#just little snippets

[gods-favorite-autistic]

It feels so weird to realize how long I’ve been undiagnosed…like the fuck you mean I’ve been autistic my whole entire life my brain didn’t start existing until 7th grade which is when I got autism it has not been there for as long as I’ve been here

[goingthruthedishwasher]

You’re splayed out on the bed- this enormous thing Price organised for the four of you-

It was delivered by two moving guys who already looked overwhelmed at the prospect of getting it out of the truck, let alone carrying it down your garden path & into your attic bedroom. Lucky for them, Soap took it as a personal challenge to organise Simon (mostly), Gaz (somewhat) and Price (not at all) to lift and carry the bed up park, through the French doors and the stairs.

Price pulled you onto his lap, and you both sat on the deck admiring your men (pretend to) struggle under the weight of the mattress. Price lit a cigar and snuck a hand up your shorts-

“Well then missy, I suppose we better find something to put it on.”

“You didn’t think to get a bed frame?” You turn into him, as he takes another drag, “that might be the most guy thing you’ve ever done.”

“Ah don’t worry about it sweetheart,” he huffs, his fore finger skimming the elastic of your underwear, “ ‘m sure me and Simon can knock something together.”

And they did- this minimal but incredibly solid bed frame made of reclaimed oak- one they insisted on “breaking in” more than a few times

[shycorvid]

Just like how Jason Todd thinks he can help reduce crime by taking over and doing a better job of it, Tim Drake could do the same thing but with all those rogues with multiple degrees.

Tim- They won't have time to become rogues and hire minions if they're my minions first. The Rest of the Family (except Jason)- *concerned bat noises* Jason- *nodding* Makes sense to me.

[flamingpudding]

Little Snippets #8

A/N: Recently reread an older prompt thread of Danny reincarnating as Tim and remembering his previous life at nine... that inspired this...

Something was different about Tim. They all noticed as they watched the third Robin as he went through the cave like a whirlwind on fire. Collecting small gadgets and trinkets, his laptop and other things before hurrying off with some kind of excuse again. Dick arched an eyebrow and glanced at Bruce. The first Robin felt tempted to as Bruce for help to figure out if something had happened during their last mission.

While near death situation weren't uncommon in their line of work, they never before had affected the young teen the way they have right now. Dick had first thought, the kid had suffered some kind of head trauma considering how disoriented he had been when he first woke up. But this, was ridiculous, it wasn't like Tim was acting all to different from his usual self but.... Dick shock his head. Maybe he was just imaging it. The kid was still the same, tinkering with gadgets and drinking coffee or energy drink in amounts the kid was still way to young to consume the way he does. Maybe the boy hit puberty finally.

In his room Tim dropped everything he had collected from the Batcave into a pile, before quickly grabbing a notepad and scratching out bullet points as well as adding new points. The kid then proceeded to start pacing his room, counting something down with the help of his fingers as he muttered to himself.

"Okay Tim, think... I should have everything I need... I just need to remember the blueprint and then build it. It's not like I never build gadgets of my own. It something I have always done once I got into it... so it will be easy to make it and then..." His muttered continued before he plopped onto the ground, not before grabbing his little multi-tool box. His hand grabbing his notebook once again as he opened it and began scribbling down.

"If I use the parts of the stun gun.... and then the chip set from the bat mini computer.... then use the metal from one of the many batarangs..." Tim mumbled to himself, before coursing as he dropped his pen. His hand going intangible for a brief moment. His eye twitches for a second before he took a deep breath calming down, then picked up his pen again. He really needed to get started on building that Fenton bracelet.

"They just had to knock me hard enough into the head that I would remember my past life...." Tim mutters quietly, annoyed with the goons he had fought during their last mission. He took another deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment. Memories that belonged to Danny Fenton flitting across his mind. When Tim had woken up the first time he hand't remembered for a hot second that he was Tim Drake, son of Janet and Jack Drake, ward of Bruce Wayne and third Robin to Batman.

