#switched to The Bear and the Serpent

[pastels-and-lace]

Current audiobook and sewing project 🌸

[dollsuguru]

Request: Getou feels bad for secretly liking Gojo’s gf and making excuses to touch her.

the enormity of my desire disgusts me.

contents: f!reader, one-sided love, obsession, cursing, touching (not unwanted but the intention is unbeknownst to reader as geto makes it a point to always want physical contact w them), mentions of self-destructive behaviors, guilt, & delusions. w.c: ~ 2.3k

a/n: hi! tysm for requesting :’) this is my first ever request/first time writing so please bear w me & i hope you enjoy! constructive criticism is totally welcome! <3

guilt creeps up suguru’s throat like a slithering serpent.

it crawls around the base of his tongue, writhing farther down, embedding its fangs into the flesh of his throat. a raw, mangled, bloody mess left in its wake.

remorse, witnessing the disarray that guilt’s plight leaves, frantically tries to discern where a home can be made. perhaps it can dance along his ribcage. pirouetting across his bones until it reaches a bloody cavern where it can dwell within a hole burrowed deep inside suguru’s heart.

maybe all of this despair can be washed away… a desire to cleanse his palate & purge his feelings away persists, yet he doesn’t allow himself the reprieve.

instead, he decides to swallow his shame down like a bitter whiskey, relishing in the thorn-like pin prickles. the harsh amber reflecting in his fatigued, glassy eyes.

the ache serves as a reminder.

suguru figures that the sharp gnawing pain that spikes his heart & torments his throat is the very least he deserves.

his therapist did say he had a tendency to wallow in his self-destructive thoughts. delude himself & cyclically make bad choices which turned into bad habits. but what’s another bad decision to him? a pyromaniac to his very core; suguru would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t enjoy playing with fire.

allowing himself a moment of respite, he fishes out a cigarette he stole out of shoko’s purse from the left pocket of his leather jacket. a silver heart-shaped vivienne westwood lighter in the right. he takes it out, rolling it softly in his warm palm, lackadaisically playing with the switch. imagining the cold metal were your cold hands instead, his own seeking to offer up warmth for your comfort. he gazes softly at the flame; flickering on and off. on and off. on and off. a burning fire reflected in his eyes. a burning desire razing his heart.

the whole world in the palm of his hands — the heart you presented to him.

(a gift from you to him — you begged him to quit smoking, it was bad for his health and you wanted him to be there in the future as best man at yours & satoru’s wedding. with a tight-lipped smile & crinkled eyes, he said he would.

always the deceiver.

you lit up, gaze softening while telling him to specifically use this lighter to light up the teakwood candle you bought him for his birthday. his smile turned fond, eyes crinkled softly with genuine mirth & adoration, he said he would. and he did.

always the sentimentalist.)

bringing the cigarette to his lips, he exhales a puff of smoke, allowing his low-lidded gaze to flit across the room. the warm lights illuminating the grungy bar, a favorite of nanami’s & shoko’s.

he reminisces on the days where both of you would talk for hours. from deep conversations about space, morality, your futures & pasts, to asking each other about what food you’d eat for eternity (cold zaru soba noodles for him, any form of potato for you), savory or sweet (both of you chose savory — suguru relishes in the fact that he has a connection with you on this), & if you two would still be best friends if the other one was a worm (both of you answered yes — you’d build a terrarium where wormguru could play & suguru would keep you in his pocket not caring if he’d be dubbed the weirdly hot worm-man.) from the serious to the silly, suguru felt his chest bloom with tender warmth. from the bottom of his heart, he knows that in this world and any others, he could truly be himself with you.

a soft sigh escapes him, a small smile gracing his face thinking about his memories with you. calling the bartender over for another drink after he downs his whiskey, he drawls out, “give me somethin’ sweet.”

he turns back around to the crowd of strangers, unintentionally smiling. he finds a few pretty boys & girls gawking at him, hyping themselves and each other up to go talk to him. he sees a few more pretty boys & girls looking away from his intense gaze, too shy to go up to him, praying instead that he’ll go to them.

the grin that previously took residence on his face falters. he finds himself upset that they’d think his smile was reserved for any one of them. none of them pique his interest per usual, & he hopes that the bags underneath his eyes, his myriad of piercings & tattoos, chipped black nail polish, and overall resting bitch face will stop anyone from coming near him.

(he knows it won’t. people often went after suguru and not satoru. he was always more caring, more in tune with his emotions with an air of magnetic mystique, unlike his brash, loud, & arrogant counterpart.)

suguru intakes a sharp breath, surprising himself with the haughty & bitter thought against his best friend, quickly washing it down with a sweet daiquiri hoping to honey the words in both his throat & mind, while simultaneously praying that it would soothe his heart.

slightly more alert, his gaze wanders around the room again. tired eyes widening slightly, lighting up greatly when he sees you.

there you were in all of your glory.

sitting leisurely, a leg swung upon the other, arm resting over the back of the tattered red vinyl couch, the very same one you both had countless conversations on. how were you so effortlessly cool? you could do anything and suguru would revel in it — drawn to you like a moth to a flame.

and like a moth, he found himself gliding across the bar towards you, his feet moving faster than his brain. his body demanding that it be near you, that it be graced with your presence. with a flick of his ring-clad fingers, his cigarette is crushed underneath his black boots. a piece of strawberry gum is popped inside his mouth along with another reapplication of vanilla lip balm to his lips to make sure that you knew they were soft to the touch.

with his heart beating ridiculously fast, he takes a deep breath before he stands in front of you, your perfume enveloping his senses making him slightly delirious from how delectable you smell. he prays that the blush dusting his cheeks fools you into thinking that he just drank too much; that it’s not because of you peering up at him through your lashes with your pretty eyes that are now affectionately directed towards his own.

“yo! suguru! long time no see!” you wave as you get up to greet him, a massive grin overtaking your face, eyes almost crinkled shut because you’re so excited to see one of your best friends.

without warning, suguru envelops you into a tight hug. his left hand placed against your lower back while his right hand cradles your head against his chest, your cheek pressing against his beating heart. suguru places his chin on the top of your head, craning his face slightly to get a whiff of your shampoo, ghosting a faint kiss on your hair that he knows you don’t feel, relishing in this moment with you. for a few seconds he can pretend… he deserves that much at least, he figures.

he could stay holding you in his arms forever, your body pressed up against his, protecting you from everything & everyone bad in this world, shielding you from predatory eyes around the bar. fucking wolves, the lot of them — suguru contemptuously thinks. it’s a good thing you’re here in his arms, suguru muses, confident in his ability to keep you safe.

as quickly as that thought dashes through his brain, you pull away. not wanting to alarm you with his panic that you’d leave him, a tight grip stays around your waist, forcing you to sit back down. he positions himself right next to you, his thighs touching your own, his right arm draped across your shoulder.

something that you can consider friendly.

something that he can consider more than that.

affectionate, no matter which way you take it.

“it’s been a while.” a fond smile beams across his face, bright amber eyes desperately glazing over your face. you’re so close to him and he’s so attentive to you, he imagines that the boy across the bar must think you both look like a couple. the pleasure suguru derives from that thought is second to none. you do look like you’d be his. he’s certain that he looks like he’d be yours, if his devoted nature is anything to go by.

he takes a a few strands of your hair, twirling them slightly around his fingers. “what are you doing here anyways? i wish i saw you before, we could’ve hung out!” suguru teasingly pouts, lips slightly jutted out, his eyes twinkling with playful mirth.

“tell me about it,” you playfully whine. “thankfully i just got here so we have plenty of time to hang out! don’t worry, i’ll make up for it so you can forgive me.”

“you never have to apologize for anything.” seriousness takes over his tone. suguru doesn’t want you to ever feel bad, even as a joke. not wanting to make you uncomfortable with his tense energy, he eases up his features and winks, “don’t worry your pretty little head about it, i’ll let you off the hook this time.”

you bark out a laugh which makes him elated, glad that he was able to make you smile. “sugu, you’re way too sweet! and ooh — you asked what i was doing here! toru wanted to chill out here for a bit, said if he didn’t get to drink a virgin piña colada right this second he’d faint.” you gaze around the bar, muttering under your breath, “he should be on his way here soon…”

right… satoru.

suguru feels his mouth get dry by the second, a venomous pang of guilt daggers his heart. his eye twitches along with his fingers, wondering if he should take his arm off of you.

if satoru saw this would he just consider it friendly touching? would he think that suguru was trying to make the moves on you? would he scream in his face about how can his best friend stab him in the back this way? the bitter taste of betrayal coats suguru’s tongue like a curse, and before he can do anything about it, a big SMACK! on his shoulder wakes him out of his trance.

“SUGUUUUUUUU! I MISSED YOUUUUUUU!” satoru bursts out onto the scene loudly, holding both your & suguru’s shoulders from behind the couch, bringing you two towards each other in a massive hug. with satoru’s face in the middle, smooshing both of your & suguru’s cheeks against his, suguru can’t help but feel a gnawing sense of shame.

satoru, affectionate as ever, kisses you both on the cheek. snowy hair ruffling with his actions, aquamarine eyes twinkling as bright as starlight, white eyelashes fluttering against the pink blush hued upon his soft cheeks. from here, suguru can see the light dusting of freckles on satoru’s nose, & the lightest sheen of gloss on his pink lips. no doubt from kissing you before he got here.

a twisted part of suguru is thankful for the kiss on the cheek, your glossy residue imprinted on his skin. an indirect kiss, he muses.

“sorry it took so long, i had to park so far away. hope you didn’t miss me too much, angel.” satoru pecks you on the cheek again, cheekily stealing an upside down kiss on the lips from you while he’s at it.

“no worries baby, i had sugu to keep me company.” you smile wide, eyes softening as satoru smoothes down your hair.

suguru forgot.

satoru trusts him with his entire life. with you.

the loud, brash, arrogant, self-centered boy suguru knew as a teen had grown up. cleaning up his act the moment he met you. enamored with your beauty, kindness, & personable nature — satoru fell deeply in love. he was still loud, but only to proclaim his love on the rooftops for you. he was brash at times but never with you. his arrogance was also truly never unfounded, he was just that confident in his own self and in the relationship he could have with you. suguru still thinks satoru can be self-centered at times, but never about you.

satoru puts you forward in every single aspect of his life — devoted. loyal. faithful. unbelievably constant with his love & adoration for you. your perfect other half.

your true soulmate.

you’re his one and only. and he’s yours.

“satoru! it’s been a while.” suguru prays the loud music can cover up the slight crack in his voice. he can feel his throat constricting like a python, he coughs to clear it, wanting to rid himself of the strangling feeling. he does what he does best in that moment: putting on a facade. a tight-lipped smile along with crinkled eyes graces his features, and he hopes that both you & satoru mistake it for pure happiness.

