#draft snippets

[nikibogwater]

I planned to work on a particularly cozy scene today, and lo and behold, it began to gently rain shortly after I woke up this morning. Clearly, it is the Lord's will that this book get written. 😤

[kettlefire]

As Good as Good Gets (DP X DC Snippet)

Richard "Dick" Grayson is the golden child. In the eyes of the public, and in the eyes of the league. Dick is a sweet, caring son, a man who went from being a sidekick to being a hero. The pipeline from Robin to Nightwing had many people applauding his dedication to keeping Gotham safe.

No one knew the full story, not truly. No one but Bruce Wayne himself. And maybe a certain butler. Many don't know that Dick only became Robin to stop him from hunting down and killing the man who killed his parents.

No one really knows about the harsh fights and arguments he has had with Bruce. The times when Dick would find himself cut off from the Wayne name for a week or so. No one knows that the first person Dick warmed up to was Alfred. Having been bribed with cookies.

Things weren't always this good, trusting, happy relationship between Bruce and Dick. It had been a rough ride, a complicated one. But that was okay, because it got better.

Dick stopped being so moody and angsty. He grew up, he learned, and he changed. He became an older brother, found people that needed him. Needed him in a way that the citizens of Gotham didn't need him.

His brothers like to call him annoying. A goody two shoes who Bruce trusted more than everyone else. They couldn't fathom how someone like Dick could be so stupid and bubbly at all times.

All times, except when shit hits the fans. Despite the name calling, despite coining Dick as the stupid Wayne. They all knew better. They knew that when it mattered, Dick Grayson always pulled through. He was a force to be reckoned with when needed.

The whole Wayne family was a force to be reckoned with when called for. It didn't have to be under the guise of costumes and vigilante acts. Whether he was Officer Grayson or Nightwing, Dick was a man with his morals and values.

One night on patrol as Officer Grayson, Dick found someone who needed that force. A force willing to protect and care for the innocent. The hurt. The damaged, yet still good.

It started like any other night. A call of shots fired by an empty warehouse. There was no sighting or knowledge of any rouges being there, so Dick took the call. Told the team he'll contact them if it seems more than just a civilian incident.

The warehouse was dark, reeked of copper and oil. It didn't take long for Dick to find the trail. The liquid he found looked like the person had been dragged before walking. There was a clear struggle, even with the mess and emptiness that was the warehouse.

That wasn't Dick's biggest concern. The concern lay in just how much blood there was. Too much for any normal person to lose and still manage to stumble through the warehouse.

It wasn't just blood. It wasn't that much, but Dick could spot the strangeness in the liquid. The mixed in green that had an eerily similar color and glow as a certain pit.

Without thinking, Dick followed the trail. Barely remembering to make contact with his family. Give them an update on what he found. Words telling him to stay put for backup went in one ear and out the other.

Something in Dick's gut was telling him he couldn't wait. He needed to find the source. Whoever was currently bleeding out in this warehouse. He silenced the comm, moving further through the dimly lit building.

Then Dick found it. Or more so, he found him. It was just a boy. A boy that reminded Dick too much of the youngest Wayne. A boy sat against a wall, looking pale and weak.

Red and green coated the front of the boy's shirt, arms wrapped tightly around his middle. An attempt to stem the bleeding. A puddle had already started to form beneath the boy, and Dick moved without thinking once again.

He quickly found himself kneeling beside the boy, hands carefully reaching out. Before Dick even touched him, the boy flinched. Eyelids suddenly opened, wide and terrified blue eyes landed on Dick's.

In just that one look, Dick knew what he had to do. The haunting, terrified, and pained look in the boy's eyes told Dick everything he needed to know. The boy was in danger. Someone had hurt this kid, and it was clear it wasn't the first time.

The boy struggled weakly against Dick's touch, terrified whimpers, and barely coherent pleas spilled from the kid's lips. It had Dick's heart aching, clear as day the poor kid has been through hell and back.

