#i mean its a snippet but whatever

[nemaliwrites]

have a snippet from the lil kwami swap thing i'm working on!

High above the streets of Paris, Mister Bug and Lady Noire talk about love.

It's a dangerous topic, to be sure; one that has to be tiptoed around with utmost care. A balancing act for Mister Bug. For Lady Noire too, perhaps, but she never seems like it affects her quite as much. Maybe that's why she's the one who brings it up.

"Are you in love, Mister Bug?"

His feet, from where they'd been kicking back and forth rhythmically, come to a stop. "Huh?"

"I'm just curious," says Lady Noire. On the rooftop they sit, there's more than a few centimeters of space between them. A gap that they're both waiting for Mister Bug to bridge. He only wishes he could. "Are you?"

Mister Bug tries to catch her eye. "Are you sure you want to talk about this? We... we don't have to--"

She waves a clawed hand in the air dismissively. "It's fine," she says, even though he knows it's not. He wonders what it is that's fine: talking about love, or talking about love when they both know he won't -- he can't -- reciprocate her feelings? "I wanna know. Is there anyone you love?"

There is. 

[sunflowersandscreams]

re: that post I just reblogged. adansey being gagged by the red string of fate

"And another thing," Gansey says, waving his hands in front of his face, fingers spread wide to communicate his sheer and genuine alarm. "It is frighteningly common how often people will just- read things off the internet! And believe them! I mean, have people never heard of cross-referencing? Or common sense? If I have to hear someone say 'isn't Wales a city in England' one more time I'm going to do something- indecent, I swear-"

"I would pay to see Gansey do something indecent," Ronan mutters, head resting on his hand propped up by his elbow.

Adam doesn't say anything. He likes listening to Gansey's voice, even as the words get repetitive and he goes down the trail of one of his frequent rants. The illiteracy and lack of responsible reading of some of his Aglionby peers is a common frustration, one that comes up in history when Gansey argues with some idiot about historical truth or accuracy, and one that comes up when they talk about Owain Glyndŵr.

Ronan swears that Gansey must be half in love with him, that he must have another red thread tying him to some decrepit body somewhere, but if he does Adam hasn't seen it- though he supposes he wouldn't. He can only see the strings tying him to Gansey, as Ronan can only see the strings tying him to whoever is unlucky enough to be his fated partner.

"Indecency!" Gansey latches onto the word like a madman sticking pins in a corkboard. Adam wonders if their string of fate is strong enough to use as red yarn to wind around their complicated conspiracy board or if it would shimmer and go opaque, like it does when there's an obstacle in between them. "That's their problem- there are no decent men left in the world, and none even close to decent in our school-"

Ronan sighs and gets up, Gansey slightly too distracted with his raving lunatic rambling to notice. "Shout when he runs out of steam." He slouches off to his room and shuts the door.

Gansey's head jerks up. "Where did Ronan go?"

"His room," Adam says. He tracks the way Gansey's brows furrow and his lip purse together in displeasure. It's poised and proper, yet a little petty, petulant, even.

"Speaking of no decency," Gansey says darkly. He has an affinity for dramatics, Adam thinks, fond if mildly irritated as Gansey starts talking senselessly and relentlessly again. At this point he's just talking for the sake of talking, which is not something Adam partakes in. He prefers to use his words wisely.

There's a thump from Ronan's room and muffled, frenetic music. Adam stares down at the calculus equations he's trying to do, the numbers refusing to make sense with Gansey's ceaseless words making Adam's brain fuzz.

He bites his tongue. He'll have to do something about this.

Adam starts gathering up their string. It's short because they're close by right now, but it lengthens as Adam lays it over itself to make a thick band of ephemeral, bright red material, unworldly and just on the normal side of magical. When he has a hunk of string that suits him, he stands.

"Adam, what on earth are you doing?" Gansey asks, staring at his hands. "I didn’t even know one could do that."

"I am occasionally an innovator," Adam says articulately, coming to stand directly in front of Gansey.

"Of course you are," Gansey responds, not automatically but instantly. "Adam, you're one of the brightest- mmph."

Adam had gotten sick of Gansey's talking a while ago, but he especially has no patience for it now that it's about him. "Sometimes my innovations are even useful." He brings the thick gathering of string around Gansey's mouth, making sure it stays tightly between his lips, pressing down lightly on his tongue so that he can't speak. Adam ties a knot that he's not sure is real and might be mostly made of wishful thinking, then steps back around to see how his work is faring.

"A'tha," Gansey fumbles, still trying to talk through the gag. Adam can hear him breathing wetly. "Ahw?"

"Gansey," Adam says, and makes sure every word is precisely pronounced. "Shut up for a while, okay?"

Gansey huffs, unable to speak. He grabs onto Adam's shirt collar before Adam can pull away and settles for looking at him with his stupid, liquid brown eyes, those eyes that say so much without ever putting a sound to it. Those eyes that draw Adam in again and make him smooth a hand over Gansey's cheek reassuringly, that make him press his thumb to the delicate hollow behind his hear. The eyes that have always been a window to Gansey's soul, even when neither of them can say anything aloud.

Even without words, Adam can still tell what Gansey means.