“you good, man?” satoru tilts his head like a puppy, looking at him questioningly. you do the same, concern clouding your beautiful eyes. he’s terrified that you both could see right through him.

“yeah.” suguru whispers quietly.

the ache that torments his throat & spikes his heart serves as a reminder.

he puts his warm hand over your cold ones in a comforting gesture. for who would it bring solace? he doesn’t know. at this point in time, he can’t bring himself to care. “just the summer heat.”

he brushes his thigh against yours once again, fiddling with your fingers softly. he figures he can allow himself this.

glancing into your eyes, his reflection stares back him.

he accepts that living with this ache of shame & this disgusting sense of desire is the very least someone like him deserves.

he figures he should allow it to devour him.

[theglassofmiddleearth]

Imagine being sent to Thranduil along with Thorin

Small explanation. Y/N actually knows Thranduil as a close friend. She was his confidant when he became king. He knows that she is not from this world and was sent here and posesses the ability to change the fate of all middle earth. (Time travel kinda stuff?) Anyways HAPPY READING

Thranduil: I will let you go, if you but return which is mine.

Y/N: Honestly not sure why I'm here? Can I leav-

Thranduil: *interrupts* Silence Pethryn.

Thorin: A favour for a favour

Thranduil: You have my word, one king to another.

Y/N: *cringes, knowing that's next.*

Thorin: I would not trust, Thranduil, great king, to honour his word, should the end of all days be upon us.

Y/N: *sighs and looks down* Shit.

Thorin: I have seen how you treat your friends. We came to you once. Starving, homeless, seeking your help. But you turned your back.

Thranduil and Y/N: *looks at eachother but remains silent*

Thorin: *continues* You turned away from the suffering of my people. The inferno that destroyed us. Imrid amrâd ursul! (Die a fiery death)

Y/N: *loudly* Enough Thorin.

Thranduil: Do not talk to me of dragon fire. I know it's wrath and ruin. I have faced the great serpents of the north.

Y/N: *looks away from his scar*

Thranduil: I warned your grandfather what his greed would summon, but he would not take heed. You are no different.

*Gestures to the guards to take him away*

Stay here if you will and rot. A hundred years is a mere blink, in the eyes of an elf.

Thorin and gaurds exit

Y/N: Rather dramatic aren't we old friend? *smirks*

Thranduil: *refuses to look at you* Do not think I did not notice you turn away.

Y/N: *looks down* I cannot bear to look upon the pain I brought you. That day, that scar. It was meant for me.

Thranduil: Mellon nin, I would face the serpents once more if I were but to keep you safe.

Y/N: We went needlessly into battle. I was the one who should have-

Thranduil: Enough. You have spent a millennia repenting and punishing yourself for something I never blamed you for. I have nothing but fate to thank that it brings you back to my halls even if unwillingly. I have spent centuries waiting for your council again.

Y/N: *sighs and kneels* I have missed you Aran nin.

Thranduil: The Narrator does not kneel to a mere King in passing time, stand. I will not tell you again, lest my people think I have gone soft or mad.

Y/N: *grins* By the way you do know that they will escape.

Thranduil: And I guess I am not able to stop them?

Y/N: Nope.

Thranduil: Will you be joining them?

Y/N: *skips up to his throne and sits* All in due time my friend. Patience is a virtue.~

Thranduil: *picks her up with one hand by the scruff and sets her off his throne* Stop that. It is unbecoming. Go eat, tis the Feast of Starlight.

Y/N: Already on it! See ya later loser.

Y/N exits

Thranduil: *mutters from his throne* How they are able to switch between a child and an adult that is burdened with the fate of time, never ceases to confuse me.

------

Aran nin= My king

Pethryn= Narrator

Almost 2k?! Thats a long boi for me.

[flufffilleddonut]

Eggcellent Comfort

Summary - Sir Pentious is upset, worried that he will never be able to accomplish his goals, with his talent going unrecognized. His little minions, however, will stop at nothing to cheer up their boss.

Word Count - 600

-

Sir Pentious’ eggs were in his room at the Hazbin Hotel. Their usual black suits were replaced with yellow pajamas, and their top hats replaced with small, yellow nightcaps.

The Egg Boiz were sitting around, awaiting the arrival of their boss, when, suddenly, the door to the room opened. A downcast Sir Pentious slithered in.

“Boss!” “Hiya Boss!” “We missed you, Boss!” The eggs said gleefully.

“Good evening, my little Egg Boiz.” Sir Pentious responded, sorrow evident in his voice.

The Egg Boiz could tell that something was up with the serpent, making them upset as well.

“What’s wrong, boss?” “Why are you upset?” “Did somebody hurt you?”

Sir Pentious sighed as he changed into his pajamas.

“It’s nothing really, Eggies. I just fear that my dream of becoming an Overlord of Hell will never be realized, especially now that I’m trying to be redeemed. Nobody will ever know, or appreciate, the brilliance and glory of Sir Pentious, inventor extraordinaire!” Sir Pentious said, striking a bold pose, before flopping down onto his bed defeatedly.

As Sir Pentious laid there, his eggs hurried over, surrounding him.

“Don’t fret, boss!” “We know you’re the best!” “Nobody compares to you!” The eggs said encouragingly.

Sir Pentious sighed once more.

“Thank you, eggs. At least I know that I will always have the support of my loyal minio- EEK!”

Sir Pentious was cut off with a small shriek, as a sudden shock passed through his nervous system.

Frank the egg had cuddled up to Sir Pentious’ tail, and was stroking it comfortingly, when he hit a particularly sensitive spot.

Frank continued running his fingers along the length of the tail as Sir Pentious began softly giggling.

“Ssstop thahahat, ehehehe!” Sir Pentious giggled out.

The eggs took notice of their boss’ reaction to the light touch, and, suddenly, all got the same idea.

The Egg Boiz climbed on top of Sir Pentious and began softly grazing their fingers over the snake’s skin. Some were on his tail, others at his stomach, and one at the hood surrounding the back of Sir Pentious’ head.

Sir Pentious began squirming madly, trying his best to get his minions off.

“SSSTAHAHAP! NOHOHO -hiss- AHAHAHA -hiss- HAHAHA!” Sir Pentious laughed madly, the sound interspersed with hissing noises.

“But why, boss?” “Yeah! You sound happy!” “We just want to cheer you up, boss!” The eggs remarked as they continued, their small, nimble fingers tickling seemingly every inch of the snake.

Frank switched from lightly grazing his fingers along the tail to deliberately digging them in with more force. The other eggs took note of how this caused Sir Pentious’ laughter to intensify, prompting them to follow suit and switch to using the same method.

Sir Pentious tried tossing himself from side-to-side, but the eggs didn’t let up.

“EHEHEGGS! -hiss- ENOHOHOUGH! -hiss- AHAHAHA!” Sir Pentious cackled.

“We have to help the boss out!” “We can’t stop until he’s feeling better!” “I think it’s working guys!” The eggs called out to one another.

“IHIHIM HAHAHAPPY! -hiss- EHEHE! -hiss- IHIHIM HAHAHAPPY!” Sir Pentious managed to shout through his laughter.

The eggs stopped their attack.

“Yay!” “We did it!” “Glad we could help, boss!” The eggs cheered, cozying up to Sir Pentious.

Sir Pentious slowed his squirming, catching his breath. He grabbed hold of one of his eggs, pushing it up against his chest like a teddy bear.

“Thank you, Eggies.” Sir Pentious said, shutting his eyes.

As he was drifting off to sleep, Sir Pentious felt grateful for his eggs. While they may not be the smartest, or the most competent minions, they sure manage to brighten up his afterlife with their eggcitable antics.

-

[the-astralalchemist]

servant guda summoned in a holy grail war

caster guda who seems to have the most obvious class. the more generations come, the more a story changes - of course the savior of humanity would be a brilliant caster. but no, they aren't your typical mage. they use an advanced form of projection magic, making them the perfect decoy. they switch between a sharp red bow, a silver broadsword, and oddly, a yellow paw shaped club. when caster activates their noble phantasm, their arms glow in strange patterns of gold. an anti demon measure that can be used best with a command spell: ars exitio daemoniorum.

rider guda who laments their class. they have the worst mount, a giant tank they call the shadow border. they claim to not even know how to operate it - but it's not like you could get around in it without gaining a crowd. rider’s version is externally smaller than the original and has no access to the paper moon. with practice they manage to condense it into a motorcycle nicknamed shadow bear. it growls at you when you try to touch it and zaps when you stand too close. that chrome colored monster is scarier than its user…

assassin guda who comes wrapped in a black cloak a bit too broad for their shoulders. "just because i can technically shoot a target," they whine, "doesn’t mean this should be my class!" though an assassin, they are no good at covert ops. their method is guns blazing - literally. their primary is a semiautomatic firearm lovingly called calico. paired with their scope farflier, which can serve not only as an aim assistant but can sense their target. they say they trained under the warrior goddess scáthach. you don’t believe them until you have nightmares - memories. you are on a shooting range getting hit over the head by an intense fuchsia haired woman when you miss a target. you don’t ask about those.

berserker guda who is startling normal. something in your gut says this is wrong. when you ask if they really are a berserker, they shrug and smile. you see their madness when they let loose in battle. they are virtually unkillable. they will keep going until the head is separated from their body. they were loved deeply by death in life - it still follows them like a loving specter, as part of their soul. otherside blessing is what they call it. a warning for berserker's future or current master; occasionally they might slip up and call you “doctor”. please ignore this mistake.

avenger guda who never existed in the first place. they are older, tall, with piercing red eyes. they move silently like a serpent. it's hard to detect their presence, even for their master. their katana is stained crimson that doesn't scrub off. but the blade never rusts. they wield an anti-world noble phantasm: dreams end, lostbelt. they deeply love this world and will do anything to protect it. they will put an end to this war. no one needs a tool so destructive. the deaths of millions are on their shoulders, what more should twelve bodies be?

