#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. 😤

[inkpotsprite]

Snippet from my "Bruce gets his kids early AU."

[joejhang]

my favourite bits of the unhinged kandreil draft snippet

honestly this is a goldmine of insane moments. love nora for this.

THEIR BANTER THO

good to know neil's always been a cunty diva

it's giving you'll just have to taste me when he's kissing you. r.i.p. kandreil au kevin you truly had infinite rizz.

the way i feel like i've been sledgehammered

andreil still going strong

the way they have me giggling and twirling my hair kicking my feet booktok couples could only DREAM of having this kinda chemistry

i don't think i need to say anything

[villain-enthusiast]

TOUCH-STARVED HERO RAHH.

.

“You’re hurt.”

“I’m fine, actually,” the hero muttered from their sloppy position on the ground, though the oozing gash slicing across their torso and the fresh bruises circling their throat said otherwise.

The villain arched a brow, crouching down so they were eye level with the hero. “Do you think I’m dumb?”

The hero glowered at them. “Seems like you're deaf, actually. I said I’m fine,” they snapped, even as pain shuddered through their battered body. “Now if you could just get out of my way—,”

“Darling, please. You couldn’t stand up even if you tried, let alone walk yourself halfway across the city to your apartment.” The villain smirked at the hero’s deepening scowl, but the teasing flair didn't quite reach their eyes. “Let me do you a small favor while I’m here, at least.”

The hero bared their teeth. “Fuck off. I don’t need your stupid healing powers. You'll probably turn this into one of your idiotic bargains—," A harsh coughing fit cut them off, rattling their chest.

They tasted blood on their tongue. Fuck.

“Gosh, so prideful." The villain sighed, tilting their head. "Oh look at that, you're bleeding." They lifted a hand and ran a thumb over their hero's lips, wiping away a smattering of blood that had spilled from their mouth.

The hero's breath hitched at the villain's touch, the smallest, most delicate of noises escaping them before they could stop themselves.

The villain paused, their brow furrowing as their gaze took in every little movement and detail of the hero's involuntary response.

The hero's jaw tightened. Every muscle in their body screamed at them to get away, but they couldn't move. Or was it that they didn't want to move? "Villain, I swear—,"

Then the villain’s hand was cupping their cheek, and the hero melted.

A desperate whimper tore from their throat, their head lolling into the cool touch of the villain's palm as all the pain and exhaustion radiating through their body suddenly evaporated.

They closed their eyes, feeling their face begin to burn with shame.

"Oh, sweetheart," the villain murmured. Their other hand swept through the matted strands of the hero's hair, working through the tangles.

The hero had to bite down on their lip so that they didn't make another embarrassing noise. So gentle. The villain's touch was so, so gentle. So at odds to their earlier opponent's strangling grip and blinding punches, so contrasting to gaping loneliness and helplessness of coming home to no one, of having to painfully stitch themselves up day after day after day...

The villain brushed away a tear that the hero didn't realize had fallen.

"Hey, look at me," the villain said softly, nudging their chin up. The hero blinked at them, fighting back a sob. "You need to let me heal you, okay? You're losing a lot of blood."

The hero swallowed, barely processing the villain's words, their brain entirely occupied by the hand still on their face—or maybe it was just the blood loss. "Yeah," they managed, voice hoarse. It felt like their vocal chords were coated in tar.

"I'm going to do your stomach first," the villain noted. "I need both my hands for this, alright?"

The hero nodded, ignoring the inevitable panic that shot through them at the sudden absence of the villain's touch, which returned almost immediately on the deep laceration on their lower torso.

The hero cringed, bracing for some kind of torturous, painful mending, but the villain's powers were warm, soft, like honey in a cup of hot tea or a crackling fireplace during a winter storm. God, how many years had it been since they'd felt so comforted?

A whimper escaped the hero once more. They tensed. Jesus fucking christ.

The villain cracked a smile as they worked. "Don't worry, love. You're not the first person I've healed that enjoys the feeling." They brushed a palm over the wound, weaving the hero's flesh and skin back together. "This is gonna scar, but at least you'll live to see another day, hm?"

The hero scoffed weakly, still drunk on the villain's magic.

The villain swept their hands over the hero's body, feeling for more damage. "Gosh, Hero," they hummed, "you get yourself into so much trouble, do so much for this pitiful city, and for what?" They placed their hands on the hero's battered neck, soothing the inflammation. "When's the last time someone took care of you?" they asked quietly, but the question seemed more for themselves than for the hero.

Several heartbeats passed before the villain pulled away, finished with their work. The hero couldn't stop themselves from chasing their touch, nearly toppling over.

The villain caught them before they hit the ground, chuckling. "Oh, what am I gonna do with you?"

The hero felt a lump form in their throat at the thought of the villain leaving. I'm not gonna make it home. Not without Villain. They squeezed their eyes shut, swallowing their pride. "Please," they whispered. "Take me home. All I ask."