[crimsongrimoire]

i may not know fuck or shit about hsr but whatever is wrong with boothill is fascinating. also horny robot thoughts

[radioisntdead]

I GOT MY MOTIVATION BACK HELL YEAH

[sluckythewizard]

so uhh i DID start writing again but this time its w my Riptide Cowboy Au Thats Also Just An Animorphs Au. here check out this very small bit of it. (under the cut is an OLD doodle page that i made based around this idea)

[zedif-y]

there are times when you write something and it's not your best , but somewhere out there whether you know it or not you just made someone really happy. so it's worth it i think

[koreandragon]

actually... i don't give a fuck about squid game season 2

[fantastic-mr-corvid]

one woman's blessing is another woman's curse

traversing the ruins of the city is dangerous- a rare moment of kindness from Cameilla could throw the whole group into jeopardy if Mura doesn't handle the aftermath right.

featuring: the complicated dynamics of having to please Seelah and Weduag at the same time, Mura doing some manipulationTM while trying to not succumb to her rage and the star of the fic: the easily forgotten fact that cure wounds can damage dhampirs[whoops]

the slow crawl through Kenabres was as painful as it was dull, brief moments of violence scattered across damaged streets.

damp soaked through the cloth on her legs, some even seeping through her corset. her awareness was hyper-focused on everything around her, all the side alleys and crevasses, and the itching feeling of blood-wet cloth was an unfortunate byproduct.

no matter how much of the blood that soaked into her skin was her own, she continued on. one more bloody step in front of the other, one more bloody corpse to tread over, the rest of the group dogging at her heels.

her eyes had been growing wider, and her moments less controlled, her teeth bared in a snarl more. she had given her body over to instinct a few blocks ago, bored out of her mind at the rote violence.

the gaps underfoot started to curve, and she tore her eyes away from the unaware enemy ahead to compare the center to the revelry before the demon kings decent. so much had changed in so little time.

a nod of her head was all Seelah needed to start advancing, Wenduags crossbow hitting the first creature unaware, causing the group to turn.

it was over swiftly, but Mura was no fool, she had fumbled a hit and been left open to counterattack, it hadn't been much, but given the bloody trail she had been leaving, it had tipped her over into a level of pain that would not be good to stay put, not with danger still lurking around every corner.

the clink of a sword into a sheath, and the half elf extended her hand brimming with healing light towards Seelah, the paladin being low on them herself.

a shake of her head and Mura looked around the square, the knife throwing stand she had excelled in. the bloody stain from the dragons demise, a glint, nay a glow coming from the rubble nearby? eyes narrowing once again, she made to walk towards it.

movement behind her, a bright burn in the back of her eyes, her hair standing on end, all in a split second, but it didn't help her as she screamed into the broken night, something tearing through her veins, a foreign magic crawling through her, taunting her as it scorched her from the inside out.

Hands that had become fists were now splayed with aggression, her nails looking more like talons in the dim firelight, a pink glow washing the horrified face of the damn half elf, the shock in her eyes the only thing that broke through the pain enough for her strike to be redirected to her shoulder, gripping it so tight she could feel the warm blood running from her talons, and the few drops that failed to make it escaping through the skin.

fire burned through her, warming her like a loving embrace, promising to make the damn fool suffer, how dare she.

fool. that's all the damn woman was, a fuking fool.

that thought didn't help her rage.

a soft plea cut through the fire, the damn paladin.

the fired dimmed, showing the faces of her companions.

Seelahs soft plea for mercy and forgiveness, Wenduags sneers and talks of rightful punishment, she could hear them in her head already, even as the words they spoke were as close to her understanding as the flakes of ash in the wind were to burying her.

she focused on the woman in her grip, and the considerable amount of money her father was going to pay her for a job later, focused on how she had spent years hiding and obscuring her nature, how she wasn't to know.

raged pooled in her teeth, and she pulled it into her mind and spine, forging the molten metal into steel, drawing herself taller, preparing her voice to be gentle as steel, understanding laced with disappointment.

'that was foolish of you' a well practiced disappointed sigh, 'you could have been gravely hurt if i had any less control' push the hurt onto her, distract from how close Mura had been to writhing on the ground like a mewling babe.

'instinct serves you well in battle, but healing is something that should not be done carelessly' make it a teaching moment, praise her, but don't let her forget her failure.

notice Seelahs fear fade into hope. hope that will be squashed sooner or later- but not today.

pray that the half elves shock overrides her arrogant personality.

'i will forgive you this once, Cameilla. you are an excellent fighter, and id hate to lose that' let honestly show through, let her be aware that the only reason she was spared was because she was deemed more useful alive.

make her voice go deeper, more dangerous, 'i hope you can prove that forgiving you is the right thing to so' tell her that forgiveness musts be earned, constantly. see Wenduag nod despite her distaste at the mercy her mistress has shown.

slowly lift the pressure of her grip, harden her glare into the other woman's eyes even more, before turning and walking away through the fire, between the two witness, both sated in their own way.

don't show fear at turning her back on them, don't show doubt. dismiss them from her mind, like they could ever effect her, ever be a threat to her, like Cameilla only committed a petty social slight.

mentally schedule a separate talk with Wenduag, to reprimand her for showing dissatisfaction with her mistresses choices. note to not explain why you made those choices. that woman needs careful handling, but she is useful- and if her promises of a mongrel army come true, well it would be worth the headache that comes from dealing with her.

while examining the corpses with a detached air, pull a scroll of inflict harm out of your boot and relish the healing that seeps through your bones, the glorious pain that precedes it, washing away the scorching glow and its after effects.

debate the merit of tearing into the still warm corpse.

hope that her delicate balancing act between punishment and forgiveness, rage and kindness hadn't ended with disaster, watch the wobbling slowly subside in the movements and sounds of the rest of the group until she could take the silence and lack of steel or bolts in her body as proof it worked out, that the bar was still.

don't let out a sigh of relief.

spine strait, walk with confidence.

motion for them to continue on, towards the temple.