[deathlessathanasia]

„Mars, proud of his task, and still aflame in his burning Chariot, tugged the reins leftwards. He had just reached His journey’s end, plunging from the sky, when Venus Took her stand fearlessly there before his horses. They Reared back, their rigid manes subsiding in supplication. Then leaning against the top of the shaft, her tearful face Averted, while the horses bowed their heads and champed The foaming bit before their mistress’ feet, she spoke out:

‘O finest of fathers, war against Thebes, is it war you plan, The destruction of your own descendants? Harmonia’s race, And the union we celebrated in heaven, and these my tears, Do they not deter you, madman? Is this the reward for my Shame? Is this what my lost name and honour, and Lemnos’ Net of chain deserve from you? Go your way, freely, yet Elsewhere Vulcan defers to me, and my wronged husband Though angered, serves me yet. If I ordered him to sweat For me, spending sleepless nights at his everlasting forge, He would be pleased and toil at new weapons, even for you. But you – I seek to move stone, a heart of bronze, with my Requests. Yet regarding this alone I entreat you, simply this: Why did you have me wed my dear daughter, Harmonia, To a Tyrian husband, those fatal nuptials, boasting that Tyrians of Cadmus’ serpent-blood, a race descending From the line of Jove, would be renowned in battle, their Hearts eager for action? How I wish the girl had married Beyond Thrace and Boreas, beneath the Sithonian Bear! Was it not shame enough that Venus’ daughter slithers Across the ground, shedding venom over Illyrian turf? Yet now an innocent people –’

Here the lord of war Could stand her tears no longer. Switching his spear To his left hand he leapt from his tall chariot in a trice, Clasping her to his shield, bruising her in his grip. Then with fond words he attempted to soothe her. ‘O my solace after war, my sacred delight, my soul’s Only peace, you alone of the deities have the power To face my weapons without harm, to stand before These steeds though they neigh amongst the slaughter, And snatch this sword from my hand. I do not forget That marriage of Sidonian Cadmus, nor your loyalty (Seek no pleasure in false reproaches!): I’d sooner, God though I am, be plunged in my uncle’s infernal Deeps, and be led helpless among the pallid shades. Yet, charged with carrying out the Fates’ warnings, And the supreme father’s will (since Vulcan is no fit Choice for the task) how can I oppose Jove or flout His decree? Even now I saw the earth, sky and sea Tremble at his words (what power!) and saw the ranks Of deities cowed. But, have no fear, love, in the end Since no power can prevent it, I will be there when Those two nations battle beneath the walls of Thebes, To aid them, allied in arms. Through blood-drenched Fields you’ll see me seal the Argives doom, nor will I Disappoint you. It is my right, the Fates agree.’”

– Statius, the Thebaid

[yourjughead]

Forgotten Mail

Sweet Pea X Reader Oneshot

Synopsis: Following the death of his best friend, Sweet Pea finds the emotional toll a lot to bear even a year following Fangs death.

A/N: This is kinda a sad fic, gets a bit fluffy after getting a bit shouty.

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The unmistakable sound of a bottle opener cracking against its latest victim, a bottle of golden liquor. Sweet Pea took a drag of his freshly opened drink and sat in the darkness of home, the tv attempting to illuminate the tin shell. His head could only just be torn from the tv set as you stumbled in the door, groceries in hand, diner uniform begging to be swapped for pjs.

“Hey honey” Sweet Pea replied with a lowly grunt and took another sip, returning his eyes to the screen. You rolled your eyes and then went onto to unpack the groceries before a large manila envelope caught your eye.

“Pea…” you took it in your hands and walked to Sweet Peas side after flicking on a main light

“Mhm” you stepping in front of him in a bid to get his attention only to have him tilt to see around you. You reached down beside him, taking the remote and switched off the buzzing screen.

“Hey!”

“Hey yourself!” you smacked the envelope into his chest and his face immediately dropped.

“Ohhh I was supp-osed to mail this wasn't I?” you huffed loudly before stomping off and slamming your bedroom door. Sweet Pea took a few misguided steps, putting his two hands on the doorframe to steady himself.

“I'm sorry I forgot” the door flew open in front of his face and you found yourself squaring up to the tipsy Serpent.

“You're sorry? YOU’RE SORRY?! THATS MY COLLEGE FEE! I COULD LITERALLY BE THROWN OUT OF COLLEGE BECAUSE YOU FORGOT”

“WELL I DI-DNT MEAN T-O FORGET!” you pulled your face further from his at the smell of liquor tainting his breath. You found yourself slamming the door again.

“YN! Ope-n the door, I forgot, I'll do it tomorr-ow”

“You said that yesterday!” You called from the other side. You curled up at the end of the bed, hugging your knees to your chin.

“YNN, I'll g-o do it no-w” he attempted, turning on his heels and stumbling toward the envelope. You unlatched the door, easily overtaking him and retrieving the envelope first.

“Don't bother. I'll do it myself, I do everything else”

“YN, you know the pa-st year has bee-n hard for me” he glanced to his feet and back again, to find your face softening.

“Sweet Pea. I know it's not been easy. No one has found losing….losing Fangs easy to deal with-” he looked away from you again, unable to cope with the words and your eyes. Sweet Pea reached back for the bottle he had opened only to have you snatch it from him again.

“Hey!”

“Sweet Pea, enough. You've had enough. Fangs wouldn't want you wasting here,a fucking shell of someone who was once great”

“You don't understand” Sweet Pea bit out, his tone taking a completely different turn, his face souring. The past year had been hard on both of you. You had bounced back as much as you could, if only so the both of you could survive. You helped Sweet Pea as best as you could but often you felt you were fighting a losing the battle.

“I understand Sweets” you tried to pull him back to softness, unable to. You could feel your heart almost leap from your chest as he suddenly caught the mud coloured bottle from you and sent it flying into the living room wall behind you.

“NO Y-OU DON-T” you flinched at both his action and his volume. Shock painted across his face at his own actions as pain decorated yours. You turned quickly, clutching the evenlope, reaching for your jacket and heading back towards the door.

“Get help Sweet Pea, I can't do it anymore” for a final time that night you slammed a door between the both of you. Enough was enough, you needed space from it. Sweet Pea threw himself back down on the sofa, cracking open the lid of a new bottle, bringing the opening to his mouth. He sighed into it, looking around the empty trailer, his eyes landing on the shards of glass. He couldn't believe he'd done that, that was so unlike him. He felt he didn't know himself in that moment and was unsure if he could find his way back to who he was again. Unsteady, he rose again from his seat, stalking over to the coat hanger and draping on his leather jacket. He needed a change of scenery, drunkenly lacing on his shoes and heading out in the direction you had just left.

Cool liquid swirled around the soles of his shoes, the puddles finally breaking down the worn walls of torn sneakers. He kept his pace even and eyes on the flooded path ahead as the rain and night encapsulated his entire figure. The fresh water rain whirled into the salty drops falling from his world-weary eyes and were almost immediately swept back away with a battered hand. A chill coarsed down his spine with bitter revenge, the sensation of multiple sets of eyes sank into his back. Sweet Pea let the next 10 minutes happen, too tired from his fight with you to fight off the Ghoulies earning their stripes, he let them tear him down as if only so his outside appearance could attempt to match the raging storm inside.

~

Air laboured its way through Sweet Peas lungs as the smell of clean cotton woke him from his heavy sleep. His blurred vision attempted to take in the sterile light of his environment. Every inch of his body screamed at his gentle movement, placing a heavy hand to a swollen right eye.

“oh my god my head” he rasped out, the beeping of various machines competing with the volume of his heart beating.

“Take it easy Sweets” you guided his hand gently back down to his side, holding it in yours to trace small circles around the IV insertion site.

“YN” he breathed quietly out, closing his eyes gently again.

“YN!” Sweet Pea attempted to jolt forward, his aching bones bringing that movement to a swift and painful halt.

“Shhh Sweets it's okay, I'm here for you”

“What happened?” Sweet Pea brought his other hand to hold his throat, the scratching vocal cords burning from his side of the conversation.

“You're in the hospital. Last week….they jumped you…Ghoulies…..I shouldn't have left you alone that night” betraying tears fell from your eyes, landing on the crystal white cotton sheets as you sat on the edge of his bed.

“I threw…I threw something at you YNN” his own tears falling now, only to be brushed away gently by the back of your free hand.

“YN, I'm sorry. I'm really really sorry, I can't believe I did that” Sweet Pea pleaded and began to once again attempt to sit up, only to have you beckon him to stay put.

“It's okay Sweets, this has been a hard year”

“That's not good enough YN, I'm in a bad place. I want to feel like myself again. I want to be better, I'm going to get better” a small saddened smile found its way across your face as you leaned down and kissed his cheek forgivingly. He meant it, he'd try, he'd try to be better and you'd help him.

“Sweet Pea when I got that phone call about what happened you….I really thought you were gone” you fought back the sob, pressure building in your throat.

“YN, I will never leave you….besides I have a letter I have to mail” you gently nudged his chest as his soft laugh. Sweet Pea did get better from there, of course he had his moments but never again a moment like that night. Never again was all hope lost. Never again did he forget to mail your letters

[nerice]

🚫for your ocs generally (if you got worldbuilding details about recreational drugs or something similar this is your chance to go on about that i suppose)

☕️for eliada specifically?

UWAAAAA ty for asking yes lore facts nd some familiar content coming right up >:333 !!!!

🚫 does your oc drink/smoke? do they do it regularly, or is it more on occasion or for special events?

oooohhhh vices post heckyeah letsgo!! the only worldbuilding tidbit to note here is that 'smoking' here means fantasy weed tm. there are different strains some of which have the regular weed effects, others are more like classic nicotine; that being said. here's an assortment>>

reina // loves a good red wine, thinks all other forms of alcohol are undignified + also cannot hold her liquor AT ALL but she is good at saving face until she is in private. cannot stand (jumie's habit of) smoking >:33

in tandem, garvith // like reina a fkcin lightweight which doesn't have much bearing on account of Serpent Deity That Keeps To Her Shadow but becomes vry much relevant for later with >>>

avery // also a red wine connoisseur but never gets drunk on account of garvith soaking up all of the intoxication lol. it does make her switch into echo mode more easily though bc garvith doesn't have the wits to temper their connection/her access to his powers when drunk. rip

jumie // doesn't drink at all, picks up smoking from arianna bc her tobacco mixes alleviate the frequent headaches she gets from working on the descendant chronicle late at night

arianna // graslight bottlekeep, girlweed. moderate alcoholic and everyone's weed dealer. has special fun cultivating her weed plants to have different colored smoke because she is extra like that. puts leah n sky to bed with a little drink instead of parenting them which makes jumie furious lmfao <3

sky // has a rocky start with alcohol bc it messes with her strength control (bad times) but is a riot drunk by seed arc; might get into ill-advised bar brawls here and there w. never rly picks up smoking other than the few times ari tried to convert her

gray // most alcoholism oc to never get drunk (soulless immunity) except the one time he shot himself into oblivion and achieved true intoxication which [🐇prelude] nd while he does partake in smoking occasionally (vexing reina in amasa) he usually dislikes it bc he doesn't need a headache on top of ✨Soulless Momence✨

linn // yes

☕️ does your oc prefer coffee, tea, hot chocolate, milk, water, or some other drink? how do they like to take this drink (ex. coffee with milk, hot chocolate with whipped cream, a specific kind of tea, etc)?

vibrates at this immensely bc!!!!!!!! the answer is tea but. he and fauve have an incredibly elaborate setup where whenever eliada entertains guests/clients fauve will bring out tea for them to chat over. the secret here is that fauve's Knowing Eyes [mute city heaven lore] allow her to instantly understand certain details about his visitors which she then communicates via the exact arrangement of the tea. which flavor, what is added, sugar alrdy dissolving or on an extra dish (how many cubes) which side the spoon is on, where it is facing, choice of cup etc etc etc they have a super complex system worked out which always gives eliada the upper hand in conversations. (esp for cold reading soulless upon first meeting them. as you do ;3) nobody has ever figured out this is how he does it wwww

also for final facts. study buddies liquor preferences

[besttropeveershowdown]

Brackets for Round 2

Brackets are done for Round 2! Side A polls will be out as soon as possible.