"Don't need to ask me twice." The villain swept the hero up into their arms, smirking at their indignant (and exhausted) glare. "You're not walking, sorry. You're getting all my love and special treatment today." They winked, as if they were joking.

But as the villain paced their way to the hero's apartment, and as the hero began to fall asleep in their arms, they both knew it wasn't a joke.

[anbaisai]

idol au 2.0 jamimayu starts with jamil wondering who is this pathetic wet cat here to waste his time (more AU details under the cut)

Mayu: Member of an up-and-coming fresh new girl group, voluntold to be the rapper because nobody volunteered and management decided to just Pick Someone 💀 (they also refused to let her decline)

Jamil: Solo artist under the same management company. Talented singer, rapper, and dancer. Left home to pursue his career because he wasn’t happy with the life his parents had planned for him. Refused to join any group because he either makes it on his own, or not at all. Writes & produces his own songs and is extremely perfectionistic. Later on has help assigned to him by management, but is known to be difficult to work with because of his strict standards. On a bit of a break right now.

Has a Vil-Neige like situation with Kalim, who is also from the same company but more popular and well-liked despite being less skilled than him and Jamil hates it. (Also because Kalim’s kind of a nepo baby that the company often allocates more resources to.)

Overall premise

Mayu gets voluntold to be the rapper but, unfortunately, has very little experience and urgently needs to be trained before her group releases more music.

Management calls on Jamil to assign him as Mayu’s mentor (to humble him), which he very much declines immediately, but some way or another they pressure him into doing it. Probably holds something in his contract over his head. To say he's displeased would be an understatement.

Not the best impression of each other at their first meeting. Mayu very awkwardly politely bows to her senpai while Jamil lifts his sunglasses to stare/half glare at her before responding, thinking she looks like such a pathetic wet cat. Mayu thinks this guy absolutely hates that he needs to help her (she would be correct). Management refuses to pick someone else for the job so they're essentially stuck together.

Jamil deliberately puts her through Merciless Training From Hell as an attempt to pressure her so hard that she asks for someone else or gives up, because he genuinely didn't want this job, he has other better stuff to do.

Somehow, however, she manages to keep up with his demands and does all the assigned homework, and is overall very diligent and hardworking. She's trying so hard under the assumption that he’s being tough on her for her own sake, but in reality he uh... literally just hates “babysitting duty" 💀

After a while he feels kinda guilty about it. And maybe a teensy bit impressed that she’s been keeping up with demands. (And later unfortunately just a bit proud to watch her improve under his instruction). But he’s too prideful to back down now so he just… keeps doing the same thing. 

Mayu has like a mini sulking episode at some point bc she thinks it’s her problem that she's slow and can't do everything he asks and he’s like 🧍‍♂️

He ends up making her something as like "reward for the hard work" (bro feels bad but can't admit it) and she sniffles and says “This is surprisingly good, I didn’t know you could cook” to which he responds "What, you thought I had no life skills just because I’m an idol?"

The mentorship continues, but interspersed between training sessions are more moments where he’s actually… kinda nice to her and gives encouraging feedback, and also some treats here and there. It’s actually kind of nice to work with each other now. Jamil Viper, have you gotten soft 🤨

[demaparbat-hp]

Oh, Lala...

[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.

[peppermint-whiskers]

Heyyy!

So @emositecc made me realize that we could totally share the first drafts/snippets I wrote when we were still planning the Mind Wipe AU. Here's the first version of The Reveal(tm) as a treat ;3 Plus art by emo!!

(this is like the third snippet in the snippets doc ahdjebd)