[elainemorisi]

perhaps the most annoying discourse needle that isn't super hard to thread but fuckin nobody does is that "the modern USian style of living is unsustainable" and "actually a fair few parts of the global system are highly efficient" are booooth truuueeee

[angelickks]

You dream of a man with rough hands.

They move over your skin with the certainty of someone who’s done it a thousand times—someone who’s bled for the right. His palms are wide and calloused, like he’s spent whole lifetimes carving out places for you in the dark. He doesn’t touch you like a stranger. He touches you like a man who built you up, broke you, buried you—and never stopped coming back.

You don't know his name. But in the dream, he says yours like it’s sacred. Like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to whatever soul he still has left.

He kneels between your legs, jaw tight, eyes darker than sin. His mouth is hot against the inside of your knee—soft, reverent. Your stomach pulls tight, breath catching in your throat.

“Mine,” he whispers into your skin. “Always been. Always will be.”

There’s a scar on his collarbone. Fresh, jagged. You don’t know how you know, but you gave it to him. A mark left in another life. One where you wore knives the way other women wore perfume.

You don’t know this man.

But in the dream, you know how he sounds when he’s falling apart.

He mouths down your thigh, murmuring filth like prayer, eyes half-lidded like this is the end of the world and he’s choosing to spend it between your legs. You should be afraid, you think you were, once—but all you feel now is heat and grief.

His hands tighten on your hips. His tongue moves like he remembers every time you've ever broke, just like this.

“Still taste like sin,” he growls, mouth full of you. “Still so fuckin’ mean.”

You writhe beneath him. You don’t know why you're crying. You don’t know why it hurts.

There’s a weight to it. A mourning. This isn’t the first time. This is never the first time.

“Don’t leave me again,” he says.

And it’s that line—that broken, gutted plea—that shatters the dream.

You wake gasping. Sheets twisted around you like chains. The room is cold but your body is slick with sweat, skin flushed and humming like a fever’s still clinging to you. Your heart hammers in your throat. Thighs aching.

You stare at the ceiling, blank-eyed, trembling. Hands no longer feeling like your own.

You've had dreams before. Vivid ones. Strange ones. But this—this was different. This felt real.

Like a life lost. Like a man you buried.

You don’t know him.

And still, you're sure—he’s looking for you.

a snippet of a fic im working on for remmick, its total au - remmick x reincarnated!reader bcuz i fell in love with the trope. its actually CRIMINAL. im thinking slowburn, angsty, smutty, pathetic remmick. obviously tf. comeing when? who knows omfg. but leave ur thoughts. working on my lion requests for this weekend but i had to share some of this with u guys <33

UPDATE : it has been done

#NAV.ᐟ jack o'connell mlist. revenant mlist, au!remmick x reincarnated wife!reader

[jeonsweetpea]

Desire Me, Damn Me (teaser) -> Born of Desire

KPOP Demon Hunters!AU | Jinu x Hunter!Reader

genre: smut, lil comedy, e2l

rating: explicit

description: You’d be damned if you owed that demon a favor. When he asks to meet, you make a salacious deal in exchange for his continued silence. You tell yourself it’s just business, but your denial gives way to a burning desire that makes you question your existence, your purpose, and worse… your heart.

word count: 5k currently, still writing! teaser is 700 words

warnings: cussing, kissing, oral sex (m & f receiving), virgin!OC, sneaky sex, stomach bulge (he’s hung in his demon form okay), balcony sex, it’s vanilla at first… → rough sex, claws, little blood, unprotected sex, creampie, lil comedy, probably more tags soon i dunno

a/n: Think of the reader as Rumi, who is half-human, half-demon! I also incorporated dialogue from the movie in this. PLEASE tell me what you think, enjoy the snippet below!

“Teddy bears and choo-choo trains? Really?”

Unbelievable. You’re on your knees on a rooftop of all places, trying to provide him a service, and all he can focus on are your pajama bottoms?

You look up at him with your mouth agape, stunned to silence. He closes his fist like he’ll pump it, but his voice suddenly drops to a whisper.

“Choo-choo…” he breathes, moving his fist slowly up and down.

Your confusion twists into a menacing scowl. As you extend your wrist, your hunter’s sword is summoned from an intricate swirl of neon blue and violet light beams. Once it materializes, you thrust it upwards with an aggressive grunt.

“Whoa!” the demon yelps as he dodges in the nick of time.

You stand up and lash out, swinging the blade in unpredictable arcs. Yet he evades each attack with infuriating precision, as if it were a dance.

“I could’ve told your friends what you are,” he reminds you as you slam your sword in a vertical slash. Unfortunately, he’s already vanished, disappearing into a swirl of magenta mist.

You turn around, scanning the rooftop in its entirety for him. Its four ridges form a square perimeter, rising sharply and dipping inward to a hollow courtyard. The ridge he stands on is directly opposite yours—a narrow spine of curved, blue tiles, providing just enough distance between you to make an attack impossible.

“But I didn’t, did I?” he continues, his voice cutting through the silence. “Because they don’t know.”

A low growl bubbles in your throat, but you swallow it, opting for revulsion.

“And I intend to keep it that way. Even if it means making a deal with someone like you.”

He paces along the ridge, arms loose by his sides. You match his steps, walking in tandem, balanced upon the narrow spine of the roofline.