He literally thought he was Danny Fenton waking up in a strange dimension. After his initial panic calmed down Danny, or rather Tim had anaylized his situation and figured out, he was remembering his past life. It made the most sense. At first that was easy to deal with, until Tim one day fell through the floor. Thankfully neither Bruce, Alfred or Dick had noticed that incident. But to Tim, that meant he unlocked his abilities from his past life.

Which how was he going to explain that? 'Oh hey Bruce, I woke up and I don't have a meta gene but I remember my past life and now I have ghost abilities.' Yeah... that would go really well with the paranoid old man. Someone Tim was currently babysitting until that man recovered from his grief.

That brought Tim to his next dilemma. Because he remembered Danny Fenton read comics, while he mostly read comics centered around Martian Manhunter his past self thankfully had a friend that was into Batman and had discussed the comics with him. That was lucky for Tim. Because Tim wasn't stupid, he had seen other kids at school read these kind of books before. So he was aware that he was currently experiencing and living through the plot of one of these reincarnations book.

A part of him was partially sure that he could blame that on some of his ghostly friends from his past life.

Eitherway, thanks to his past life's friend. Tim had knowledge of the future, even if he didn't remember everything. Bad point, he had by now figured out in which timeline he was. Or at least Tim believed he had, which meant he was to late to prevent the fall of the second Robin, but if he calculated right either Damian was going to appear soon or he would be joining the Teen Titans which meant one step closer to going to get attacked by an enraged second Robin coming back. There were targets painted on his back. At least he wasn't at the point at time where he had another insane fruitloop obsessed with him.

Tim groaned. "I swear if this life were a novel it would be called, 'how to survive your siblings rage after awakening to your past life'."

There was a pause in the moment where Tim just let his mind wander. Before sitting straighter and getting to work onto the things he needed to suppress his ghost powers for the moment as well as making plans for the inevitable appearance of his future siblings. He just hoped he remembered the order of events correctly let alone that they were from the timeline he was in, otherwise he would be screwed.

"And that is, if I really only remembered my past life and did not taking over another kids life.... And Ancients... please don't let this be a Joker Jr. timeline...."

[wrenhavenriver]

[quadrantadvisor]

Ranch 2 has infected my brain and I blame u lol

LMAO WELCOME TO THE CLUB, it really does just do that. Someone needs to get this boy some ectoplasm I am so serious rn.

prompt | pt 1 | pt 2 | (inspo)

You inspired me to keep going for a bit, so here's a direct continuation from what I posted in pt 2!

“Did you see that?” Tim asks. “Uh, yeah,” Duke replies, unthinking. Tim is suddenly in his space, eyes wild. He grabs Duke by the shoulders, shaking him slightly. “Duke. Duke, you have to tell me what I just ate.” “I dunno, man!” Duke is at a loss for how to deal with this. He has the training to handle freaking out civilians, but it's somehow different when it's Tim. Tim's the one with the plan, the one who's supposed to know what's going on. But he doesn't, and Duke is embarrassed to realize that it's leaving him floundering. “They're just- I mean- there's these little pockets of energy, I see them floating around Gotham sometimes, I don't really know what they are! How did you grab it? How did you eat it?” Tim goes still and serious, and grips Duke's shoulders harder. “I don't know either,” he admits, “but that was it.” “That was what?” Duke asks, still feeling unbalanced by the manic gleam in Tim's eye. “That was ranch 2.” Duke gapes. “You're messing with me.” Tim shakes his head. “That was it,” he says emphatically. “It had the spark, the zing feeling I was looking for. Whatever sort of energy that is, my soulmate needs it.” Duke gulps, then nods. “Okay. Okay,” he says, trying to calm the both of them. “Then we'll get it for them.” Some of the tension falls out of Tim in what looks life relief.

[alchemistc]

like pulling teeth

"I need you to push," he says, like it's the worst thing he's ever said, like he's sloughed off his skin to expose muscle and nerve. His eyes are wet, and he looks like Buck's taken him through the ringer.

