I don- Why- I can't- "

"Breathe! Come on-" Hunk exagerates his own, encouraging Lance gently to follow as he chokes on tears and air and spit alike.

"Its not a joke right?" He finally gets out, looking pleadingly to the group, running a reverant hand across the box, "You did this to be nice?" He can hear the vulnurability in his own voice, but he's about a second from breaking completely.

"Yes, yes, of course! All 1,111 pieces are inside!" Shiro assures quickly, rubbing a soothing hand over his shoulder and arm.

It gets a wet chuckle from Lance, as he pulls the box to his chest once more.

"No ones... thank you so much, I can't... can't tell you how much this means." He wipe at his face, "I'll repay you, I promise-"

"Hey, its a gift Lance." Keith says, voice softer than ever, "We wanted to get it for you."

"Merry Christmas Lance."

"Merry Christmas."

[space-writes]

last line tag

tagged by @princeofhags, thank you! a chunk of lines, because rules are a suggestion, and this lil section about Sorrow getting his migraines back on being in Infernus was fun to do

[ID - a green and black decorative divider]

Sorrow’s head throbbed. He let it drop, a pounding weight sagging atop his spine. Only a few days he’d been back, and the pain was as bad as it had ever been. He’d taken his medicine like a good boy, even without Aspiration here to pester him about it, but today he’d woken and known that he could take as much of the wretched concoction as he liked and it would make no difference. Since breakfast the auras had teased at the corners of his vision, setting the edges of objects aglow in a way that reminded him cruelly of the part of his sight he’d lost along with his horns. It was no magic he was seeing, though; only the herald of an all-consuming agony that would lay him out and render him useless.

[ID - a green and black decorative divider]

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