“Someone like me?” he replies, a sharp edge in his words. “We’re the same. You’re a demon girl. A hunter. Hiding, walking around free in the human world.”

“Just hunter,” you correct, “not demon.”

He stops walking, looking back over the ridge. “Then how’d you get the patterns?”

Demons bear intricate marks across their skin—violet “patterns.” Did he expect you to dump your life story about how your mother was a hunter and your father was a demon?

You halt your steps, feeling your chest tighten. “That’s none of your business.”

His eyes soften, like he’s pitying you. It fuels your anger further. “I know what it feels like to have them.”

“Feel?” you spat. “You’re a demon. Demons don’t feel anything.”

He gives you an incredulous glare at the assumption. “Is that what you think? That’s all demons do. Feel our shame, our misery.” His wallowing in self-pity is brief, and a smirk soon breaks through, erasing his previous vulnerability. “Our… lust.” 

You tighten your grip on the blade. “Don’t misunderstand. This is simply a business meeting, not lust.”

“Oh? You could’ve offered me anything for keeping your secret,” he says with a teasing lilt. “Yet the first thing that you came up with was giving me a blowjob.”

You roll your eyes. “To get ahead is to give head, or whatever the saying is.”

He brings his hands together in a slow, deliberate applause. Though surprise glints in his eyes, he doesn’t flinch. “Wow… in all my 400 years of living, I’ve never heard such a saying. You’re horny.”

Words catch in your throat as you rack your brain to formulate a proper comeback. 

“No! I wasn’t thinking! Besides, you accepted the offer!”

He arches a brow. “Because you told me to shut up and take my pants off. Was I not supposed to obey?”

“You can forget about it now,” you huff. 

He shrugs, kicking at some loose debris on the shingles. “That’s fine with me. You’re not my type anyway.”

“What?! I’m everyone’s type!”

“So you offer this… salacious little deal to just anyone?” His low chuckle makes every nerve in your body ignite. You stiffen your stance, clutching the blade handle like your life depends on it, while he strolls across the ridge. The distance between your bodies closes until your sword rests against his chest, stopping him in his tracks.

He leans in just enough for the blade to kiss the fabric of his hoodie.

“Do it.”

Current Tag List:

@chocminteu | @akeaaan | @kitsune-05 | @lavnderluv | @l3laze | @mel3484 | @cloudy-lilly | @zhentheraven | @dynastyofyearning | @cybersinsposts | @kaybugga | @kpopmultistans | @inholover4l

[snowypi]

soft spot | RAFAYEL from lads

pairing: partner!rafayel x reader summary: you adore rafayel’s yapaholic tendencies. he melts in your praise. tags: fluff, flustered rafayel, cuteness aggression-ish,makeout sesh prelude, hes REALLy flustered, teasing reader, playful duo, uh oh angy rafayel a/n: forever a water and ice girlie guess i just b pisces like that ‼️ PLUS i really do think rafayel's the type to tell you like, every detail of his day whether it's through text or when you're over at his studio. he loves to be in your presence. also we're ignoring the use of a livingroom AGAIN (sorry) here. rafayel gives me cuteness aggression although we weren't aggressive at ALL in this one. might save that for caleb. anyways!!! thank you sm for the notes it means sm to me!!!! i havent written online in so long but im glad to be back.

Rafayel talks too much.

Your gaze is locked on his lips. His mouth is always working overtime, you think– rambles upon rambles on the newest material he found for paint– the absolute perfect shade of lilac, the shallow cut on his thumb that hurt oh-so-much, snippets of his time with the little crabs on Whitesand Bay, complaints on how you were late by 2 minutes and 28 seconds to meet him today– oh, what didn’t he tell you about? A grin made its way on your face. You really loved it. You really loved him.

You watch as Rafayel’s lips press into a thin line. He probably raised an eyebrow too.

“Are you even listening, miss bodyguard?”

“Hm?” you mumble, still adorning that stupid grin. 

Rafayel snickers as he follows your gaze. He knows exactly what you’re looking at.

“Someone’s distracted.” He smirks, leaning closer.

You tilt your head playfully. “Nuh uh, keep going fishie. My cute little fishie. My cutest favouritest little fishie-” you suddenly coo, eyes curving into crescents as you raise your hands to squish his cheeks. Your grin grows wider as you spot Rafeyel’s ears flushing a bright crimson. “You’re so cute. I just wanna smooch your face all over,” you whisper, nuzzling into him.

He freezes. His sunset eyes are wide and boring into yours as you give him a lil' kiss on his nose– faces so close your lashes tickle his cheekbones. Relaxing your hands, you slide your palms down to cup his jaw instead.

Rafayel stays still. He swears he can hear his heart pounding; goosebumps rise in the wake of your touch and the heat on his cheeks is getting impossibly warm. He parts his lips–

“Glub glub?” you tease. 

– and immediately closes them.

Rafayel’s brows furrow and he crosses his arms across his chest; furiously blushing and all. You giggle. He pouts, turning his face to the other side with an exaggerated “Hmph!” as you scoot closer to him on the couch.

“You were not listening!” he fumes in protest. His eyes flit to the sofa's handle, the open windows, the empty cups of tea on the low table– anything but your intent eyes. “And," he pauses, sighing dramatically– "there’s so much more I wanted to say but now I forgot everything…” He sulks, pouting even more. 

You kiss his cheek. “You were talking ‘bout the crabs, sweetie.”

"That's all you heard?!" 