It took a lot of reassurance, gentle touches, and promises of help before the kid let Dick take a look at the bleeding wound. A promise on Dick's soul had been the final thing that earned him any semblance of trust. A strange promise, but Dick was willing to make it.

That concern turned to pure anger the moment Dick managed to pull the sticky shirt away from the wound. The sight of a Y-incision cut perfectly into the skin, stitches tight on the skin, but blood still leaking heavily from the wound.

It didn't take long for Dick to realize why. Despite the perfect surgical care of the wound, a good couple of stitches had broken. Leaving gaping spots for that red and green liquid to pour out of.

The boy was deathly silent, tears streaking down his cheek as wide blue eyes stayed trained on Dick. In that moment, Dick knew he had to help. Had to get the kid to safety, patch him up, and find out what kind of monster would do this.

It didn't matter if the kid was human or not. It didn't matter if the kid had special abilities or not. No one, absolutely no one, deserved to be vivisected.

The kid was shrouded in mystery, but that mystery only seemed to grow and become clearer when Bruce had entered the scene. The boy had tensed, eyes flashing a bright glowing green.

Lazarus pit green.

It set a pit of dread in Dick's gut. His mind brings forward memories of Jason. Jason, after his revival, after his dip in that cursed pit. The same flash that his brother would get if he got too angry. Too emotional.

As much as Dick wanted to focus on finding who did this, if it had any connection to Ra's al Ghul. He couldn't. Not when the kid tried to get up, to pull away as Bruce and the others made their way closer.

Right now, Dick only cared about making sure the boy was okay. Fixing those stitches, getting him a meal, and a warm bed.

He needed to get this kid someplace where he felt safe and secure. Comfortable and protected. Dick wasn't sure why. Maybe it was the promise he had made, but he wasn't letting anyone get to the kid.

That included his family. As strange as it seemed, Dick put himself between the others and the kid. Shooting them all a glare that they had only ever seen a handful of times.

Dick lifted the poor boy up in his arms, cradling the crying child close as he led the way out of the warehouse. Ignoring the questions or confusion coming from Bruce and the others. As Dick walked, feeling the trembling boy clinging to him, he made a rather obvious realization.

Maybe the eldest son really was more like Bruce than he expected. Just a few short moments the the boy, a boy that Dick didn't know his name, and he was ready to pull out adoption papers. To give the boy a safety he so desperately needs.

Give him the chance that Bruce had given him all those years ago.

[frownyalfred]

“There will be times when you will feel fear. You will be afraid, or nervous, or uncertain. You will have instinctive reactions to stimuli that you cannot predict. The secret to helping people isn’t ignoring those reactions. It’s to acknowledge that fear, that pain, that knee-jerk response, and then rise above it.”

— Bruce Wayne’s introduction to resisting torture and enhanced interrogation

[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

[hrokkall]

You were created by humans to protect. They died, so you continued to protect—protect everything they hold dear. You rest in the corners of hell that make mockeries of their holy places and tell yourself that you, you are the last bastion of everything they held dear. You are more than a machine, you fight like man—with honor—as you still bow before the thing that claims to be you. It fights like a dog, and you flee. You can't bring yourself to go back and see what has become of the temple.

You have a new purpose now. If it seeks to destroy, you will give it destruction. You use everything that humanity taught you to create, study the curvatures of their statues to weld together a new arm out of the remains of a sentry you mangled (what a worthless, worthless warmachine—knowing nothing but itself) resembling their own. You settle, once again, in a faux temple—this one of golden stone—and you wait.

It arrives. Of course it does. And you rend it apart. Piece by bloody piece. You take apart everything that you hate, hate, hate. It takes until your chest is dented in for the red haze in your vision to clear, to realize the scrap lining the floor is your own.

So you flee. Not in cowardice—you are not human enough for cowardice, you have always known this—but for the most mechanical thought of self-preservation. You flee and it follows, and some sinking feeling knows that the only thing the two of you feel is hunger.