Side A

Side B

Side C

And a text list of matchups, because those images are incredibly low-quality:

Side A

Found Family vs. Foil

Decon-Recon Switch vs. Rousseau Was Right

Science is Good vs. Bait-and-Switch Tyrant

Badass Pacifist vs. Gambit Pileup

The Team vs. Moral Dilemma

But They Stayed In the Car vs. Outlaw Couple

Silly Rabbit, Cynicism is for Losers! vs. Have I Mentioned I Am Heterosexual Today?

Storyboarding the Apocalypse vs. In Medias Res

Fire-Forged Friends vs. Self-Inflicted Hell

Ragtag Bunch of Misfits vs. Unreliable Narrator

Everyone is Bi vs. Came Back Wrong

The Anti-Nihilist vs. Hurt/Comfort

Prophetical Semantics vs. True Companions

Magnificent Bastard vs. Genre Savvy

Minor Injury Overreaction vs. Grey-and-Gray Morality

Accidental Parental Figure vs. From Zero to Hero

Side B

Caper Crew vs. Team Pet

Five-Man Band vs. Shapeshifting Trickster

Dramatic Irony vs. Badass Bookworm

Crouching Moron, Hidden Badass vs. Unseen Evil

Punch-Clock Villain vs. Mama Bear

Enemy Mine vs. Guile Hero

Memory Gambit vs. Wham Line

Secret Identity vs. Mugged for Disguise

Road Trip Plot vs. Opposites Attract

Heel-Face Turn vs. Bavarian Fire Drill

Morality Pet vs. Tragic Villain

Battle Couple vs. Beware the Nice Ones

Hitman With a Heart vs. Friends to Enemies

Affably Evil vs. Chekhov's Gunman

Gentle Giant vs. Stupid Sexy Flanders

Sea Serpents vs. The Creon

Side C

The Dragon vs. Unreliable Expositor

Undying Loyalty vs. Precision F-Strike

Pragmatic Villainy vs. Tragic Bromance

Just You and Me and my GUARDS! vs. Lovable Rogue

Batman Gambit vs. Sapient House

Faux Affably Evil vs. Nice Job Fixing It, Villain!

The Gadfly vs. Beware the Silly Ones

You Are Better Than You Think You Are vs. Murder Is The Best Solution

Power of Friendship vs. Face Death With Dignity

Central Theme vs. Suspiciously Specific Denial

Setting as a Character vs. Cast Full of Gay

Stumbling Upon the Lost Wizard vs. Spare to the Throne

Reformed, But Not Tamed vs. King and Lionheart

Big Beautiful Man vs. Teeth-Clenched Teamwork

Intimate Haircut vs. Ambiguous Gender

Dating Catwoman vs. Even Evil Has Standards

[cozcat]

"

(It is not that night, or the next, but she does spend a night with Alessa, before leaving Lisbon. And it isn't as though it is unenjoyable, but it is far from an experience she will go out of her way to repeat, no matter how gentle the hands guiding her own through motions she has no prior idea about. She'd gladly repeat the morning, though, of sunlit sheets and feather-soft kisses and coffee brewed strong enough to make her jittery; she just sometimes wonders if the morning after is worth the effort of the night before.)

But Mary can’t quite go back to her hotel - not yet. Instead, she walks back to the water and stands in the shallows, her feet digging into the cool, damp, sand. And she thinks, of that great yawning absence, of a chasm that was so recently not there at all. It’s suddenly so simple, everything that she was washed away with the tide, and she can’t even bear to miss it, with something else left in its wake. He was there, and He is not, and it’s as clear to her as the rush of the breeze in her hair, as the light of the moon on the water, of the touch of lips against her cheek and softly spoken words." so how does it feel to win?

[author's commentary ask meme]

"I'll do this when I get on my laptop tomorrow," I say, not doing it until 1am because Tumblr didn't keep the +1 notification.

This is an excerpt from how falls the serpent, a fic I published about Mary Malone in November 2020.

I've been fucking levitating about being so goddamned CORRECT for two weeks which is a nice reprieve from bouncing around four stages of grief :|

This fic wound up being a bit of an experiment with the flash-forwards and occasional flashbacks in brackets, and the actual evening in Lisbon as the main body of it. I don't think it is something I'd make a habit of, but I think it worked well for this. Mary's going through a bit of a crisis, so her mind's going to be all over the place. Fic is a fun place to play with writing techniques that you might not use again.

There's a line in an appendix in The Amber Spyglass, in Mary's notes - "tried sex, rather dutifully, like going in for badges in the Guides". (That may not be verbatim but I'm not checking it rn.) When thinking of the Mary in my head, the fact that she is asexual is as core as the fact that she is a lesbian. So, a lot of my own relationship with sex is present when I write Mary, because that tiny - canon! - piece of information resonates something fierce. Also, being gay and being ace are both things that make it a hell of a lot harder to figure out what it is that you're feeling, so both at once, when you want to become a nun and you never need to think about it again? Mary has a whole bunch of reflecting to do, very suddenly.

And then it bounces back to what is, rather than what is to come. She doesn't know that that's what's going to happen with Alessa - she's having a crisis of faith right now, but it's barely a crisis, because it was like a switch flipping. I think I was unconsciously paralleling a lot of the moments we see in Mary's POV, particularly when her soul temporarily floats away from her body, in which she's very grounded in the sensations of reality and what is as she suddenly realises what isn't. I don't remember doing it on purpose.

This fic is also something I all but rewrote - I wrote dust, dust, for all the days of your life about decisions Mary made to lead her to where she needed to be, and so, the moment in Lisbon had to happen in that too. It's interesting looking at them together, actually, as the same scene happens in quite different ways, as well as the aftermath. I always feel like my canon-compliant fics need to gel, but they don't. In this fic, everything is about this moment; in the other, this moment is a turning point, but not the whole story.

Also, do you want to know what's wild? I could never exactly picture Alessa, though I had a mental image of her that stuck. And then the flashback happened in the show and - that's her. That's exactly who I have been trying to picture for TWO GODDAMNED YEARS. What the FUCK Dan and Kahleen you pulled her out of my brain.

[monty-glasses-roxy]

Mythology AU post no one asked for!

In this AU, all of the animatronics are creatures based on folklore and mythology and are a mix of things that are obvious choices and not so obvious. The characters all live in a forested mountain that humans have yet to learn how to scale and any attempts to do so are typically thwarted by those that live there if not by their inability to climb it in the first place.

So what is everybody?

Freddy is an escaped circus bear. I couldn’t find any interesting mythological bears so he gets more of a backstory to him than the others do. He’s a regular bear that escaped from the Fazbear Circus that was held at the foot of the mountain, possibly unintentionally freed by a certain pair of reckless flyers we’ll get to in a minute. He saw his chance and ran for the hills, still wearing his circus neck ruffles and what not. He just happened to scale a bit of the mountain and make some magic friends that just kinda picked him up and decided he’s their friend now. He is very happy about this arrangement because honestly fuck the Fazbear Circus.

Bonnie is a Wolpertinger (or a Jackalope. I’ve been alternating on this lately) and that means he is a rabbit/hare, with antlers and wings. He was born and raised on these mountains or the mountain adjacent maybe and lives in a really big warren. Also possibly has fangs? I will leave that to interpretation.

Chica is a gryphon, a mix of big cat and big bird. She’s a mix of leopard and kinda chicken I guess and is one of the reckless flyers that may have freed Freddy from the circus. She’s very close with everyone and can make a fun collection of both bird and leopard noises.

Foxy was supposed to not be a kitsune but the best I could find for him was a Chinese Fox Spirit so that is what he is. Got a bunch of tails and does cool paranormal stuff. His tricks only escalate in this AU he can do so much more stuff now. Still has a fun accent though because I said so and its fun

Monty is a Western dragon so not the serpent kind. Can breathe fire and is a very strong flyer. He’s from a different mountain and is a bit of a wanderer in the Gatorbun fic. He’s got horns and his scales aren’t as protective as they probably should be. Also has a big fluffy red mane and deep green and yellow scales with an extra tuft of fluff at the end of his tail.

Roxy is an Aralez, which is an unspecified dog with wings, said to be able to revive people left on the mountains by licking their wounds to heal them. The most obvious option would have been a hellhound but I found this and thought it would be much more interesting and handy in plots. She’s the other reckless flyer that possibly freed Freddy from the circus and like Chica, is always getting caught up in human traps here there and everywhere. She’s either a winged wolf or a winged husky or something it doesn’t particularly matter she’s still Roxy whether she be a domestic dog or a wild one.

Sunny and Moon are both Cat-sìth's. One blesses those that are nice to them and the other causes problems on purpose. Sometimes they switch for fun. They’re basically just extra fun cats that can do cool things like Foxy can.

DJ Music Man is the equivalent of the Loch Ness Monster. He’s this big ass water monster that lives in the lake on this mountain and the minis are his little sea serpent buddies. He made friends with Freddy, Chica or Roxy who fell in the lake maybe and now the group hang out more at the lake and sing together. DJ doesn’t speak so they nickname him Melody because he loves playing melodies on big conch shells and stuff. All the little serpents have similar nicknames too.

Vanessa is a cabbit which is apparently a mix between a rabbit and a cat. I chose this mostly because I didn’t know it was a thing and it sounded fun. I also wanted to include her so here she is! A cabbit!

Humans - particularly the Fazbear Circus - are always trying to catch an actual rare creature and not just a big ol’ bear so they set up a lot of traps to catch them much closer to the foot of the mountain. Which is why the number one rule is not to go down the mountain. This is often ignored by many of the flying creatures.

This is just a fun lil AU I’ll dabble in every so often because its fun so I thought I’d make a little post about it. Enjoy!