You unfold his stubborn arms with a little hum as you lean over to press your lips on his other cheek. "You were also telling me about the cut on your thumb. Does it hurt? Want me to kiss it better?" 

With a lopsided smile, you glide your fingers along the side of his jaw before cupping his chin and gently turning his face to yours. 

Rafayel huffs.

"Ugh. Fine. Maybe."

"Maybe?" You feign hurt and pull yourself away from him, eyes sparkling with mirth. He quickly grabs your waist, pulling you back onto your spot beside him. He needed you closer.

"Yes! Yes.” His voice lowers. “Whatever." 

You grin. He avoids your gaze, but you feel his warm hands slide over your hips as he pulls you onto his lap. The pads of his thumbs circle your lower back as you settle down comfortably; thighs on either side of his body. Chest flush against his, the purple head of hair you loved so much to mess up tucked right under your chin. You let out a soft gasp as he nuzzles up the length of your neck, brushing his lips along your jaw. Heat spreads across your face. You feel him shift.

Rafayel looks up at you.

The evening light casts him in a gentle glow; the exposed skin from his shirt emitting a radiance akin to the shores of Whitesand Bay. Serene flames dance in his eyes as he holds your gaze. The tips of his ears are a muted flush of pink now, his pout replaced with the softened smile you knew so well.

A hand snakes up the column of your throat to cup your jaw. He tenderly pulls you down, leaving only a breath of space in between. His eyes hold a magnetic intensity that leaves you quiet. Waiting.

Rafayel tilts his head, brushing his nose against your cheekbone. You bite your lip. His gaze shifts to it, his thumb gently pressing down on the plushness. Eyes back on yours, he whispers.

"Kiss it better then, cutie."

© snowypi 2025 do not steal, repost or translate

[insertdisc5]

hi! i just finished reading through the artbook and i just wanted to say thank you so much for putting all of this out there because it’s so inspiring to me?? i feel like with a lot of media i see, there’s a sort of invisible pressure to… do everything perfectly? like, a lot of wip/concepts for a lot of stuff out there is Super Professional and even in its wip state looks so incredible and flawless but with the “very first draft” section in the isat artbook it sort of feels like you were just.. writing down whatever came to mind in the moment? and i’m trying so hard not to make this sound demeaning or that a lot of work didnt go into isat as a whole that’s not what i mean !!! idk the draft just reminds me a lot of absent little story idea thoughts that fly through my OWN head but never get written down (typos and silly phrasings and all), and it just inspired me so much to Just Start. it doesn’t have to be perfect or a masterpiece or anything it just has to Exist.

i hope this is at all coherent and i am so sorry if this is worded weirdly, all in all i guess i just want to say the artbook meant a whole lot to me in its own funny little way! i wish you the very best in all future endeavors!!

NO I GET YOU i also feel so inadequate seeing artbooks with Only The Beautiful Sketches... a lot of my personal workflow is to just write down snippets on my phone at 3am because i just got a fun idea... or doodling some lines only i can parse (thinking about the petronille+siffrin doodle at the end lol)... im so very glad the artbook showed you that a lot of making something is just creating arcane things only you can translate faithfully and everyone else just needs to hang on lmao

[felassan]

Lucanis and Crows snippets, under a cut due to spoilers.

How would Viago and Teia react to a Crow Rook being romantically involved with Lucanis? "Teia is going to plan the wedding, and insist that Viago give Rook away at the ceremony. Viago will sigh dramatically, lecture Rook about it, and then spend a week picking out the right gloves to wear." [source]

If Illario wasn't locked away, how would he react? "Under any circumstances, Illario would be upset since it's a whole lot of attention that's STILL not on him. He would definitely get drunk at the reception and tell the same two most embarrassing stories about Lucanis over and over until Viago knocked him out and put him upstairs." [source]

With Rook romancing Lucanis, is it possible that Spite could become affection or benevolence? "Spite's basic aspect is defiance. He can be more or less difficult depending on influence (rebellion vs. vindictiveness, etc), but at his core he's always going to be a spirit of "NOPE"" [source]

Lucanis' mother was the heir apparent to House Dellamorte [source]

Does Spite have any kind of feeling about Rook? "Spite is fond of Rook in his own Spite-like way. He and Lucanis agree on the point of trusting Rook over and above other people or themselves. He does go to Rook for help with Lucanis, after all." [source]

For the Lion King reference in Murder of Crows, Mary Kirby went to the cinematic animators and described it as Illario's "Scar at Pride Rock" scene [source]

User: "I cut Lucanis' hair and shaved his beard and I almost feel like I should apologise to him" / Mary Kirby: "Now he can't tell himself from Illario, and you've given them both a complex." [source]

Teia and Viago were half-written by Mary Kirby and half-written by Luke Kristjanson [source]

Lucanis likes his coffee black [source]

Would he judge your coffee order? "As long as it's not boiled, or instant coffee, or whatever that stuff from a can is, he's fine with it. Or at least, he will only judge you silently for it." [source]

What kind of treats does Lucanis like? "Sweet, because it goes better with his coffee. Savory, if somehow he is NOT drinking coffee at that moment." [source]

Lucanis grew his beard and long hair while in the Ossuary. "He hasn't exactly had a haircut in a while." [source, two].