You were never human, nor did you truly seek to protect anything but yourself. You will never know peace, for you were nothing more than a leftover of war.

It hardly matters. You were created by humans to die—and you die like the machine you are.

[demaparbat-hp]

Oh, Lala...

[wizard-tinky-winky]

I'm on my knees BEGGING people over on twitter to just read the goddamn extra content bc some of you were asking questions Nora answered YEARS ago like fuck you mean you're surprised Kevin is bisexual?????? he was in a polycule with Andrew and Neil in every other draft???? he fucked men at the nest????? he says it's easier to be straight to the public???? be so fr. and I can tell Nora is loving that she can just.......retell some jokes like the one about Andrew being too short for forehead kisses, but confirming Neil gives them anyway READ THE FUCKING EXTRA CONTENT YOU WILL BE HAPPIER I PROMISE

[eddiegettingshot]

The thing is, Buck’s always been a sore loser, no matter the stakes. 

It’s not surprising to anyone that he’s hardly bursting with jubilation when he gets his ass handed to him. He throws his hands up, grumbles a little while Eddie whoops happily, his excitement stoking Buck’s annoyance. When Buck and Eddie are on the same side of anything, they might as well be operating as one eight-limbed creature; when they’re going head-to-head, they get a little brutal, courtesy of Eddie’s single-minded intensity and Buck’s determination. Sometimes the brutality makes it fun, which is why Buck had been the one to suggest they split up. 

That wasn’t a good suggestion, as it turns out. See, Buck’s always been a sore loser, but it’s like—something’s hooked into his churning intestines and is trying to yank them up through his throat, because—

Because Eddie, radiant with triumph, crows, “That’s my boy!”

To Tommy fucking Kinard. Right before he goes up and slings his sweaty golden arms around Tommy’s shoulders from behind, his grin wide, ridiculously brilliant the way it’s been since Tommy showed up and stuck around. Or, well, they’d sort of sought him out, but that’s not the point; they needed help, it was for Bobby and Athena, and actually Chim had contacted him, et cetera.

The point is that, first of all, Tommy’s like—forty, which is a perfectly respectable age, but he’s no one’s boy, let alone Eddie’s, and—

—it’s not like theirs was a two-man team, so really Eddie should be going around and hanging off of everyone like that, not just Tommy—

—plus this was just some stupid, casual game, so why’s he high off his victory, anyway? Tommy wasn’t even supposed to be here; Eddie had invited him along, because apparently the two of them had already had plans together beforehand. Buck had exercised a hell of a lot of restraint by not asking about those plans just in case it was something he’d prefer to bury his head in the sand over, like the—

—visit to the 217, after which Eddie had appeared positively euphoric, windswept, and, well, Buck’s one of a million people, including all of their friends, who’d look at Eddie Diaz and think, why’s that guy a firefighter when he could be on billboards? So it’s not weird that he did have that thought, at that particular moment. Buck’s train of thought, then, had gone something like: he’s beautiful, followed by, was it really that great up there? followed by, what was so funny? followed by, shouldn’t he have hated it, because of the…?

At that point he’d recognized he was heading down some unforgivable path and cut said train of thought at the knees, hating himself for thinking it, hating himself even more because he still itched to point it out, if only to find out how Eddie could explain himself.

Eddie hadn’t really noticed anything was off, even though suddenly Buck was swallowing against battering waves of nausea that only dissipated once it was just the two of them again. Eddie hadn’t really noticed anything was off, even though he always notices when something’s off (and Buck knows when he notices, because his mouth twists thoughtfully, his eyes get all soft and shrewd, his eyebrows tilt just so). Eddie doesn’t always voice his concern, but it’s enough for Buck to know that it’s there. He’d gotten used to it being there, despite how infantilizing he’d find it coming from almost anyone else. Just then, glancing over at Eddie in the passenger seat, Eddie who was beaming down at his texts, Eddie who’d clearly had some long-lost love for air operations excavated out of him by Tommy, Eddie who didn’t meet his eye right away—or at all—like he normally did, Buck felt twelve again, thinking: Look at me. I’m hurt. Look at me. Please make it better.