[dear-mi]

Ok, mythology update!

Not that I've developed it even more, but just that I felt I needed to post something.

I mean I have developed it more, but those aren't gonna be in this post, y'all get to hear about the bear later.

Today we're talking about Keira, a god made of dreams.

So! First things first, Keira wasn't originally a god. Unlike Keter, Keira wasn't an essence that actualized, and unlike the Morning Star she didn't realize a new essence and then actualize.

Keira is the daughter of one of the Chayot. This Chayot was named Typhon. Typhon was the first to acquire and preform the duties known as the 'Scribe of Heaven.'

Typhon was essentially the keeper of a book where everything is written, and what Typhon had to do was keep a record of all abstracts and essences circulating across all primordial systems.

Typhon eventually settles down on Deus and gets married. They are one of few Chayot who were not called back to Eden during the War of Saints and Demons. Of these that stayed behind, Typhon was the only one to survive after the contradiction essentially severed their connection to Eden, thereby making it so that they lose their essence.

The reason Typhon was able to survive was because of the book she carried, as upon seeing the contradiction and how it was written, Typhon was able to realize Omnos. Omnos, on a technicality, is recognized as an essence. However, it, in nature, is placed much closer to the idea of space between matter. Omnos, per its derivative from the prefix Omni, means it is what encompasses all. It, by nature, is an essence that encompasses everything that is not an essence: Laws, Principles, Abstracts, Primordials, Outers, etc.

Yes, primordials do also classify as essences, but they are also very different in nature for their own reasons.

This sort of essence means essentially to exist without essence, or by all that is not defined. This is a hefty power because things like Abstracts are not defined by nature. Fundamentally they are the definers, they are meant to be proven and prove, but what exactly they are is, in accordance to its namesake, abstract.

Due to this, Typhon developed a deep appreciation for the stars and constellations, because as mentioned before they represent the stories by which these abstracts came into existence.

When Typhon eventually gave birth to her daughter Keira, Typhon passed on this appreciation, and her essence of Omnos.

Not so long after, Eden started to be able to slightly breach the contradiction. While they couldn't come in droves and masses, they were still able to send a single powerful envoy or two at a time. Upon finding Typhon, and seeing her switch out of Mythos, Typhon was labeled a traitor and executed.

They never discovered Keira, but a Chayot, Metatron, then inherited the role as the 'Scribe of Heaven' and due to the nature of the book he inherited, did know of Keira's existence.

For later to be revealed reasons, Metatron kept Keira's existence a secret. Keira then grew up alone with her father. Her father had a burning hatred for Eden of their actions. While Keira was also mad at Eden, she did vindicate Keter, knowing this was probably done without Keter's knowing or orders and more done on the part of the masses who'd just experienced a war due to a Chayot's essence switch.

In his hatred though, Keira's father ends up succeeding his story, attempting to kill an envoy from Eden, and creating the abstract of duality. Keira, at the age of 11, is left to fend for herself.

Keira wonders the lands for a very long time, as she grows more attuned to her Omnos the slower her body grows and ages. By the time she'd physically reached maturity, around the age of a late twenty year old, she'd been alive for multiple spans of a thousands years. She'd made friends with the great bear of Ursa, watched the formation of the open maw of Laeva, saw the end to the great serpent, watched the birth of the arbor, and came to know everything there was to know about Deus.

During this time period, Metatron would approach her multiple times. Metatron would ask her to try and write in the book, theorizing that with her essence she could change and reach metaphysical and cosmological depths beyond even the primordials.

Essentially, Metatron is an aspect of Chaos, and believed that Keira would be able to unite the First Moon and the Last Sun.

Keira, however, refuses him time and time again. As in uniting the two, she'd put and end to all stories, which again she and her mother deeply appreciated and loved. As she witnessed the beginnings and ends of every great story, those known and forgotten, that love grew into a form of hunger. Just as the empty space in between holds the stars, she wanted to hold the stories.

Due to this, Keira wanted to discover what made a story, and set out to succeed her own.

Keira went around the world, and started to handpick those developing stories that she loved. In gathering all these people, she developed a kingdom known as Centriscele. As the Kingdom developed, the land of Centriscele started to shift, the Mythos it was originally made of slowly shifting to being Omnos. Keira, instead of creating out of Omnos, was able to transform other essences into Omnos.

This gave Keira the idea that, if her kingdom extended to the Firmament, perhaps the firmament too could come under Omnos' influence, and perhaps she'd be able to bypass it. So, she built a tower that extended all the way to the firmament.

Becoming a new kingdom on Deus and a powerful one at that, Centriscele caught the attention of Eden. Metatron sent down an envoy, hoping to systematically cover Centriscele up, as he was still trying to find a way to either use or convince Keira. However, the envoy is terrified by what they see, still scarred by the War of Saints and Demons, and instead of reporting to Metatron they report straight to Keter with a heavily biased message.

Keter is put under the impression that the Morning Star lives, and is attempting to conquer Deus. Keter is enraged, and takes a massive hit from Probability in order to briefly break through the Contradiction, sending down its Wraths to level Centriscele. This ends up separating Centriscele from the rest of Deus, putting it on its own isolated plane of existence, separating Omnos from the greater world of creation.

By consequence, Eden can no longer sustain Keter on its own, and the Theophany process begins.

Either way, the moment the Wraths are sent down, Keira stretches her control over Omnos as much as she can. In an internal world in her eyes, she creates a replica of her kingdom, of all the land currently identified with Omnos. This includes a portion of the firmament. Then, she is able to transport all of her denizens into this internal replicated kingdom.

This is done in the blink of an eye, to the point where all but twelve people don't even know that the kingdom was about to be assaulted by Keter. After doing this, Keira manages to maim Keter and take his eyes. Finally, Keira creates a replica puppet body in her internal world, and then transports her own consciousness into it, so that she can continue to be with her kingdom.

Keira's true body falls into a deep and eternal sleep, succeeding her story. Due to her possession of Keter's eyes, the Wraths would not attack her, and so lay dormant in the spears that they came down in. Anything that would then enter Centriscele that is not Omnos though, they would reemerge and tear apart whatever it is.

As she has her own essence and succeeded her story without being subjected to the Probability, Keira should go under the process of actualization and become a proper God. However, she doesn't. Due to the separation of Centriscele from the rest of existence, the abstract she created cannot influence the rest of creation, and therefore doesn't prove anything. Additionally, the abstracted she created is Eternity, which is already an aspect of Time that, in nature, is unable to define anything as it is beyond perception.

So the abstract she created can't influence existence, it can't prove her essence, and technically already exists. If it already exists though, how did she create it? This involves a time paradox on account of the nature of eternity. In order for eternity to exist, it can't have a beginning or end, and yet it must be created all the same. Essentially, Keira created eternity so that eternity existed even before its creation.

Additionally, while eternity is her end, eternity itself does not have an end. In fact, it cannot end, and therefore exists not by the natural Laws, but rather by the Contradiction.

Keira constantly remains on the edge of Godhood, and yet is much more powerful than any God would be. Additionally, as she falls into an eternal sleep, I can slap on the 'Most Ancient Dream' moniker and nerd out about ORV.

This covers the three Greater Gods:

- Keter the Crown

- The Adversary the Morning Star

- Keira the Most Ancient Dream

There are then lesser gods. These gods however are lesser due to the implications of their existences. These are gods like any classic pantheon, where each god is limited to a domain. The three greater gods however have complete influence over all of existence and specifically they have metaphysical influence, where the lesser gods don't.

There are some Gods that have come close, but for right now we'll leave the lore drop on the last of the big three. This brings us to the main story, which explains how Keira and Uriel and Samael happens.

[livealittleoc-cb]

“I am not uptight or cold I just know when to buckle down and be serious.”

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.: Jörmungandr [Leif Hove]

⋆｡°✩ The World Serpent in Norse Mythology

⋆｡°✩ He's in a up && coming esports team

⋆｡°✩ In "human" form he's from Oslo Norway, in Astria he's from Fatroica

⋆｡°✩ He/Him | Queer, Demisexual, Poly | 23 [Human Years], thinks he might have been around since the sea has... | 03/17 [Pisces] | 6'1"

⋆｡°✩ He is:

chill

cold

straight faced

serious

doesn't take shit from no one

tall man energy

will smack a bitch if tested

can be a soft cuddly teddy bear

has his own way of showing he cares

Mythology Creature Information / Form Stuff

⋆｡°✩ does not feed like gods do!

⋆｡°✩ tends to be floating around in pools or lakes

⋆｡°✩ as a creature of mythology they can smell && sense emotions well but the smell/sensation of lying is the strongest he can depict

⋆｡°✩ he has a bit more of strength then a normal human and is stronger then most gods and supernaturals

⋆｡°✩ he can change his "human" apperance [height, eye color, hair color, etc.]

⋆｡°✩ each creature has a human name they go by, his is Leif

⋆｡°✩ when in his creature form they can get up to around 7'1"

⋆｡°✩ in his creature form he has teal snake like eyes, he has teal scales along his arms, legs && neck, his hair is straight, long && dark brown, his nails are permanently painted sea foam green, he has no tattoos or piercings in this form, he has prominent scar over his lips that goes diagonally, he may also shift into his full form which is a giant sea snake/serpent with teal scales, fangs, teal eyes, he also has gills in this form

⋆｡°✩ when not in astria or the human realm he resides in the asgardian realm [asgard]

⋆｡°✩ in his half && half form he is his normal 6'2", has no tattoos && piercings, his eyes are a darker teal or might be dark brown, straighter longer fluffy hair, his fangs are normally out, scales cover his whole back, neck && arms along with gills on the side of his neck

Extras

⋆｡°✩ natural eye color: teal

⋆｡°✩ eyes might glow green blue when near the ocean

⋆｡°✩ has no tattoos or piercings but thinks of getting some in the future

⋆｡°✩ likes: video games, peace, books, quiet, sleeping, greens, beiges, browns, cottage core, swords, medival stuff, swords, pools, swimming

⋆｡°✩ dislikes: humans [they're annoying && selfish to him], being inturrupted, smoke, burns

⋆｡°✩ languages: norwegian && english

⋆｡°✩ he has a thicker norwegian accent when speaking

NSFW

⋆｡°✩ he has an abnormal rut, which is the 9th to 11th every other month; he will get a little more aggressive, less shy && maybe a bit more whiney && vocal, wants to breed

⋆｡°✩ switch, slight dom lean; some of his kinks are oral [receiving], marking [giving && receiving], breeding [giving], size kink, impact play [giving], praise [giving && receiving], hair pulling [receiving], orgasam control [giving && receiving], auralism, choking [giving], face sitting [receiving], over stim [giving && receiving], edging [giving && receiving]