“Why, can't you tell?” Alastor laughed. He looped an arm around Pen’s arm, which earned a flinch from the man. “Don't tell me you don't recognize him.” Charlie looked from Alastor to Pen. Confusion warred in her head—what was he getting at? “Alastor, this is our friend. What—” “And I suppose friends lie to each other.” He shook his head sadly. Pen started shaking, his eyes wide and full of terror. “I'm so sorry you had to find out this way, dear Charlie, but your friend ‘Pen’ is none other but Sir Pentious in disguise.” No. No, that couldn't be right. Sir Pentious was dead, and Pen was— But the look on his face. Utter devastation—had he lied to her? She thought she could trust him. Why would . . . ? “Liar!” Vaggie snarled. “You've got a motive for this, Alastor, I just know it!” “Ask him yourself!” Alastor exclaimed. “I'm sure he'll tell you all about it, won't you, my friend?” All eyes turned to Pen. He flinched under their scrutiny and opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Vaggie’s shoulders drooped. Charlie's own heart sank at the impending realization that one of her best friends was lying to her this entire time. “Pents is dead,” Angel snarled. “Cut the shit, Al!” He took an angry step forward, but Husk quickly held him back. If he was offended by any of this, Alastor didn't show it. “Do you remember his first reason for coming to the hotel, Charlie? He was sent to spy on us, wasn't he?” “N-no!” Pen screamed. “It's not—” “And he's doing the same thing now.” “I swear I'm not!” “He is the link Heaven needs to sink your precious hotel to the ground.” Static buzzed around Alastor, and he held Pen’s arm tighter than before. “If he can continue to get away with it, just think what the seraphim might do.” Charlie locked her teary eyes with Pen’s. “Tell me it's not true,” she gasped. “Pen—no, I don't—” “Don't believe him, please don't believe him,” Pen begged. “It's not—I’m not—” A bomb suddenly exploded in front of Alastor, one that exploded in red and white streamers. Cherri stepped forward, an angry gleam in her eye. “Step the fuck back!”  His grin widening, Alastor complied. “Certainly, but I would think I was doing a service to you.” She ignored him. Instead, she turned to Pen, who was clutching his neck with one hand and pulling at his collar with the other. “Pen,” she said, her tone lowering in an attempt to calm her boyfriend. “What the hell is going on?” “I'm—” Pen shook his head desperately. “Cherri, I can't—” He couldn't do it. Something blocked his throat—held his tongue so that he couldn't speak in his defense. And while his ears rang and his skin ran cold, Alastor continued spilling horrible lies.  He was always going to betray you, he said with a smirk. He won't even speak in his own defense because he knows it's all true, he said with the fakest sympathetic smile. Heaven sent him to spy on us, to stomp us out, he growled with a grin that was all teeth. And—and Pentious couldn't speak. He couldn't speak, and he watched with horror as the faces of his friends, of his loved ones, morphed from confusion to anger and betrayal. He couldn't breathe—he couldn't breathe— Charlie's eyes filled with tears. Cherri’s face twisted into something confused and hurt. He couldn't stay anymore— Opening a portal in a panic, Pentious ran away from the hotel, from his friends and girlfriend, from the horrible lies spilling from that horrible smile. He ran away and immediately ran into Sera. Oh, this is worse . . . He couldn't bear to look up at her, but Pentious managed to force his eyes up to meet hers. She looked angry—furious. “What. Happened?”

[cod-thoughts]

“Thought you’d sleep in for once,” Ghost muttered, leaning down to meet Price’s lips in a lazy kiss. It wasn’t rushed—just a slow, easy press of their mouths, like they had all the time in the world.

“Couldn’t,” Price murmured against him, his hands finding Ghost’s hip. He tugged him closer, their noses brushing together as Ghost kissed him again, deeper this time. Price’s grip tightened, but there was nothing hurried about it, just deliberate and steady, as if he was memorising every detail.

Ghost huffed softly when they pulled apart, the sound low and amused. “You’re insatiable, old man.”

“Damn right,” Price shot back, his thumb tracing slow circles against Ghost’s hip. “You’re the one who came in here lookin’ like that. Can’t be helped.”

Ghost shook his head, but there was no real heat behind it, just the faintest curve of his lips, knowing he wasn't wearing anything special. He leaned in again, his fingers slipping under the collar of Price’s shirt, brushing against bare skin. Their mouths met in another kiss, slower this time, like the kindling of a fire, warmth spreading between them with every touch.

Then it happened. Ghost shifted his weight, leaning into Price a little too much as Price tugged him forward. He stumbled, landing hard in Price’s lap, chair creaking underneath them, his thighs bracketing Price’s hips as the two of them froze for a moment, faces inches apart.

“Fuckin' hell,” Ghost muttered, his hands braced on Price’s shoulders as the faintest flush crept up his neck.

Price, for his part, looked completely unbothered—if anything, the grin spreading across his face was downright wolfish. “Now this,” he said, his hands sliding up to Ghost’s waist, “is a sight I could get used to.”

Ghost narrowed his eyes, his voice low and rough. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“Can you blame me?” Price replied, his gaze flickering over Ghost—his broad shoulders, the way his muscular thighs framed Price’s hips, the faint pink staining the tops of his cheeks. “Should’ve done this soon as you came in. Hell, I should have you like this all the time.”

“Thought this morning was enough for you,” Ghost shot back, his voice a teasing growl, though the flush on his face deepened.

Price’s eyes darkened, his grin turning into something hungrier. “Not even close.” Wrapping his arms around Ghost’s waist, pulling him down just enough that their bodies pressed together, the solid weight of Ghost against him making Price groan softly. “You’ve no idea how fucking good you look right now.”

Ghost opened his mouth to retort, but Price didn’t give him the chance. He surged up, capturing Ghost’s lips in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was feral, desperate, all teeth and tongue as if Price couldn’t get enough of him. Ghost let out a low, surprised sound, his hands slipping up Price’s shoulders to his jaw as the kiss deepened.

Price’s hands roamed, one sliding up Ghost’s back to tangle in his hair, the other gripping his thigh, fingers digging into muscle as if to anchor him there. Ghost groaned, the sound muffled against Price’s mouth, his body reacting before his brain could catch up. His hips shifted instinctively, pressing harder against Price, who growled in response.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” Price muttered, his voice rough and breathless as he pulled back just enough to drag his teeth along Ghost’s jaw. His lips found the sensitive spot beneath Ghost’s ear, biting down lightly before soothing the mark with his tongue.