Would Lucanis make Powerpoint presentations about jobs or to talk? "No, he doesn't want to talk to anyone, let alone explain things and present them. That's 300% an Illario thing. That man has a powerpoint to introduce his powerpoint about why you should listen to his powerpoint." [source]

"Lucanis would never be on social media. He'd be on YouTube watching videos of people restoring rusty cutlery with no dialogue until four in the morning." [source] Could he tell when content is manufactured? "Yes. And he gets upset and finds Bellara or Neve (whichever is unluckier) to rant about it." [source]

Lucanis' favorite stove burner? Right front [source]

"Spite doesn't have any concept of physical appearances. It looks the way Lucanis sees himself. Lucanis is never relaxed, even in casual wear." [source]

Along with Lucanis Mary Kirby also wrote Spite [source]

Mary Kirby wrote Illario, Luke Kristjanson wrote the Crow faction quests [source]

Lucanis' perfect date night? "I'm gonna be honest: There is a non-zero chance it would involve assassinating somebody and getting coffee, and I'm not entirely certain which would come first." [source]

Lucanis "has so much [trauma] to sort through, and he could really use some help. Like, a Marie Kondo level of help with that." [source]

What sparks joy for Lucanis? "Coffee, paella, wyverns, knives, REDACTED, book club, REDACTED, revenge..." [source]

Lucanis is older than Illario by a few months [source]

How did Spite feel watching Lucanis fumble after the near-kiss moment with Rook? "Confused. Spite, like most demons, doesn't really get emotions outside its domain. Not doing something that someone clearly wants you to do should make you happy! I mean, honestly, what's better than that, except maybe revenge?" [source]

Did Spite interact much with Manfred? "We wrote a bunch of interactions between them, though I have no idea how many made it in." [source]

Update:

What are the names of Lucanis' parents? / "I didn't give them names, and in the event that Lucanis comes back in a later game, I don't want to hand out info that might just get contradicted by his next writer. (If I don't answer a lore question for him, this is probably why. I don't want to write checks someone else has to cash.)" [source]

What is Mary's take on Spite's possible involvement or lack thereof in Rook and Lucanis' relationship? / "Honestly, I don't know, and that's a question his next writer might explore? Where do your pent-up feelings of frustration go when you're happy? What does an emotion like defiance even understand about love? (I think that's fun to think about, but your mileage may vary.)" [source]

[somebody-not-from-here]

Snippet of something I started on the bus home from watching Thunderbolts bc hooo boy did I miss Bucky

No spoilers just congressman!Bucky x media assistant!reader

“Well, at least you have a lot of online support.” She posited. “Especially with younger people.“

That piqued his interest. “I didn’t know the younger generations cared about veteran’s rights policies.”

She fiddled with the screen of her laptop, pushing it back and forth on its hinges, contemplating how to phrase her next sentence. “Well, it’s not exactly your policy - though that definitely helps - it’s more. Well, congress is filled with mostly old white men, you know?”

A scoff. “I’m an old white man. I literally fought in world war 2.”

“Yeah but… how do I say this…The other old white congressmen, with good policies, don’t have the added advantage of being the de facto sex symbol of politics, right now.”

Fuck. Worst possible way she could have said it. Proven further by the look of utter confusion and dumbfoundedness on her boss’ face right now.

“The- what?”

“You…” god. Her face was burning. “To put it plainly; you’re a hit with the straight ladies and the gays, uh, sir.”

“They think I’m…attractive.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why?”

That was a hilarious question to receive - from the man that pays her salary, no less. From the winter soldier, even. And the sheer comical nature of it all was heightened by how genuinely he had asked. Clearly he had never been literally anywhere on the internet, in the last year. How does she even begin to answer, not only something so incredulous, but also (in her non-professional and very much personal unshared opinion) kind of obvious?

“Well,” her eyes couldn’t help but trace his figure. I mean surely he knew he was attractive, right? She could only imagine the amount of girls he would have pulled back when he was just a boy in uniform on his days off from punching nazis and protecting the country. She wasn’t even particularly pro-military, herself, and even she could see the appeal.

Add to that the beard scruff and the hair you could only dream of running your hands through and those eyes and the fucking motorcycle-

“You’re just naturally likeable. It’s attractive.” Is what she settles on, so that she doesn’t sound like a college freshman in heat in front of her fucking boss.

Something makes him hesitate, then. Blue eyes assess her for what feels like forever. And, for a moment, she’s so sure that being blipped all over again would be preferable to the whatever energy that this conversation has brought into the room and has her face turning every shade of red.

Then he smiles, amused. “Naturally likeable.” He actually laughs a bit, and seeing Congressman Barnes laugh feels like something extremely precious and rare. Something she is getting an absolute privilege to see. “There’s very viable claims out there that I could have killed JFK, and you think I’m naturally likeable.”

“You’re mysterious! Dangerous but noble. Intimidating but not an asshole about it,” - and you have a great ass, she holds back, “it’s appealing!”

“ I have a metal arm that could crush a person’s skull with barely any effort.”

“Yeah! It’s hot!”

His eyebrows shoot up and she curses internally. Shit. “Um, that’s what the demographics say, anyway. Sorry. That was just my professional opinion and I spoke out of turn. I’ll just stop now-“

“No, no, please. Continue, sweetheart.” His smile turns ever so sinister and she’s pretty sure she’s going to pass out. “I’d love to hear your unprofessional opinions on why I’m appealing.”

———————————————————————-

Maybe I’ll continue it. I have ideas…

[saintsanddevils]

Void & Omen - pt 2

Bob Reynolds/Void & Fem!Reader

Summary: When you meet Bob, that deadly power inside of you stirs, recognizing something just as equally dark and powerful in him. After all, like calls to like.