[eddiethehunted]

hi it’s me with yet another snippet from a fic idk if i’ll ever finish 😈

——————

Eddie doesn’t bother knocking anymore. Steve hears the front door open and the distinct sound of Eddie kicking his boots off, probably flicking specks of mud all over the place, before calling out his name.

A smile tugs at his lips as he calls back, “I’m in the kitchen!”

Eddie walks in and jerks to a stop, taking in the sight. Steve had thrown on an apron just to make sure he didn’t get any sauce on his pants or Eddie’s shirt while he was cooking. It’s just an old thing that’s been in the kitchen as far back as he can remember, faded and stained and fraying around the edges. He’s pretty sure it belonged to his grandma before she passed away.

Still, it seems to really do something for Eddie. He clutches at his chest like Steve just shot him point blank, and says, in a wounded voice, “Oh, you devil. You little temptress. You… you…” He trails off, thinking hard as his eyes linger on Steve’s ass. “You coquette. Jezebel. Seductress.”

Steve laughs. “Hi, Eddie.”

“Hello, Stevie,” Eddie replies in an absolutely salacious voice, one that makes delightful little shivers run down Steve’s spine. “God damn, you look hot as fuck. You tryin’ to end this date night early?”

Steve turns away, rolling his eyes, but he’s grinning so big it hurts. “Go pick a movie or something.”

A pair of arms slips around his waist instead, and then there’s the tickle of frizzy hair against his cheek as Eddie hooks his chin over Steve’s shoulder to peek at the lasagna.

“Looks yummy,” he says, punctuating his statement with a lick on the side of Steve’s neck.

It’s not sexy, though, is the thing. It’s actually kind of gross. A little too slobbery and long and annoying. Steve knows Eddie did it on purpose when he groans and shoves him away, wiping at the spit, only to get a cackle and a swift slap to the ass in response.

[hallucinatinghalos]

I first saw Louis' turning as a predatory act by Lestat. Even knowing the books, knowing the characters, I followed along. The show so perfectly leads you that way. The violence and gore are amped up so high in comparison to the rest of the story up to that point. It feels like an attack. But it becomes clear that Lestat only intervened to save him. I think even in the "come to me" moment he was trying to pull Louis from the brink, not entice him, not lure him into some eternal trap. And Lestat's rage when Louis goes to confession is directed entirely toward the institution that contributed to Louis' self-loathing and the torment that brought him to that point. I think Lestat's history of begging for holy intervention only to be met with silence & increasing misery probably also played into the level of violence, but ultimately, he was trying to save the man he loved. But Louis was in so much agony at that point and in shock by the violence how could he process more than the horror before him. Not to mention all the horrors in the intervening years. So, in the telling it became an opportunistic attack by a monster bent on stealing his life from him and we saw it the same. Lestat had hunted him. Lestat had pushed him to that point and took advantage of his vulnerability to pin him like a butterfly and Louis hated him for it.

But it's in the rewatching, after Louis realizes it for himself, that we can hear and believe Lestat's words and intent for what it was. He was simply begging him to live, to live as he was because he loved him, all of him. His turning was a gift. Just that, everything and nothing more.

 "I can take away that sorrow, Louis. I can give you that death you begged your feeble, blind, degenerate, nonexistent god for. But I can do it joyfully. I can swap this life of shame, swap it out for a dark gift and a power you can't begin to imagine. You just have to ask me for it."

"I love you, Louis. You are loved. I send my love to you, and you send it back round to me. And this circle, this home we've barely had a glimpse of, know it frightens me as much as it does you."