Ghost shivered, his fingers slightly tightening around Price’s jaw. “Thought you could handle it, Captain.”

“Handle you?” Price’s laugh was dark, his lips brushing against Ghost’s throat. “Barely.”

The room felt hotter, the air between them thick with want as their movements grew more frantic. Price’s hands were everywhere—tracing the curve of Ghost’s spine, squeezing his thighs, pulling him impossibly closer. Ghost leaned into it, his breath hitching as Price’s teeth scraped against his collarbone.

“John,” Ghost rasped, his voice strained, his usual composure cracking under the heat of Price’s attention.

“Tell me,” Price said, his voice a low growl as he kissed him again, biting at his lower lip before dragging him impossibly closer. “Tell me what you want, love.”

Ghost didn’t answer with words. Instead, he kissed Price with a desperation that said everything, his body pressing against him as if trying to fuse them together. Price groaned into his mouth, his hands sliding to Ghost’s ass, urging him to roll his hips into a sinful grind.

Whatever playful teasing had been between them was long gone, replaced by something raw and consuming. Snaking a hand into Ghost's hair, Price pulled him back with a gasp and looked up at Ghost, his chest heaving, his brown eyes burning with want as he took in the sight of his lover—flushed, ruffled, and completely his.

[childrenofcain-if]

AS THE WREN SHEDS HER FEATHER (ELIAS’S POV AFTER SEEING YOU OFF TO UNIVERSITY)

one of the servants unlocked the door to the manor and elias stepped inside, the peculiar quietness pressing down on him like an unexpected weight. it was strange—to be met with silence when he expected his little apple to come bounding downstairs or to be already lounging in the living room to greet him. he thought he’d have an easier time getting used to it, but now? he wasn’t so sure.

elias handed his tailor-made suit jacket to another servant, glancing at the framed picture on one of the mantles near the fireplace: you, as a young kid, perched on his shoulders, a grin lighting up your face. your mother’s arm is looped around his, a laugh in her eyes so identical to yours as she holds onto the two of you.

he could remember the day that picture was taken, but it wasn’t enough—just memories which grow blurry each day. so he went to his study, where he kept the home videos. the cabinet was hidden behind a stack of old books, almost as though he’d been trying to bury it. but tonight, with you miles away at yale and his heart feeling like it was suddenly too big and too heavy for his chest, he wanted to see her. he wanted to see both of you.

after a few minutes of sorting through the SD cards, he found one simply labeled, “to be remembered.” he slid it into the player, and the screen flickered, a bit staticky, before the familiar image of the manor’s living room filled the screen.

the camera was shaky at first, moving around as your mother laughed, “elias, you’re terrible at this. here, let me…” her hand appeared in the frame, reaching for the camera.

“no way!” elias’s voice, younger and far more cheery, filled with laughter, protested from behind the camera. “i’m the cameraman. you, mijn liefje, are the star.”

“oh, so you just get to sit back and watch, huh?” she teased with a fond roll of her eyes.

the camera settled, a little less wobbly, as elias zoomed in on you, toddling around with your hands outstretched for balance, your whole face lit up with excitement. you must have been barely two, still unsteady on your feet, wobbling a little as you reached for her.

“come here, sweetheart,” she said, crouching down to your level, arms open. “you can do it, just a few more steps.”

elias chuckled as he watched her coax you forward, a surge of warmth flooding his chest. he remembered how her face would soften every time she looked at you, the way her eyes would light up. and then he saw it again—how she laughed when you finally tumbled forward into her arms, her joy bubbling over.

the tape lurched forward in fits and starts, as if elias had just recorded whatever seemed meaningful at the time without thinking about how it would piece together later. the screen shifted to a birthday, candles on a homemade cake—your fifth birthday. you were wearing a crown made of a long balloon that you’d insisted on, sitting cross-legged at the table, and there were flecks of icing smudged on your cheeks. your mother was holding the cake, careful to keep it level, beaming as she leaned toward you.

“go on, make a wish!” she encouraged.

you closed your eyes so tightly, putting your hands together with exaggerated seriousness, lips moving silently as if asking the universe for something only a child could imagine. then, with a deep breath, you blew out all the candles in one go. the room erupted in cheers—your mother, your father, your kindergarten classmates, even some of elias’s business partners they’d invited over that day.

“what’d you wish for, apple?” elias’s voice asked from behind the camera.

“i can’t tell you, dada, or it won’t come true,” you said, grinning, eyes twinkling in the candlelight.

the camera lingered on your face, the pure joy and belief shining in your eyes. elias could remember how the moment felt then, with both of you so young and so certain that everything good could be held together just by love and laughter. he felt a pang in his chest, a memory too nostalgic to hold without pain.

the video cut to the christmas morning of 2009—your mother was filming this time, narrating with a chuckle as she zoomed in on the chaos of ripped wrapping paper and new toys scattered across the floor.

“look at this mess! who do you think is going to clean all this up?” she asked, mockingly stern, zooming in on you hiding behind the couch.

“dada!” you’d shouted, giggling as you peeked out from your hiding spot.