⋆｡°✩ hard nos: feet, watersports, wasteplay

⋆｡°✩ he is willing to try hard and soft kinks he is just a tad but shy about certain things and the smallest bits of insecure so he might need a bit of a push

⋆｡°✩ both his eyes turn army green when he is arroused

⋆｡°✩ safe word: fish

⋆｡°✩ uses 🎏 on dash

Relationship Statuses

⋆｡°✩ in front of his computer and tired

⋆｡°✩ single [0/3]; uninterested

⋆｡°✩ friends: Angel [little demon 🙄], Loki [a liability 😒], Set [okay i guess 😰], Anubis [ally 🥰], Jay [i love you but please stop- 😵‍💫], Ace [i love you but please stop pt.2 😶]

⋆｡°✩ family: Hel [little tiny sis 😍], Fenrir [little shit- 😐]

Tags

⋆｡°✩ relationship tag(s):

⋆｡°✩ friend tag(s):

⋆｡°✩ family tag(s):

⋆｡°✩ music tag(s):

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faceclaim: @/christiangilbrt on ig

[serpentide]

° • * ˚ ⁀ ➷ @embrosyn , a ticket for the circus : ❛ i haven't introduced myself yet. of course you're suspicious. ❜

　 𝐀 𝐖𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐀𝐂𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐒𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐊𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 ▬▬ 𝐀 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐆𝐄, 𝐀 𝐂𝐎𝐅𝐅𝐈𝐍, 𝐀 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋. the space within is narrow and suffocating, her lungs struggle to inhale enough oxygen before it is stolen away by her unlikely companions ; slumber has evaded the desperate grip of her fingers, she is on yet another pursuit that will bear neither blossoms nor fruits. and thus in quietude does the jester drape herself, her physique lithe and minuscule against the hardened wood of the vehicle [ ... ] around her leg, a black python is comfortably coiled, its head lowered in relaxation but its eyes never dare to stray away from those who inhabit the same festering shadows as its mistress. and indeed, all these lost souls are festering ... shedding their fragmented humanity in favor of something much more grotesque and monstrous, drinking neither sweet ambrosia nor mead but poisoned water, healing bleeding wounds with scourges of leather and steel.

but then he speaks, and serpent feels something within her [ ... ] the inflame of curiosity, the resurrection of an ember that had been comatose for far too long. it is easy to meet his gaze, it is easy to mold doll - like features into an expressionism that is sharp - edged and devil - kissed, it is easy to conceal anxiety beneath the soft curvature of cherry - hued tiers ... but it is not easy to pretend that she harbors any semblance of truly hopeful comradeship towards those who have been doomed and condemned by her same gods. a hiss lingers betwixt them, both greeting and warning, a memento that she is woman and she is beast and she is neither of them. ❝ does this mean that you will introduce yourself, now ? ❞ her voice is dulcet and high - pitched, much too merry for their tremendous circumstances ; but it is in the nature of jesters to speak in song and rhyme even in the face of death and she has yet to be given a good enough reason to switch her moonstruck mask for a much more melancholic masquerade. a gracious curtsy then, overly - theatrical and solely done with playful intent, but made mellow and syrupy by the echo of a girlish titter that bubbles past simpering tiers. ❝ you may call me serpent. ❞

[atropanightshade]

I inherited my mother’s anger, but my father’s passiveness, the worst parts of both of them.

I’ll bend over backwards to make others happy, but it grates silently on my nerves. Just like my father. My father loves silently, fully, and endlessly.

Unlike my father, whose anger is silent and fleeting, my mother’s inherited anger switches in when the burden becomes too much.

Her rage reminds me of trying to light my broken gas stove with a wooden skewer. The flame from the skewer catches all at once, flaring out towards me. It’s heat jolting me back to the present.

My mother’s rage feels like a wildfire during dry season. It moves more and more quickly the bigger it gets, devouring everything in its path, consuming plants, animals, buildings, and people.

When the burden becomes too great to bear, I feel her anger slide up my stomach, past my sternum, between my breasts, and spiraling around my neck. The serpent of her anger whispers in my ear to make them hurt the way they’ve hurt me.

The psychoanalysts Melanie Klein and W. D. Winnicott theorized that we all have an innate, selfish desire to destroy. And only when others survive our destruction, do we learn how to love them.

Eventually, the fire runs out of things to consume and the snake returns to its home in the attachment wounds of my childhood, somewhere between my stomach and intestines. My consciousness returns. And I pray to any god that might exist, that my loved ones and our relationship survive the destruction.

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

ruined, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: Why is there a mostly shirtless man in your bedroom and why is it Kim Namjoon's, your roommate's, fault? All you want to do is play League of Legends, not be visually attacked by ridiculously attractive Jeon Jungkook as his six friends perform living room karaoke at the top of their very drunk lungs.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; classic Namjoon ripping clothes; you don't have to know how to play LoL, I explain most of it; smut (fem reader, dirty talk, begging, scratching / marking, nipple play, edging / orgasm denial, handjob, (unintentional?) voyeurism, little bit of cum-eating, choking, cowgirl, cock warming); non-idol!BTS – purple-haired, kind-of-a-brat, sub!Jungkook x gamer, noona, dom!reader, ft OT6 being chaotic in the background XD

@yn-the-reader linked me in this and I was already writing about him. a prophet, maybe? XD

--

“WHY ARE YOU SHIRTLESS?”

You died.

Not literally, but also literally.

“Fuck!”

Now you had thirty-seven seconds of gray screen to figure out why the fuck Jeon Jungkook had busted into your bedroom on this cheerful night with his black dress shirt three-quarters of the way unbuttoned, revealing most of his – oh, sweet Satan, very muscular – pecs and the upper half of his abs. He was holding something in his hands, looking helpless and sad, while you were panic buying Liandry's Anguish and experiencing a special form of anguish yourself.

“Noona, um–”

That’s right, because you were in the middle of a League of Legends game, playing Cassiopeia, the Serpent’s Embrace, also known as half-snake lady or the lamia of the champion roster or a mean version of Monster Musume’s Miia (if you know, you know, and if you don’t, be glad you don’t). Your roommate was having friends over after going drinking. All this was fine and dandy with you, because you were going to spend all night wearing headphones and playing League of Legends, therefore ignoring the outside world, until the outside world came to bother you in the form of Kim Namjoon’s – your roommate’s – mostly shirtless friend Jeon Jungkook.

He wasn’t mostly shirtless most of the time, only right now.

“Noona, Namjoon-hyung ripped my shirt…” Jungkook whimpered hesitantly, chewing on his lip. He looked awkward and distraught despite his long dark purple hair giving him a rather fierce, bad-boy look.

Namjoon was a great roommate. He was smart, conversational, and insightful. A chat with him usually led to an enriching, open-minded perspective. He was relatively clean, considerate, communicative, nonjudgmental, fun to be around, and only set the kitchen on fire twice.

The second time was your fault.

You shouldn’t have let Namjoon in the kitchen the second time.

Also, Namjoon with his friends was a wildly chaotic time. All of his friends, especially drunk, were fucking nuts. Normally, they were probably relatively calm people (maybe not Kim Seokjin or Jung Hoseok, they were very excitable), but together they were a mess. You often wondered how they could function as a group.

Currently, however, you were trying to collect your brain cells as you had mere seconds before respawning onto the platform and were forced to play again. Timing in League of Legends was very important. Seconds can mess up wave management of minions and wave mismanagement can lead to game losses if you weren’t careful. The nuances of the game were often ignored by casual players.

You were, in short, a nerd about it.

“Fucking s-shit, what h-happened?” you sputtered out, turning back to your screen, unable to look at mostly shirtless Jungkook because he was MOSTLY SHIRTLESS. Honestly, he had quite nice pecs, and you should not be thinking about that, but it was incredibly distracting, just like how it used to be distracting when Namjoon was shirtless, but several years of living with him made you accustomed to his impressive pectoral muscles, to the point where you could joke about them with him.

But this was not Namjoon – this was his younger friend Jungkook and you had no idea Jungkook was ripped, mostly because you didn’t pay attention to Namjoon’s friends.

There were too many of them and you were too introverted for that.

“I don’t know, he just grabbed my shirt and it ripped and I managed to find all the buttons, but, but…”

Cassiopeia respawned on the platform and you couldn’t ignore the snake lady any longer. You had to play the game because four random people on your team were counting on you and you couldn’t exactly type, sorry, there’s a hot man in my room with his shirt practically off and I don’t know what to do with my life, so you had to suck it up and play the damn game.

Right-clicking and keeping your eyes only on your computer monitor.

Half-listening to that trembling, silvery voice coming up behind you, making your hairs stand on end even though all he was doing was dumping the tiny buttons on your desk.

Oh, fuck me, you thought to yourself.

“Can you repair it? Please? My mom bought me this shirt and Namjoon-hyung said you can sew, so maybe you can sew them back on? Please?”

“Yes, Jungkook, I can, just not right now, I’m in the middle of a game,” you rambled, suddenly trading damage with the enemy Viktor, trying to avoid the laser from the Machine Herald, swearing under your breath as you stutter-stepped and stunned him, poisoning him quickly enough with your abilities to avoid dying. “I will help you, I just – fucking shit, get the fuck away from me Udyr, fuck!”

“Wow, you curse a lot, noona. It’s kind of funny.”

“I – fuck– I mean, sometimes, and what are you guys doing out there? It sounds like a deranged cabaret club,” you remarked, ticking your head towards the direction of your bedroom door.

“Karaoke!” Jungkook replied brightly, still standing behind you, why was he standing behind you, it was freaking you out a little, but Ocean Dragon was being taken and a team fight was about to happen, so you had to ignore it and support your teammates in chasing down the enemy support.

Seokjin hit a high note that was so shrill that you heard it through your headphones.

“… Wow, he’s got some lungs on him.”

“Do you wanna join us, noona?”

“I can’t sing.”

“Neither can we.”

“Pretty sure all of you can sing better than I can, even Yoongi and Namjoon. I’m fucking terrible.”

“I’m not that good.”

You barely survived with thirty hit points after that debacle of a team fight, but your team had the dragon and you all were slowly on your way to victory. You pressed the ‘B’ key to return to base, but kept your eyes on the screen, lest Udyr, the Spirit Walker and serial bear stun-slapping enemy jungler, ran your ass down and killed you.

“Jungkook, your voice is absolutely heavenly. Fucking beautiful. I’m sure every human being on Earth would want to be serenaded by you.”

Silence that you didn’t notice was awkward for him because you were too busy letting out a sigh of relief and building your next item, typing quickly to your teammates. You all were about to set up for vision around Baron Nashor, a large purple worm-dragon monster that when killed provided a significant, sometimes game-ending buff.