"Be my companion, Louis. Be all the beautiful things you are and be them without apology. For all eternity."

[lizardkingeliot]

Once you break the seal on letting Louis call Lestat baby in a fic it’s over you can’t stop he’s calling Lestat baby forever

[vinelark]

hello! was thinking of, sunday snippet. mayhaps?

sunday snippet!

——

“And even that is an exaggeration; it’s not like we were going steady, this isn’t the 1950s,” Tim continues, cool gaze locked on the reporter. “Honestly, Vicki, I’d expect this gossip-hungry lack of tact from the Weekly, not from someone who claims to be a serious journalist.”

There’s an indignant Hey! from one of the nearby reporters. The one from the Gazette—Vicki—gives Tim a tiny, razor-sharp smile. “It’s hardly gossip when there’s potential danger involved. I’m just doing my job, Mr. Drake.”

Tim responds with a sharp smile of his own. He must be wearing makeup—the cut on his forehead is barely visible. He still hasn’t looked at Kon.

[sailing-through-hawkins]

When the apocalypse happened, it was just a random Wednesday.

Well, it was for Eddie.

For the kids, it wasn't that random and it was a long time coming sort of thing.

"We've been dealing with this kind of shit for a while," Dustin had told him nonchalantly as he handed a bottle, ready to be set on fire, over to Lucas, who settled it in a box of other weaponry. "It's like, our yearly bonding activity."

"You've been fighting zombies for years?!" Eddie had said. "But you're toddlers!"

"First of all, shut the fuck up," Max glared at him before sniffing. "They weren't - always zombies."

"What does that mean?"

"We were trying to take down the lab," Lucas sighed, patting the side of the box. "They did some freaky shit in there and we wanted to stop them."

"It went wrong." Will continued, and Eddie's neck was aching so bad from all the spinning his head was doing. "They released some kind of neuro-agent and we..."

"We had to leave." Dustin said blankly. Eddie peered down at him, watching the slightest tremble of his lip before he rubbed the bridge of his nose and continued preparing the cocktails. "But we're gonna fix it."

To this day, Eddie has a feeling that the "it" isn't really about the zombies somehow.

"Ready?" Jonathan nods and Eddie nods back.

Everyone else is in the garage with them while they get ready for the supply run.

Lucas was the one to encourage them to come up with quick-time strategies, something about using them back when he played basketball but Eddie distinctly remembers him not joining the team so he has no idea what he's talking about.

Dustin sits with him over their blueprints, arguing about codenames and extraction points, sometimes tapping at the shiny watch he never takes off.

Nancy Wheeler, blessed badass that she is, is polishing off a freshly-sawed gun, her eyes glancing over to Jonathan every other second like he's going to just disappear if she doesn't.

Mike sits with Will and the girl-from-out-of-town, Elle, weirdly quiet as the other two talk through some other strategy blueprints that Lucas handed to them.

Joyce, Hopper, the weird Murray guy, they're all having some sort of group huddle in the back, glancing over with fake-smiles (Joyce's is the most believeable one) once Eddie starts the car.

Through the window, he can see Robin, as stern and as ever, right beside a blank-faced Max, her hand tightening its grip on her axe. He wonders what Robin sees, when they have to go out into the desolation. When her normally tired eyes become fierce and her numb tone becomes snarling.

How many years have they had to face this shit?

Why, whenever they gather round in any place, no matter how small, is there always an empty space between Robin and Dustin?

What happened to these people?