“wow, selling me out, huh?” elias’s younger self chuckled as he leaned into the frame, pretending to growl and chasing you around as you giggle and try to run away from him.

the frame then jumps to another clip of you in the center of the frame, small and wide-eyed, your tiny hands busy, your concentration fixed on hanging ornaments on the lower half of the tree. you were talking to yourself in that way only small children do, a quiet monologue about which ornaments went where and how important it was that they were balanced just right.

“that’s the glittery one!” your mother’s voice came through, rich with warmth and humor. the camera wobbled slightly as she adjusted the focus, trying to capture your handiwork up close. “are you sure it should go there?”

“mama,” you said, in that exasperated tone only a preschooler could muster, “i know where it goes.”

“oh, i see,” she laughed, the sound a warm, gentle ripple through the screen. she shifted the camera to capture elias as he stepped in, feigning seriousness, hands on his hips.

“is the decorating committee open to suggestions?” he asked, crouching down to your level with a grin.

“no,” you replied without missing a beat, making him chuckle.

he then reached over, lifting you off the ground in one swift motion, swinging you in a wide circle. you shrieked with delight, half trying to wriggle free, half clinging to him.

in the background, your mother could be heard laughing too, her voice just as bright and full of love as your giggles. as he lowered you back down, she moved closer, still holding the camera as she leaned in to plant a kiss on your cheek.

“who’s the little ornament expert now?” she murmured, voice so close, so impossibly tender. she kissed you on one cheek, and elias joined in, kissing you on the other, making you squirm between them, giggling with each kiss.

“stop, stop!” you squealed, caught between pushing them away and clinging to them. “you’re both squishing me!”

“we just can’t help it,” your mother said, a soft laugh trailing off as she kissed you again. “you’re so loved, my sweet baby, you know that?”

elias’s voice was quieter but equally warm as he added, “we love you so, so much, little apple. more than anything.”

he pressed another kiss to your cheek, lingering, his voice almost catching, as if he was holding onto the moment where he truly felt like he was the richest man on earth.

elias hit pause. the screen froze on her face—her smile bright, eyes crinkling at the edges. he swallowed hard, feeling the tears well up before he could stop them. the years had done nothing to soften the edges of her absence. the house still echoed with her laugh some days, in small ways that felt like nothing and everything. he let the tears fall, a quiet acceptance of how deeply he still missed her.

finally, he pressed play again, as if he couldn’t bear to stop watching. he watched you grow through that grainy screen: you with your first lost tooth, your first day at school, your proud insistence on making dinner—omelette burnt to a crisp that elias and your mother had eaten anyway, praising every bite.

and then the last video came, a quiet day at the beach. the camera showed you and your mother on the sand, the waves lapping at your feet. she held your hand as the wind whipped through her hair, her smile soft and quiet as she watched you point excitedly at the seagulls swooping overhead. she bent down, saying something to you that he couldn’t quite hear over the sound of the waves, but he remembered the feeling of that day, of everything feeling just right in that one moment, sun dipping below the horizon in a blaze of color.

he watched as the sun began to sink lower in the video, casting a warm orange glow across the sand. and then she looked back at the camera, at him, her gorgeous eyes meeting his through the lens.

“come here, darling,” she called, beckoning him with a smile.

the camera dropped slightly as he walked toward her, and for a moment, all that was visible on the screen was a blur of sky and sand. then he set the camera down in the sand, angled just so, and the three of you were together, laughing as you stood side by side, the waves lapping at your ankles, the horizon stretching endlessly behind you.

and then, just like that, the tape ran out, the screen going to static.

elias sat there in the silence, his chest tight, the memories pressing in on him, so beautiful and aching all at once. he hadn’t let himself revisit these moments in years, too afraid of what they’d stir up, but now the memories felt as vital as air. he could almost hear her voice, feel the weight of her hand on his shoulder, see the way her eyes had softened every time she looked at you both.

he leaned back in his chair, one hand covering his mouth as he closed his eyes, letting the repressed emotions wash over him. the tears spilled over, hot and unbidden, the kind that left him feeling vacant and full at the same time.

he never cried in front of you like this, too afraid that it’d break the fragile tape that held the dam of your devastation upright. but now, elias didn’t even try to wipe the tears away. he let himself feel it all, the bittersweet ache of love and loss, the memories that filled the empty spaces your mother had left behind.

the silence seemed different now though, less hollow, filled with echoes of laughter and whispers of promises he’d made, long ago, to keep always keep going—for you, and for her.

[clairewritesfanfics]

Heeeeeyyyyy!!! ٩(^ᗜ^ )و Not to sound greedy, but are there any scenes, alternate versions, or snippets you’ve written for Mark or his variants that you ended up scrapping, didn’t quite fit into your stories, or just wrote randomly but haven’t found a reason to post, that you’d feel comfortable sharing?? :3

Plus thank you for writing for Invincible fandom! Your works are all so good and always keeps me engaged!! Keep up the great work! ◝(ᵔᵕᵔ)◜

I think I've posted most of what I wrote here. Anything I consider scrapped are either in my notebook (I write longhand on paper sometimes) or were revised completely and then published.