Warnings/Tags: Thunderbolts movie spoilers, canon typical violence & swearing, protective!Bob

Author’s Note: Someone asked how many parts this series will have & so far I’ve planned 5 or 6. This might change.

Word Count: 2K

Masterlist

Part One • Part Three

————

My senses slowly come back to me as pain beats up my spine like a steady drum. I’m bruised and beaten after being thrown from the explosion and my muscles scream at me as I slowly wake.

My ears are ringing and my head aches, but when my fingers begin to twitch, I sense something soft and calloused holding my hand. I slowly open my eyes to find it still curled in Bob’s hand. His grip begins to tighten around mine as he stirs. He must’ve been knocked unconscious too.

His soft features are speckled in ash and dirt as his eyes slowly open. They immediately find me.

Like calls to like.

That thing from my memory—no, my dream, its voice continues to echo in my head. The dream still sticks to me like a second skin, leaving a bitter taste on my tongue.

Bob must sense my distress or notice the anxiety written plainly on my face as his eyebrows furrow, body tensing. His hand unconsciously squeezes mine, as if it were habit.

When he notices, he quickly tears his hand away, as if embarrassed. His cheeks are red as he slowly sits up, looking anywhere but at me.

“Are you alright?” He mutters, shy and concerned.

I groan, limbs stretching before I heave myself into a sitting position. “I’m alive. That counts for something, I guess.”

He nods before finally meeting my eyes. He seems incredibly nervous and cautious as he says, “I’m sorry.“

I furrow my brows. “For what?”

He stares for a moment. His voice lowers to a whisper. “I should’ve tried to catch you.”

I still.

The dream. It’s hazy and fading in my memory, but snippets of darkness and light, of blood and gore, rise in my mind. And a voice, just before I fell into the dark…

“There you are.”

That voice…

Realization dawns on me like a slap to the face. It’s stinging and bruising as I remember that voice. His voice. Whatever that dark shadowy thing was, it sounded eerily like Bob.

I focus on Bob’s hands in his lap. How they were holding mine a few moments ago. How the skin cradled mine gently and how he never let me go, not even after the explosion.

“Catch me?“ I pause, suddenly recalling seeing his face just before I fell into that unending void in my dream. “That was real?” I whisper.

Bob looks shaken. “I-I think so. I don’t know. I don’t know what any of that was. I just remember fragments, but I remember you and how scared you looked and how all I wanted to do was help you.” He pauses, swallowing. “I’m really sorry—“

“Good to see you’re both breathing,” Yelena appears above us, hands smoothing debris and dust off her clothes.

Neither of us acknowledge her. We’re both still staring at each other.

He was really there, in my dream. He saw everything. I didn’t imagine it.

Which means he saw what happened. Little nine year old me, strapped to a table under fluorescent lighting. And he also saw that creature version of me, the one covered in ink-like darkness. And that man…

The man cloaked in shadow, who seemed so familiar. He was the silhouette with Bob’s voice. I faintly remember dreaming of him before, but I can’t recall when. And whatever that shadowy thing was, it was eerily a strange, dark version of Bob.

Yelena’s eyes bounce back between us for a moment. “Uh, sorry, am I interrupting something?”

I shake my head, shoving the uncertainties and possibilities of what just occurred. If Bob was there, that means something happened to him in that trial from O.X.E. as well. And whatever they did to us has tied us together somehow. As if we’re bound by something bigger than being thrown into an incinerator, where they probably hoped we’d be dead and forgotten by now.

When I turn to Yelena and find her hand outstretched to Bob, he hesitates. It’s a brief second of vulnerability, as if he’s not used to touching someone else so freely. The skin of my hands, that were held in his seconds before, burn at the thought.

Why does he touch me without thought, but hesitate with others? Does it have something to do with whatever O.X.E. did to him, to us? Does it explain why I feel this strange pull towards him, as if we’re two gravitating stars on the verge of colliding? Does he feel that too?

My head pounds with questions while all I can do is stare as Bob ignores Yelena’s hand and stands, dusting off his pants.

“Thanks, uh, yeah glad to see everyone made it out. You okay?”

She shrugs. “This is practically a normal Tuesday afternoon for me.”

A smirk threatens to spread across my face as I struggle to my feet. Once I’m standing, my legs start to shake and the room spins. I falter back a step and Bob is suddenly there, hands steadying my arms and waist, eyes insistent and protective.

“I’ve got you,” he says firmly.

It’s grounding and sure and it’s entirely startling. It’s strange, almost foreign, to have someone care about my well-being when it seems all anyone ever wanted in my life was to get as far from me as possible. I’m used to being treated as a plague, something to avoid.

But this… Bob’s arms encircling me, steadying me. It’s comforting and stable.

I choke down that acidic taste of loneliness as I give him a quick nod of appreciation before lowering my arms and stepping away.

God, I’m entirely too touched-starved for my own good.

I can feel Bob’s gaze on me, but I turn to Yelena, who raises a brow at us.

“Do you know each other?” She asks.

Like calls to like.

I still. That thing inside me is stirring like a turbulent wave, rattling my bones, whispering in my head.

“No,” I choke out, ignoring the pressure in my chest.

I sense Bob’s wince as if it were my own.

Yelena stares at me. “Really? It just seems like you’ve known each other for years—“

I shake my head, moving past Bob. He’s still staring at me and I feel it like a brand on my skin. “We should look for a way out of here.”

Yelena pauses, staring at Bob, before turning back to me, nodding. “Ava and Walker are scouting it out.”