[presidentbungus]

spy had a long string of accidents leading up to his departure. coming home bruised and bleeding, or with police lights on his tail. men showing up at the house at night. maybe scout's ma sees spy teaching her boys what to do if they think they're being followed and something just breaks in her heart a little bit

spy's flaky, and dangerous, and as much as he seems to try he's still the man she sits at home next to the phone worried sick over when he mysteriously disappears every few weeks. one time he vanishes for three months--three--a few days after the birth of his son, his son, and when he has the nerve to show up at three AM begging for forgiveness (and waking up all her boys while he's at it), she snaps. there's an ultimatum: give up the job, or leave, because she loves spy to death but she ain't gonna lose her children for him. spy tells her it's all he knows how to do.

she tells him she loves him, more than anyone else she's ever loved. she just can't trust him

when the sun rises the next morning spy is gone and it's almost like he was never there at all, and she supposes he made his choice, didn't he. selfishly she imagines him crawling back in a few weeks, tail tucked between his legs, apologizing profusely--i thought i could make it without you but I couldn't, and I'm sorry, and I just want to live with you and be with you and grow the fuck up and

but he never does. obviously he never does, and it's probably for the best, and it crushes her. and she knows it's probably not true, but she can't help but think that maybe it was like she always feared; disposable, fleeting, nothing. she has no way of knowing that spy is spending every day in bunkers and ballrooms thinking about her and regretting leaving, or maybe regretting her in the first place--for letting his guard down, for getting attached like he swore he never would. it was the best thing he's ever done but now he gets to know he'll never have it again. and, really, the worst part of it all is he knows he probably could, if he set aside some of his pride and gave up on the unforgiving work that leaves him less fulfilled every day anyway, but he also knows he won’t. he just won’t, and there’s a thousand reasons, but it’s impossible to put into words and at the end of the day he knows the only thing that’s stopping him is just himself.

he’s horrible. they both know he’s horrible and they both wish so desperately he could change that—that he was willing to change that.

and when he starts work at a backwater mercenary company in the worst part of the united states for—well, even he isn’t really sure, but he sees scout for the first time and suddenly he knows. it’s just so obvious.

and suddenly, he is entirely unwilling to distance himself any further from what very well may be his last chance for redemption—so he doesn’t run, which surprises even himself, after so long. but the more he desperately looks inside for anything whatsoever the more he realizes he is entirely unwilling to approach the man that, more obvious by the way, he left of his own volition a little over two decades ago.

he knows this strange limbo, this block of figurative amber, can’t last forever. he hopes.

so he waits. and he waits. and he waits.

[thesupernaturalhouse]

*commercial ends*

Vaggie: im sorry- actualy, no, im not, what the fuck was that!?

Charlie: yeah uh, one note....thank you for making this-

Emily: I'm gonna go get the murder prevention pillow!

Vaggie: why did we even think this was a good idea?? He's a serial killer!

Charlie: but uh, the tone is...off we uh, want people to come here....that is uh...

Vaggie: bad! The word you are looking for....is bad!

Alastor: weird, I was going for hilarious

Vaggie: well you clearly filled you!- catches pillow and screams into it

Emily: is she good now?? I can grab another pillow!!

Chalrie: shes- she's fine

Emily: okay....hm....

Chalrie: Em, I love you but please stop contemplating throwing a rock stuffed pillow at alastor

Emily: Listen! all I'm saying is that he already has a few screws loose....we might as well take the whole house down!

Vaggie muffled: not how houses work babe

Emily: oh....a shed then....bathroom cupboard? What about a shelf? Looks at vaggie

Vaggie with her head in the pillow:.....

Emily:.....looks forward with a smile okay comparing Alastor to a shelf works, perfect

Charlie: anyways-

[141trash]

"Lieutenant Riley." a man with a grandiose voice greeted as the guard beside him opened the cell door to let him in.

"I know you?" Simon asked almost boredly, looking at the man and not recognizing anything.

The man's face twitched slightly, hands tightening to fists at his sides, "Perhaps not. But I know you."

He looked at you then, causing you to shrink back from the slimy feeling that went down your spine.

"You don't like your gift?"

You shuddered at the obvious implication in his voice, tears welling up in your eyes.

"You must not know me very well if you thought that would get me to talk." Simon disparaged making a face in disgust. For a brief second you didn't know whether to be relieved or offended.