I do have some incomplete works, but I wouldn't call them scrapped or abandoned because I do want to complete or polish them, such as this one (pardon the formatting, I just copy-pasted the text from my word doc):

Interference: Sinister

Reader is sent to the future where they are dead and Mark has turned evil.

You were grocery shopping, standing in front of the butcher when the store morphed into a Munch painting. A low-pitched rumbling echoed and you were no longer standing in front of the butcher but in the middle of the streets with your shopping cart.

“What on Earth?”

“Mark? Ma–Invincible! Over here!”

The blur of black and yellow landed a few inches from you.

“I’m so glad I found you. Listen, something weird is going on. I was in the store and then I–!” You gasped when his fingers wrapped around your throat. “You have three seconds to explain who you are and what you want from me before I tear you apart.”

“Ma–”

“Don’t call me that, not with her voice!”

He threw you to the wall, breaking some of your bones and ripping a scream out of your throat. 

He hovered over to you, and for the first time in your life, you were afraid of the man you loved.

“Mark… why…”

“You got good acting, I'll tell you that much.”

Between short breaths, you forced out a smile despite the pain. “I see… we’re both… confused… let’s talk, all right?”

“You–no.” You felt those brown eyes widen behind the black goggles. “You’re really–oh, God.” 

Mark pressed your knuckles to his forehead. “Ohgod,ohgod,ohgod…”

#

If I do find something that I think is interesting from my notes, I'll post it and use the tag #snippet.

And thank you for your comment. I love writing for and about Invincible.

( ˶ˆᗜˆ˵ )

[inkpotsprite]

Working on yet another Titan's Tower AU, but this time with a Duke shaped twist.

[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.

[chock-and-bates]

Listen…. Imagine that era of max during which the boxing video was made, but now in the medieval au… showing off at a joust for charles… hoping to get a handkerchief

you guys just, like, get me 😅

in honor of another semi-prophetic ask, here’s a snippet under the cut

The same feeling that had filled him the last time he had met Max, back when they were only 16, just a few months shy of Jos Verstappen’s untimely death.

It had been at the Mercedes Coronation Festival, and they not been on good terms.

Max had goaded him throughout the entire festival week, fixated on how Charles would be unable to participate in the tournament. King Binotto had deemed it ‘improper’, forbidding Charles from casting his name in despite him finally being of age to participate in the squires’ mêlée.

Charles had never hated Max more in his life.

He’s been so furious that, for the first time ever, he purposely avoided the other young man instead of confronting him, knowing he was too upset to face Max’s taunts without reacting violently.

As much as he would have enjoyed punching the other boy in the face, such a spectacle would surely only draw more of Binotto’s ire.

Charles couldn’t risk it.

It meant he watched the mêlée with a forced serenity as his friends fought for victory, cheering and clapping as though he was enjoying the festivities, all while howling on the inside as he watched a competition where he should be fighting for the victory.

He’d managed to cover the pain with an empty smile, all too aware of Binotto’s watchful gaze.

But he refused to applaud when it was Max, cursed, wretched Max, who won the whole thing.

As he watched his rival shove off his helmet, raising his victorious fists in the air, Charles’ mask slipped, face twisting into a scowl.

It’s not like it was surprising, Charles bitterly tried to tell himself. Max was the best among them. This result was to be expected, Charles could handle this.

There was no reason to be upset.

But then, as if he could hear Charles’ thoughts, Max decided to give him a reason.

It came when Max was handed an elaborate flower wreathe and told to crown the Squire’s Queen of Love and Beauty.

Max had immediately turned straight to one section of the audience, as if he already had someone in mind, already knew exactly where they were sitting.

His eyes went directly to Charles.

And Charles… Charles felt like a stone was dropped in his stomach as he watched his rival walk towards him.

He told himself Max wouldn’t…

The other boy came to a stop in front of him, and with a small smirk and burning glint in his eyes, slowly raised the flower wreathe to present it to Charles.

[ghqstwriter]

If you have the time to write this could you maybe write something where the Villain thinks they are under the influence of a love potion given to them by hero’s allies. That only seems to take effect every moment after they see hero. Feeling they are in love with them.

But when they confront the hero’s teammate they find out to their surprise that they gave only gave them a ‘speak your heart’ potion to get them to confess their crimes, they never thought or expected them to have feelings for their friend.

Coming to the shock and realization that they had indeed fallen for the hero on their own but had been ignoring it/suppressing it. Now they are at the point where they can’t deny it any longer. Thanks if you ever get around to writing it. Hope the rest of your day is wonderful and every other day forward!

The grip Villain had on the bathroom sink was rigid and firm; to say they were white-knuckled would be an honest understatement. It was a mistake to ever trust a hero, they should have learnt that by now. Supposed beacons of moral good who were willing to cut every corner in order to keep up with their supercilious reputation, that's all. Yet, here they were, teamed up with their worst enemies in order to stop a rogue hero who decided flattening the city sounded much more fun. And look where that got them: cowering away in a locked bathroom, fighting the urge to smash something.