I nod, shifting from foot to foot. Bob is still staring.

“Y/N,” he murmurs.

“If you’re done chit-chatting, I found a way out!” John shouts, to my relief.

Yelena stops Bob from following as I walk over to John and Ava. I hear Yelena check in on him, but I ignore them. Whatever that lies between us is too terrifying to comprehend. It’s only been an hour or so with these strangers and I shouldn’t be so comfortable with any of them, especially Bob. Sweet, protective, kind, observant Bob.

I shake my head, shoving it down into the void of my emotions, hoping whatever sings in me when Bob is around will soon go away. I’m not used to other people enjoying my company, let alone liking me. And from the small interactions with Bob, he seems to be both.

I follow Ava into the ripped open elevator shaft and stare up into the never-ending dark above us.

“Well, shit,” I mutter.

Ava shakes her head. “Yeah. Shit.”

We stand there for a moment before we hear John calling out to Yelena and Bob. “Are we done with our little therapy session or do you guys want to stay down here forever?”

When I turn to find Yelena and Bob standing close together, heads bent and her hand on his shoulder, something in me seethes. It’s acidic as it simmers beneath my skin.

Mine, that thing inside of me whispers.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” I mumble to myself, closing my eyes to take deep breaths. I try to still the rotting jealousy spreading through my limbs, taming that power in me that threatens to rise to the surface. Now is not the time for destruction.

“You okay?” Ava asks.

I startle, opening my eyes. “Yeah, just…not a big fan of tight spaces. Just need a second.”

I see her brows pinch together, jaw working as she watches me. Before she can say anything, John, Yelena, and Bob join us in the elevator shaft.

Bob gives me a sheepish look before shuffling next to me. It’s strange how my body reacts when he’s near. Like that thing in my chest hums at his presence, begging me to step closer. Wanting me to touch him.

I clench my fists, keeping my feet planted as we all look up into the dark.

“So,” Yelena sighs. “None of us can fly? We all just punch and shoot?”

I sense Bob shifting from foot to foot.

Walker rolls his shoulders, breathing in and out loudly. “I’ve got this, guys.”

With a running start, he jumps into the air. The leap propels him and he soars upwards, disappearing into the dark.

“Is that… normal?” I ask.

Yelena rolls her eyes. “He’s some downgrade super soldier. Nothing special.”

“Used to be Captain America,” Ava adds. “Not a good one, though.”

Screaming echoes through the air as John’s body begins to descend rapidly towards us. Bob’s hands suddenly grip onto my elbows, pulling me back into his chest as Walker slams into the ground, inches from where I stood. I try and resist leaning into his touch.

Ava laughs at John. “You should do that again.”

John groans, heaving himself from the floor, glaring at Ava. “Can’t you just, I don’t know, walk through the walls and throw us down a rope or something?”

Ava’s smile disappears, annoyance prickling her features. “If I could do that, I wouldn’t be standing here, now would I?” She shakes her head. “The most I can hold it for is about a minute. I could be trapped and crushed inside the mountain before I can get back.”

“Only a minute?” John scoffs.

Ava glares. “Asshole.”

Yelena sighs. “Any other ideas?”

The buzzing under my skin vibrates through me as Bob continues to hold me to him. I can sense every movement of his chest, every twitch of his arms and fingers.

When Yelena catches my eye, I quickly step out of his reach. I can sense Bob’s furrowed brow and concerned eyes. But we have bigger things to worry about, like getting out of this place.

Bob raises his hand tentatively, drawing everyone’s attention. “I think I might have an idea.”

————

“Who the fuck are they?” Valentina Allegra de Fontaine points at the screen.

Video footage of five people breaking the security lock on a door in the O.X.E. Vault fills the screen. Valentina can name three of them, since she was the one who put them there. Yelena Belova, John Walker, and Ava Starr.

But it’s the two others she can’t name. They’re strangers and, right now, she needs to know how the hell they got inside that vault.

Mel Gold shrugs, staring down at the tablet. “No idea, but I’ll find out.”

The limo is silent as Mel’s fingers tap away. The city lights pass by them as the seconds drag on. Valentina clenches her jaw, her teeth creaking as she tries her best not to scream at her assistant. No matter, within seconds, Mel straightens in her seat.

“Oh god,” she whispers. “Do you remember Project Sentry?”

Valentina waves a hand, already brimming with annoyance and impatience. “Of course, but we shut that down along with everything else. All the tests subjects died. It was a dead-end. A failure.”

Mel nods. “Yes, or so we thought.”

She shifts the tablet back to her boss. Valentina’s eyes slowly begin to widen as she stares down at the screen. Her fingers latch onto it, zooming through pages and pages of research and records and case studies for Project Sentry. She pauses on research results for both Robert Reynolds and Y/N Y/L/N.

Valentina stops on a picture of the young woman. It was taken the day she arrived at the O.X.E. facility in Malaysia. Her eyes were sunken in, bones protruding from her face and collarbone. She was malnourished and sickly. She looked lost and forgotten. The perfect subject.

Below the picture, the doctors and scientists listed everything she described to them about her condition. How she hoped they could rid her of what she could do.

Scientists experimented on her, needing to know what they were dealing with. Included in the file was a video of that experiment.

“Holy shit,” Valentina whispers under her breath.

She replays it, over and over again, eyes widening as a slow, creeping smile spreads across her face.

“What is it?”

Valentina looks up at Mel from the tablet. Her smile is downright lethal as she says, “We need to get to the Vault. Immediately.”

Part Three

————

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