Five seconds ago they were talking about what to get for dinner. Tommy had been joking about how he hated Whataburger because the last time he'd had it -

He looks pained. More upset than Buck's seen him in a while. He looks ready to bolt, and that terrifies Buck. He's aware, by now, that they dig this hole themselves - Tommy with his half measures at honesty, Buck scared to push too hard and rock the boat, send someone - Tommy - running away from his issues.

But Tommy is trying, here. Tommy looks like he's tied himself to his chair so he doesn't run, tense and glued in this position. Buck's a little afraid to touch him.

There'd been a horse, up in Montana, desperate for attention but terrified of people. Buck hadn't ridden the horses, but he mucked the stalls enough to know them, and this one had been skittish as hell. An hour of talking to the guy had given him enough confidence to clop close enough for Buck to touch, but every damn time, every time, when Buck held out a hand for him to lean into, he'd snorted, head kicking around halfway to panic, and backed himself up into a corner too far away from Buck to touch.

Buck never actually managed to pet that horse.

He reaches out. Presses a hand to Tommy's knee, feels the muscles of his thigh jump under his fingers.

Tommy blows out a breath, and Buck resolves to never tell him about Gary the Quarter Horse.

"Tommy, who did you lose?"

He's bad at this part. Terrified of asking the wrong question, always pays more attention to the unspoken cue to leave it alone. But Tommy is asking him to ask.

The story comes out in fits and starts - Tommy throws in a joke that makes him scowl at himself like he's supposed to just unlearn all the ways he deals with grief overnight - Buck interrupts one too many times and nearly derails the whole conversation - Tommy tries to follow the thread of Buck's interruption and is pissed when Buck steers it back to the original point.

It's the most painfully awkward talk they've ever shared. Tommy looks like he wants to throw up for most of it. Buck wants to scream at him to stop circling the point. Tommy stands, at one point, Buck's hand on his knee coming loose in a way that feels a bit like being dumped again. When Tommy can finally meet his eyes again, it's clear he stood to hide his tears.

A training accident, a rookie so green around his gills Tommy is still convinced, years later, that it was his fault for not triple checking his certs, like that was even his job.

The Patty Melts they'd shared, on a curb outside a strip mall, two hours earlier.

When Tommy slumps back in his chair however many minutes later, he looks raw, exhausted, flayed open, but when he rolls his jaw and shoots a lopsided smile Buck's way it feels like a win.

Buck shuffles closer. Tips his head in, going for a hug, maybe a soft kiss.

Tommy tips his forehead against Buck's, blows out a breath through his lips that burrs a little on the way out, and Buck shouldn't. He really, absolutely Should Not.

He rolls his forehead against Tommy's. Bites his cheek. Gets an arm up and desperately hopes Tommy isn't as skittish in this moment as he feels.

Tommy's hand curls around Buck's, and he drags Buck's palm up his neck to cradle his jaw.

"Did I ever tell you about when I worked in Montana?"

[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.

[whoviandoodler]

something I haven't really seen people mention or consider in relation to riz and jawbone and the whole 'what's up with you, come in and talk with me' thing is that riz legitimately cannot do that. he cannot get better because getting better means losing all the things he gains by pushing himself to a wildly unhealthy degree- the points from his extracurriculars and grades in general, the usefulness he still feels he owes to his friends, the ability to push through grief and loss time and again. it's so incredibly sad because like- he was the one who first offered jawbone the job that got his life turned around! he tries so hard at all that he does and has a huge heart and he deserves to live a life that doesn't run him into the ground, but that life would be one where he wouldn't get the education he wants, or at the very best a life where he loses the control that he is gripping onto white-knuckled and has to contend with a lot of things he could never bear to consider at present. getting better would mean stopping, stopping would mean falling, and if he falls, riz is not getting up for a long, long time, and he just cannot afford that

[backjustforberena]

Corlys and Rhaenys at their daughter's wake, with their grandchildren. DO NOT REPOST.