They realised the drink had been spiked the moment they swallowed the first sip. It had activated instantly, as if the peculiar taste wasn't enough of a tell; the moment they looked up to see the hero, sat tidily across the table, they could feel their pulse begin to quicken uncontrollably. A fight or fight reaction to the drug, Villain had first thought, a hypothesis supported by their flushed demeanour and clammy palms. Even Hero noticed how sickly they looked. However, things took a concerning turn when they left to grab some water, and the symptoms suddenly stopped. Their heartbeat calmed the second Hero was out of range, though their mind still seemed to linger on that sculpted face.

A fucking love potion. It was unbelievable. Sure, it was obvious how little most of the team trusted the villain, but seriously? This was their way to make Villain behave? It wasn't the nature of the potion that irked them at this realisation (love potions seldom lasted long), but rather it was more about the ridiculous invasion of privacy, all because Villain couldn't be trusted to do the right thing for once. And so, they did what any reasonable person would do, and started yelling at the idiots who thought this was an immaculate masterplan. Rather honestly, actually. Surprisingly to even them, their words went a lot deeper into how they truly felt about betrayal than they'd planned.

But, then came the bombshell. As though Villain's day hadn't already been turned into enough of a minefield, Sidekick spoke up, sounding bewildered and almost amused. "We didn't give you a love potion, Villain. It was a truth serum of sorts, stops you from being able to hide stuff. Listen, we were worried you'd withhold information, you're a criminal after all. Plus, if it lasted longer than the mission took, we were, um, thinking we might be able to get a confession out of you. But, uh, looks like we might be getting a different type, I guess."

Villain didn't have a response for that. No amount of wit or sass could overcome the feeling amassing in their stomach, like an arrow went straight through them. They pitifully choked out a threat (one the team knew they couldn't be bluffing about) and promptly disappeared, headed straight to the nearest bathroom, hoping they could hide away behind a locked door until their hands ceased their trembling. Unfortunately, the universe was far from benevolent — especially to Villain, it so often seemed. It only took ten minutes until a visitor made their presence known, and consequently, Villain's heart began to hammer.

"Villain, are you in there? I just wanna check you're ok, you looked really sick earlier, did something happen?" Hero's voice sounded more than concerned, filled with the usual sympathy and compassion that Villain's heart began to melt at. Of course Hero had come to check on them. They were the only person in years who would meet Villain's eyes, with a gaze that lacked any trace of malice. The last true good samaritan left, they thought. Villain remained as silent as they could through their staggered breathing.

“Villain please, I can hear you in there, something’s wrong. If you don’t at least answer me, I’m gonna have to break the lock to make sure you don’t need emergency care.”

The only response Villain could manage was a scoff, though it wasn’t a hateful one. In the Hero’s eyes, Villain could be dying on the bathroom floor, drugged or having some sort of seizure, and yet they still sounded so guilty about the idea of invading their privacy. If only their moronic teammates were just a fraction of compentent and nice as Hero, maybe they wouldn’t be fighting the urge to double over and throw up. Deep down, a part of them wanted Hero to come in, console them attentively and reassure them. But, they knew that wouldn’t exactly help with their problem, so opted to keep their mouth firmly shut.

Villain heard their crush sigh worriedly on the other side of the oak door, before the noise of the lock snapping and the door slamming open resounded across the tight room. Before the criminal could even turn to face Hero, they had already sped towards the villain, who collapsed pathetically the instant Hero tried to wrap and arm around them. Unsurprisingly, the super caught them as their limbs came in, gently lowering them until the pair were on the ground, faces much closer than Villain was used to.

“What happened? Are you sick?” Hero questioned, free hand splayed against the villain’s feverish forehead, and the criminal quickly discovered a newfound problem with this godforsaken serum. It didn’t just stop the villain from lying: it meant they couldn’t hide anything either. They couldn’t omit anything if they tried. Their usual lies and dismissions echoed like a mantra in their head, as though they could convince themself that the truth was fabricated. I’m fine. I’m probably just sick. Must be stress. I’ll just sleep it off.

“Those birdbrained nitwits you call colleagues thought I’d be much more reliable drugged. Truth serum, they told me.” Villain blurted out, their voice wavering slightly as they tried to fight off the urge to confess anything and everything. Hero’s facial expression wasn’t replaced by confusion, but instead frustration. They hardly seemed shocked.

“Those idiots— I thought I convinced them to scrap that plan. I’m so sorry Villain, I don’t even know where they got the serum from. I’m worried this could all be a side effect, or worse, there could be something harmful in the ingredients. I’ll take you to Medic, we need to get this checked out—“

“No, no, we don’t need to do that. Please,” Villain interrupted, putting a temporary pause to Hero’s anxious rambling. They knew exactly why they were clamming up, why they felt as though they were on the verge of fainting into a pathetically yearning slump. Humiliation started to claw away at them, puncturing their lungs and gnawing at their windpipe. They couldn’t tell Hero they liked them, hell they’d only just realised they actually had a crush.