“R… really?”

“Yeah, and you’re handsome, gorgeous, and hot as hell too, so the whole damn package,” you responded absentmindedly, realizing the enemy were trying to split-push and trade objectives so you sent some pings to your teammate to take care of that as you accompanied the main group to help clear waves of minions.

Heat.

You heard him shift beside you and suddenly his face was next to yours, watching your screen closely.

Side-step, cast your ultimate, cast your Miasma ability to ground the enemies and prevent them from dashing away, switching between auto-attacking and piercing them with Twin Fang, all in the span of a mild freak-out because why was Jungkook so FUCKING close?

“Wow, you’re so good at League.”

“I’m Diamond rank, so not that good, but definitely better than all seven of you combined.”

“Haha, true, we’re all pretty bad,” Jungkook laughed next to your ear and, oh, shit, is warm breath feathered on your neck, why weren’t you wearing a turtleneck or something and not your self-cropped oversized band t-shirt and slinky black leggings, why weren’t you cocooned in layers of clothes, because you were quickly highly aware of how attractive Namjoon’s friends were.

To top it all off, you were in the middle of a game, so you just had to tolerate it and stay calm for the sake of your teammates and your elo.

“Maybe you could teach us and we’ll teach you something in return.”

“You guys don’t even listen to each other, why would I assume you all would listen to me?”

“I’d listen to you, noona.”

Now your team was doing the Baron dance, skirting in and out of vision, daring the other team to make a move, daring each other to make a mistake so the other could capitalize on it, slowly, slowly, watch the waves, watch the minimap. Careful. You could control the situation if you were calm and not too trigger-happy. Tension in your fingers and tension in your neck because your roommate’s friend was right next to your head, observing your every move.

His violet hair brushed your shoulder.

Soft, delicate strands against your skin.

“You’re more experienced, so you would know what to do.”

Your support snap-engaged a fight and you were immediately in the zone, right clicking rapidly, cycling through your abilities, keeping track of the opponents’ spells, determined not to let any of them get away, following your teammate’s calls and not hesitating, because hesitation as death and loss, and you were so close to winning you could taste it, going after it with passionate vigor and a slow-forming grin, seeing and hearing the in-game announcer declaring, QUADRA KILL.

You didn’t kill all five of them because someone took the pentakill from you.

You might have cared about that except your ear exploded into clapping as Jungkook excitedly applauded for you, cheering you on, reminding you that a mostly shirtless man was standing right next to you.

Thanks, Namjoon, you thought sarcastically.

“Wow, you played that so well, dodging the Viktor ult and stunning three people like that–”

You felt your cheeks heat at the compliments, busying yourself with your team killing Baron. You didn’t usually have someone commenting on your games. Your eyes flickered to the small buttons on your desk.

Especially not a mostly shirtless guy.

Mostly shirtless hot guy.

Back to screen, seeing your jungler’s typed instructions, suggesting you all to destroy as many structures as you could and then prepare for the next fight for Ocean Dragon Soul and – oh? Your eyebrows raised as the screen abruptly jerked to the enemy base, the nexus inside exploding into shiny gem-like fragments that became the VICTORY banner.

“They surrendered?” you uttered with surprise, clicking on the CONTINUE button. “Why?”

Your eyes flickered to the kill score.

“Oh, thirty-two to nine… maybe that’s why….”

Your team had the nine deaths and the opponent team had thirty-two so, well, maybe that’s why they surrendered the game.

“Aw, that’s no fun,” Jungkook pouted as you clicked on the damage screen. Second most damage. Okay, you could take that. You were a little distracted.

“So, about your problem–”

You spun around to, ack, realize that, yes, Jungkook’s shirt was still flapped wide open to expose his chest like an unwrapped piece of caramel candy. He seemed to realize it too, making a surprised face and yanking the sides closed, as if you hadn’t gotten a damn eyeful already.

“I can resew the buttons back on, but you should borrow a shirt from Namjoon in the meantime,” you managed to say, clearing your throat. “Because I, ah, can’t really sew it when you’re still wearing the shirt.”

“Oh… Oh, right, yeah.”

Then he started yanking his shirt out of his slacks.

UMMMMMMM.

Usually, you didn’t care about this stuff. Men were men. They had chests. But you had things you liked too. Just like how men like tits and ass, you liked well-built pecs and forearms. Actually, you appreciated a nice ass and thighs too. And cute faces. Fuck, you loved a cute face.

“Uh, Jungkook…”

He looked up, questioningly. Big round brown eyes, his violet bangs framing his chiseled jaw, parted pink lips, the small mole underneath his lower lip looking so, so kissable, quivering slightly.

Fuck, Jungkook had a cute face.

His shirt was very open.

Fuck, his lightly tanned skin.

He was hesitating around a button, his deft fingers flexed, ink black tattoos standing out on his knuckles and the back of his hand. Your legs were slightly spread, thighs flush to your gaming chair. Half a second and Jungkook’s eyes flickered back up to your face, pretending he hadn’t been looking.

You raised your eyebrows.

“Are you really just gonna strip in my room and walk out asking Namjoon for a shirt and hope none of the six guys think anything about it?”

His eyes shifted around your room. Bed with black sheets and black velvet duvet. Television with your gaming consoles. Your collection of character figurines from various games. Your black denim jacket hanging on a hook, covered in monotone patches that you had sewn yourself, mostly occult-themed, skeletons, skulls, cats, ghosts, potions, eyeballs, that kind of thing. Back to your desk.

Your legs.

Really staring at your thighs, hips, and crotch.

Up your torso, your hands, your exposed collarbones.

Your face.

Guarding his expression, testing the waters.

“Maybe,” Jungkook said slowly. His eyes darted away and back, teeth catching his lower lip. “I really am hoping you can fix my shirt.”

You watched his face carefully, the flare of darkness in those brown orbs, a hint of naughtiness, dancing with danger. Jungkook had a mischievous streak. You could tell by the way he interacted with his hyungs, listening but talking back, helping them with things but not without a roll of his eyes or a smart remark added, probably because all his friends were older and he was the youngest. He knew he could get away with it.

In short.

Brat.

“What would you like in return, noona?” Jungkook purred, smile dancing on his lips.

Honorifics were supposed to honor you. Show a sign of respect and all that shit.

All I wanted to do was play video games, you grumbled internally. Not suddenly have a thirst fest for one of Namjoon’s best friends. You narrowed your eyes a little, seeing the smirk on that perfectly shaped mouth. He’s not stopping either.

Outside your room, something fell with a loud crash. Probably Namjoon by the depth of that startled yelp. Everyone else started laughing and a very loud, cheerful melody was blasting from the living room television. Nobody was coming to investigate you and Jungkook.

Yet.

“Turn around and ask for a shirt,” you sighed, waving a hand. “Then take off your shirt in the bathroom and then, only then, do you come back and give me your dress shirt.”

You saw Jungkook frown, not expecting that as your answer.

“Oh. Okay.”

He seemed disappointed, lowering his hands.

The silky fabric of the dress shirt slid off his right shoulder, partly revealing his tattoo sleeve and fully revealing his right collarbone and shoulder.

You sucked in a breath, eyes flickering to it. Then his face. Then back to his body. Fuck. Fuckity fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck fuck. Jungkook jumped, startled by the fallen fabric and reached over to grab the fallen collar. Your hand moved faster than you had time to think. You had good reaction time. It was the gaming obsession.

You slapped his hand down.

Jungkook squeaked, head snapping up, purple hair floating around him, gold chain on his neck glittering as he swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing. Strangely, his chain resembled your sterling silver choker that you were wearing right now, except you also wore another necklace with a circular white gold pendant with your zodiac sign.

Not that anyone was ever close enough to inspect it.

“N-Noona?” he breathed, sounding strangely winded.

Shit.

You hadn’t meant to do that. Your body reacted faster than your head.

Shit.

Fuck, he had a nice body. His pecs. Even had a nice dark nipple – well, he probably had two, but you could only see one at the moment – and it all trimmed down to a slim waist and shapely hips. You could tell because of his tailored black slacks. He had been wearing a blazer earlier in the evening too. It was probably on a chair somewhere in the apartment.

Shit.

What did Jungkook need to look so damn good for?

“Where did you guys go to be dressed like that?”

Yes, you were really just going to interrogate him with his shirt dangling off like that.

Jungkook chewed on his lower lip, the tiny mole underneath bouncing up and down as he spoke. “We went to a fancy hotel rooftop bar to celebrate Yoongi-hyung’s award that he won at the music show for producing that song–”

“Ah, right, Namjoon mentioned that earlier today.” Dress code must have been black tie.

Those dark brown eyes found yours, observing you carefully.

“I would have liked to see you there, noona.”

You stopped staring at the tattoos on his bicep and made eye contact. Fuck. Those eyes. Sparkling with deviousness. Trying to see how far he could push your buttons.

“I wonder what kind of dress would you have worn?” he murmured, musing to himself. “I bet you would have looked hotter than any girl there.” Jungkook smiled, playful and boyish. He wasn’t being sleazy about it. Every word was light and honest. “A tight little black dress? Maybe bright red? Short, because you have incredible legs. It would be a crime not to show them off.” He was only complimenting you. His tone wasn’t trying to be suggestive.

Yet.

You didn’t close your legs. You had nothing to be shy about.

Instead, you leaned back in your gaming chair as if it was a throne, resting your left elbow on the armrest and your chin on two fingers, thighs wide open, and your other hand in between them, fingers curled inward to your inner thigh.

Jungkook’s pink lips curved ever higher, ever more roguish.

“Whatever you would have chosen, you would have looked so, so sexy.”

You ticked your head.

“I know.”

Because you did.

Look here, Jeon Jungkook, I’m here minding my own damn business and you’re here inserting yourself into my life, so if you can’t handle me knowing my self-worth, you can fuck right off.

He reached up and tucked a bit of his purple hair behind his right ear, grinning at you.

“You sure you don’t want anything from me?” he asked, a slight flicker of pink tongue between white teeth. “I can give first and then you can decide whether or not you want to help.”

Honestly, those sultry eyes could stop a heart.

You removed your hand from your chin, tapping the air with those two fingers in a dismissive manner.

“Hm.”

Outside, Kim Taehyung and Jung Hoseok were singing a soulful duet and Park Jimin was hooting at inappropriate moments to ruin the atmosphere as much as possible. That raspy, breathless laugh was Min Yoongi, who was probably doubled over on the floor in his expensive suit. Classic genius music producer of the year behavior right there.

Jungkook tucked his hands in his pockets, shirt sleeve falling down, revealing his blacked-out inner elbow. Mountains with a dark sky. It must have hurt, doing something like that. Still, he did it. For aesthetics?