[stellewriites]

ghost and soap that move in together in between missions to save on money and eventually - inevitably - fall into bed together. but somethings missing

they’re both a little too sharp around the edges, need something sweet to ease their cravings and soften their bites, but no one fits right

until you, that is. so don’t be surprised when they make sure you’re sticking around by any means necessary

[wherearedagrapes]

The absolute BEST part of this montage is when Tom notices Sonic struggling to keep up with the dance so he breaks from the line and starts doing this silly little gallop around Sonic so Sonic doesn’t feel left out

[andarateiacantori]

am i crazy or has very little of what bioware has revealed so far been actual "spoilers" and not just very typical game marketing to get people interested in the story... like i get wanting to go in blind of course but then you shouldnt be watching this marketing stuff to start with lol

[lux-aurea-lunae]

Prompt 16 - Hot Chocolate

“Do you have any hot cocoa? It’s freezing outside.” Villain rummaged through Hero’s cupboards.

“There’s hot chocolate powder in the cupboard closest to the fridge.”

“How do you turn on your stove?”

“Just microwave a cup of water.”

“Microwave? I didn’t know you had such terrible taste,” Villain said, affronted.

Hero cracked an eye open, but they couldn’t see Villain from their current position. “What’s the difference? It’s just hot water.”

“That’s another thing. You make hot cocoa with water?”

“Yeah, so?”

“It’s so much better with milk!”

Leave it to Villain to pick fights over the smallest and strangest things. “Milk is easier to burn and more expensive than water.”

“But it tastes better!”

“It tastes perfectly fine either way.”

“You sound so boring!”

“And you sound childish.”

“See, this is why we can’t be together!”

“It’s not because you’re a villain and I’m a hero?”

“No! It’s because you insist on settling for subpar satisfaction when there’s better options available to you! You can’t let yourself truly enjoy anything because you feel guilty every moment you’re not suffering!”

Hero stared at Villain, speechless. How were they supposed to respond to that? How did the argument go from hot chocolate preferences to Hero’s guilt complex?

“Woah, that got a bit heavy,” Villain said. “We really need to talk about your mental health, but that’s a conversation for another time. What I’m trying to say is, you should indulge yourself every once and a while.” They shoved a mug into Hero’s hands. “Here, just try it.”

Hero didn’t want to admit Villain had a point, but it did taste pretty good. “How about I compromise by microwaving the water until it’s boiling, then adding milk to it?”

“Fine, but you’re on thin ice.”

[neonmoonster]

“Of course I didn’t want you!”

Anakin recoiled like he had been slapped.

The anger he had felt only moments before towards the man in front of him dissipated and reformed into the keenest hurt he had ever experienced.

He had known this, of course—had known it forever, and he had prepared himself for the day the truth finally came out, building walls around his heart and forcing distance between himself and Obi-Wan for this very inevitability—but actually hearing it, actually hearing Obi-Wan say those words aloud? 

Nothing could have prepared Anakin for this moment.

I didn’t want you. 

Obi-Wan was still talking, ranting, but his words seemed far away, distant, like he was standing at the end of a tunnel, miles away from Anakin, who felt lightheaded, unsteady on his feet.

“—ster had just died, the Sith were back, and here was this boy,” Obi-Wan’s voice, tight and forceful, floated in and out of the air, “This boy for whom my master discarded me without a second thought, this boy, who was now my responsibility to raise and train.”

Anakin couldn’t look at him. Didn’t want to see the resentment in the set of his mouth, the long-buried hatred in the furrow of his brow. 

“My responsibility—me, a barely knighted Jedi, practically a padawan myself.”

Obi-Wan let out a bark of disbelieving laughter, a sharp edge to it that sliced Anakin to his core.

“I could barely take care of myself in the days after Qui-Gon died, let alone another human being. And now I had the duty to fulfill my master’s dying wish to train this boy on the off-chance that he would save the galaxy.” 