“I know you don’t like doctors, but if there was something else inside that vial that my team didn’t know about, we have to act fast, this could get ugly quickly. Plus, we don’t even have your medical records, there might be potential allergens, so please, Villain, let me take you to Medic,” Hero begged. Their voice was excruciatingly soft, and their tone was sickeningly genuine. Instinctively, Villain melted into their nemesis’ hold, looking up at their indescribable beauty wordlessly.

“This isn’t the serum, Hero. Well, it’s the serum but it’s not the serum. I’m not dying. I just— it’s just—“ It wasn’t that Villain was omitting the truth, trying to hide within a labyrinth of stammers and pauses. Their brain felt like it was shutting down, all language receptors powering off amidst a meltdown. They felt borderline delirious, barely able to string together a sentence without whimpering. They’d never been in love before, they’d no idea how horrific it could feel. Hero listened to their murmuring patiently, not wanting to ever rush them. A sweetheart, really.

It’s nothing, I’ll get over it. “I’ve never felt like this before.” Please just leave me alone. “Can you please just stay here?” I don’t want you here. “I don’t want to speak to medic, just you.” I don’t need you here. “I don’t know what to do with this, I need you.” I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. “It’s you.”

Hero was evidently speechless, seemingly trying to piece together the puzzle of just what was happening. As they spoke once again, they maneuvered both themself and the villain so that the two were more in more comfortable positions, although it meant that the already flustered Villain was practically in their hero’s lap. They could barely keep their eyes open, heartbeat desperately thrashing against its locked cage inside Villain’s ribs. They couldn’t do this, this felt extreme, even for a crush.

“Hey, hey. Villain, can you look at me? Trying to fight it will just make the pain worse, you got that? Tell me what’s wrong, and I can help you fix it, you know I can.” Hero’s hands gently cradled the jawline of the trembling villain.

“You’re too sweet, it’s killing me.” No, no. Absolutely not. We are not doing this on the bathroom floor. Get up, Villain, you idiot. “You’re so gentle with me, I can’t stand the thought of not seeing you. I never thought it mattered, the way you looked at me. But now, I don’t think I can ever stop noticing. I love you, Hero, I think I always have.”

The hero didn’t respond. Didn’t reject them, didn’t recoil away in disgust. Instead, they pulled the villain into a tight hug, burying their face into the criminal’s shoulder. Villain blinked for a few moments before everything seemed to click. Half an hour ago, they didn’t even realise they thought fondly of the superhero, but now, every realisation, every sweet sentiment, had bubbled up to the surface, and exploded from the sudden pressure.

“I like you too, Villain, more than I even thought I could care about a person. I’ll stay here, even when the serum has worn off, even when the mission is over, I promise,” they started, internally noting just how tightly their villain seemed to cling to them, like the hero would vanish if they loosened their grip for even a moment.

“But, as much as that explains a lot of what’s been happening with you, your symptoms are coming across as unusually severe. Crushes don’t usually do all of this. If there’s something unusual about the serum, we need to speak to Medic about it. I’ll be with you the whole time, I swear. They’re a lot nicer with me.” When Villain tilted their head upwards to look at the hero, their heart swelled with joy that almost nulled all the distress their body was going through. Almost.

Unfortunately, Hero was right to be worried. If they were the one who had been drugged, and their symptoms were showing to be severe, Villain would have likely imploded with sheer concern.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to make it to Medic on these legs, would you mind ca—“ Villain stated shakily, yelping when their lover sweeped them off of the ground into a bridal carry, though it quickly shiften into a genuine laugh. Their cheeks became impossibly hotter, though their grip on Hero’s shirt loosened slightly as relaxation started to settle in. Truth be told (which seemed to be the pattern of the day), they didn’t mind if this truth serum made them sicker than a dog, because at least Hero would be there to hold them tightly from now on.

[lunarfuneral]

“Why did you come looking for me?” Langdon asks suddenly, like it hadn’t occurred to him that it should be strange.

Mel opens her mouth to answer, then closes it. She looks out at the city behind him. The view reaches past downtown and she can see the incline headed up towards Mount Washington. She realizes she doesn’t know where Langdon lives—his house could be out there, a warm lamp on in the front window, making up one of the far away lights splayed out across the river. His wife could be inside, waiting for him to come home.

She doesn’t usually struggle to tell the truth. She doesn’t usually feel like lying would be the right thing to do.

“I didn’t want you to leave without saying goodbye again.” He’d come back the first time, so she’d expected him to come back again. But then he was gone without a word. His absence stretched into days, and then weeks, then months. “I wanted to make sure you’d be coming back.”

She can’t read his face. She has no idea what he’s thinking. But he’s looking at her, draped in a gentle light, city at his back, wind whipping his hair, and she thinks—I want to remember this. No matter what happens, no matter how badly this might end, she wants to remember this. Because despite everything, Mel lets herself think, right now, in this moment, he’s never looked more beautiful.