Do not cry.

Anakin willed himself to keep looking down, to stay impassive, to not raise Obi-Wan’s ire higher than it already was. If he betrayed how much these words cut him, how deep a wound they inflicted on his heart, then the magnitude of his attachment would be revealed, and that would only make Obi-Wan hate him more. 

And Anakin didn’t think he could take any more of Obi-Wan’s hate.

Do not cry.

He heard Obi-Wan take a steadying breath, audibly reigning himself in. When he spoke next, his voice was softer, yet reverberated through Anakin's mind as if he had screamed them.

“So, no. I did not want you.” 

He sensed Obi-Wan, his accursed, beloved former master, take a step towards him. Anakin stilled, a horrible thought overtaking him.

Would he strike him? Obi-Wan had never—would never—but he had also never said anything like this out loud to Anakin before. He had finally crossed the line.

Done the un-take-back-able.

Anakin had always walked a thin line with Obi-Wan, pushing and prodding, bringing out Obi-Wan’s frustration, his rolled eyes, dry jabs, and sometimes disappointed frown, but he had somehow avoided tipping the scales all the way over—at least, not until now.

Now, when he had finally pushed too far. 

Fuck. 

Do not cry. Do not cry—

A hand fell on his shoulder. It took everything in Anakin not to flinch.

“But don’t you ever think,” Obi-Wan said, the fierce passion back in his voice and Anakin’s stomach sank, sank sank. “Not even for one second, that you were not the best thing to ever happen to me.” 

Anakin’s head snapped up in shock. The very thing he had wanted to avoid doing at all costs, but surely he had misheard, surely Obi-Wan had not just said what he just said—

“You are the best friend I have ever had,” Obi-Wan said, and there was still that hard edge to his words, but now that Anakin was looking at him, he saw that his master's eyes were not filled with anger-hate-bitterness like he had feared, but simple determination.

A serious expression, but one that was interlaced with a gentleness that Anakin could only describe as fond.

“It has been… the honor and delight of my life to teach you,” Obi-Wan said, and Anakin couldn’t move because the truth of it was ringing in the Force, unmistakable and passionate and firm. “And now to fight and live beside you as equals.”

Was Anakin dreaming?

A flicker of a smile crossed Obi-Wan’s face, like he was lost in remembrance and, oh, Anakin’s heart couldn’t take it, couldn’t handle this emotional whiplash, his greatest fear and most secret hope come to life over the course of a single conversation.

“It only took you about a day and a half to win me over. I was petrified every day that I would mess you up, leave you worse than I found you, let you down, Qui-Gon down, the galaxy down—but not once did I regret you. Not once would I have traded you away from anything.”

Obi-Wan squeezed Anakin’s shoulder and Anakin shuddered, letting out a choked whimper that he immediately wished he could take back, but Obi-Wan’s eyes softened, and through their bond Anakin could only feel kindness, affection, maybe even—

Obi-Wan's expression shifted once more, for the first time his steadiness in the force wavering, and he swallowed, appearing nervous, if Anakin didn't know any better.

"I do not always find it easy to express myself with words, like this. It is... difficult for me. But it appears that it is necessary today."

Anakin stared at him helplessly.

“I am unbearably sorry that I have ever made you believe otherwise. That you could ever think that you are not my favorite person in the world.”

Anakin could not stop the tear from falling down his cheek. And Obi-Wan Kenobi, high general of the Republic Army, one of the strongest, most respected masters in the Jedi Order, and Anakin's former teacher, gently caught it with the pad of his thumb and wiped it away.

"You are," Obi-Wan's voice came out rough and tinged with something that made Anakin's breath catch in his throat. But then just as quickly, Obi-Wan gave him a small smile, his voice clear once more, even dry and teasing.

“I hope that's alright with you.”

Anakin's answering smile was watery, but it could have lit up the entire galaxy anyhow.