You heard the smirk rather than seeing it, mostly because you were looking at his body.

“I would look so damn good on you, noona.”

Alright.

You closed your eyes slowly and reopened them to look directly into those dangerous, dangerous eyes.

“Lock the door.”

Not really an order. More of a statement. Jungkook could do it or not, you knew. He couldn’t be coerced to do anything. He did things because he wanted to do them. He was nice because he wanted to be nice. He was childish when he wanted to be childish.

And.

Jungkook was obedient when he wanted to be obedient.

He turned around, went to your bedroom door, and locked it.

Well then.

He came back and stood in front of you. A little closer now.

You cocked an eyebrow. “They’re going to come looking for you.”

Jungkook smiled down at you. “I’m sure they will.”

You frowned, lowering your hand to tap the end of the armrest. “They’re going to think I started this.”

“You kind of did.”

Your eyes narrowed sharply. He grinned, taking a step closer.

“Because it’s not my fault you look so good,” Jungkook breathed, voice deepening, leaning down, your expression unchanging, not pulling back but not encouraging anything either. “Not my fault your body is hotter than a summer. Not my fault your confidence is the biggest turn-on I’ve ever had in my life.”

Your thighs were still as open as his shirt.

Jungkook put his knee in between them.

His dress shirt was basically almost completely off his body now, falling off the left shoulder too and dangling off his forearms, exposed collarbones and shoulders, tan skin taut over muscle. A delicious body line, so fucking close to you that you could feel the heat. You still didn’t do anything. You weren’t going to do anything. You didn’t prompt this. You were simply minding your own business commanding a snake lady to victory, not expecting to get seduced by a mischievous bunny-like smile and a tiny black mole under a cute pout.

“I can’t help myself around you.”

You usually didn’t say more to Namjoon’s friends than a mere hello, not wanting to bother them with your presence. They were all men after all. You expected them to want bro time or whatever. Also, you were too busy being obsessed with men that didn’t exist in real life to pursue men that did exist in real life.

At least League of Legends had 3D models so no one could say you lived only the 2D lifestyle.

That didn’t mean that you didn’t partake when the dinner laid themselves out to be eaten. They often had to, because you wouldn’t pay attention otherwise.

Purple hair drifted into your vision, surrounding you in a curtain of violet and dark brown eyes, warm exhale and trembling pink lips, trapping you in Jungkook’s gaze, but you refused to relent, keeping your gaze even. Steady breaths to disguise your racing heart.

You kept your hands closed to prevent him from seeing your shaking fingers.

“Every time I see you, I want you to touch me,” he whispered, trying to hide the edge of nervousness by lowering his voice, enticing you to lean in to hear him better because someone was wiping a damn window in the living room outside your door or was that Kim Seokjin laughing?

There was no difference.

Jungkook’s forehead touched yours and you stopped thinking about Seokjin.

“I just want you to feel me up, rip my clothes off, and fuck me until I can’t think straight. Use me, abuse me, wreck me, ruin me,” he shuddered, definitely thinking about it, and one blink and you spied the obvious tent in his pants.

“Maybe I’m a lazy girl,” you finally said, touching your nose to his, inhaling his breath, a little bit of alcohol, a little bit of fruitiness, and that hint of cologne, fresh, clean, and intense. Something else too. Musk, maybe his pheromones or something like that. Whatever it was smelled fucking delicious, just like you. What did your perfume smell like? Spiced fire blended with addictive sweetness.

You shrugged casually.

“Maybe I’m a pillow princess.”

Jungkook chuckled.

“I can tell you’re not.”

You had to smirk.

Of course, you weren’t.

You closed your thighs around his knee and squeezed, raising to your tiptoes. He gasped softly, shivering at the simple touch of your soft thighs pressing around his muscular leg. It was disturbingly noisy out there, but here it was silent, pared down to your breathing and Jungkook’s breathing, mixing together, blazingly hot, closer, closer, doing the careful dance, daring each other to make the move that was so obviously going to happen.

“What are you gonna say when they ask you where you’ve been all this time?” you whispered, avoiding letting your lips brush against his.

“The truth.”

His tongue flickered out and barely touched your lips.

You didn’t make a sound.

Jungkook moaned, the sound drifting into your throat, and you could taste his desire.

“I tripped and fell into your lap.”

Your lips curved into a smirk.

He kissed you.

His hands on the armrests of your rolling chair, pushing it back into your desk, pressing his lips to yours, inhaling deeply, wanting to breathe you, wanting to taste you, wanting you, shivering as you finally touched him with your hands, but this was you, and your first touch wasn’t going to be wasted on a conventional innocent touch.

Your fingers closed in on his rock-hard erection and stroked him through his pants.

Jungkook moaned your name right in your mouth, eyes half-lidded, his violet hair encircling your face as he rolled his hips into your palm, whining deep in his chest.

“Fuck, yes, noona, play with me…”

You flitted your tongue between his lips and he chased it, begging you for more, and yet you continued to tease, light flicks between those soft pillows, nipping at them, even pushing up his lower lip so the tip of your tongue could draw a small heart around that mole, kissing it, so gentle, so delicate. His entire body shook, your hand palming his hardness through his pants, nails scraping against his balls, caressing all of it, acting like you owned it. Jungkook was certainly humping your hand like you did.

“You only want me because I didn’t want you,” you taunted, not bothering to hide your smirk and your slight disapproval.

“That’s not true,” he panted, attempting to get you to touch his chest, pushing you back into your chair, and yet you kept the fingers of your free hand on the cusp of what he wanted, heat close but no contact, causing him to whimper every time your fingernails barely nicked his skin. “I want you because you’re pretty, gorgeous, and hot as hell.”

Hm, that sounded familiar.

“I want you because I love watching you play your favorite games,” he chuckled, kissing the side of your lips, nose to nose. “I want you because I love that little smirk you make when you do something good. I want you because I love that aggressiveness that comes out and how you seem to lose your filter. Shit, it’s so fucking hot when you’re focused. Makes me wanna see your face when you’re pinning me down and having your way with me. Makes me want to obey you and disobey you at the same time, because I want you to reward me and punish me, I just can’t decide, fuck, you make life so hard for me.”

He punctuated hard by violently humping your hand, rattling your desk with his force.

Outside you heard Namjoon yelling “CANNONBALL” and throwing himself onto that giant gray furry beanbag you paid far too much for about six months ago. It was now a household party favorite, due to its massive size and fluffiness. At the moment, it sounded like a pile of six guys in semi-formal clothing was beginning and, instead of watching this heap of hot dudes being constructed, you were making out with the seventh guy’s face and grabbing his dick.

You’ll take this trade.

You felt Jungkook’s hands groping around, undoing his pants and the zipper, trying to get you to touch more, more, desperate for you to be all over him.

“P-Please… please, I don’t know when they’re going to notice…” he pleaded. “You’re so close, so close, ah, I can’t think, please…”

“Shh…” you soothed. “The door is locked.”

Your fingertips finally touched his chest, not disappointed in the slightest when you touched those delicious-looking pecs. They felt just as nice under your palm, his pounding heart and wanton moan vibrating up your arm.

“Aren’t you a needy little brat trying to distract me from my games, hm?”

Your fingertips hooked over the waistband of his boxer briefs.

“You’re going to have to face the consequences, Jungkook.”

You said his name like a delicious sweet about to be eaten, growl in your throat as you yanked down his underwear, capturing his lips, robbing him of his cries as you clawed down his chest, grasping his cock and pumping him, long, complete strokes from base to tip, curling your fingers around his balls, juggling them with your fingers teasingly as he squirmed and groaned. Your free arm shot around his back, digging your nails into his spine, not letting him get away. His black dress shirt was falling, falling to your floor, his bluish-purple hair in your face and his strong hands on your shoulders, sliding down, kneading your breasts through your clothes, whining that you were still wearing a bra – of course, you were, six dudes were coming over and they didn’t need to see your magnificent nipples on display, although clearly one of them wanted to see – and he was trying to get to the hem of your shirt, but you smacked his hands away, building the pressure and speed, pre-cum leaking between your fingers and adding slickness to lessen the dry friction.

Fuck, you could smell him and he smelled so fucking good.

“Noona, please…” Jungkook gasped, hands on the armrests of your chair, tipping his head back at the pleasure, pants at his fucking knees, chest, crotch, thighs on display. “This is… embarrassing…”

He meant him being mostly naked and you being dressed.

You shrugged, acting indifferent. “Not for me.”

He whimpered at your words, so noticeably dominant despite not using an aggressive or commanding tone. Either that or he was very invested in you jacking him off. You suspected it was a combination of the two, considering how eagerly his cock twitched when you answered.

“What should I do, Jungkook? Should I let you cum? Or should I play with you and stop, make you put your clothes back on and walk out there, desperate to be finished off?” you mused aloud, running your nails up his back, not that hard, but he leaned back into it so they sank into him, wordlessly begging you to do it harder, so you did, setting your jaw and scratching at his back, forcing him back into position. His cock throbbed in your hand, pulsating wildly.

Hm, he really loved it, huh.

“P-Please… wanna cum, please don’t be mean…” he gasped, thrusting his hips into your punishingly tight grip.

“Hm, why does it matter? You’ll just run to the bathroom and finish yourself off anyway, right?”

“Want you to do it, please,” he begged, his long hair curling around his jaw, dark purple locks framing the sharpness, lashes fluttering as you rubbed your thumb against the underside of the head, smearing pre-cum over the slit. “Your hand feels so good, so fucking good, better than I thought, please, I need you to touch me or I can’t get off, please…”

You removed your hand.

Jungkook cried out in denied despair, pitch hiking, the sinful sound clearly audible despite the debaucherously loud ruckus outside your bedroom door that included not one, but two people howling like werewolves for some unknown reason. At this point, you were mildly curious.

But you had a job to do.

He grabbed the front of your shirt, almost sobbing with need. Somehow his violet hair was a mess and you hadn’t even touched it. It cascaded over one of his eyes, an indigo curtain, the other chocolate orb shaking and pupil dilated, black prominent in the dark brown.

“Please don’t–”

You shoved two fingers from your right hand into that pleading mouth and raised your left.

He choked, gagging a little on your fingers.

You stuck your tongue out and licked your palm, slathering it with a thick layer of slick saliva.

Jungkook’s eyes widened at the dirty action and then rolled back into his head as you wrapped your hand around his aching cock once more, now covered in saliva, swiftly and fervently jacking him off, hard, fast, tight, nearly choking his cock, pushing his chin up and his chest to your hungry mouth, tongue and teeth and lips, all over those dark nipples hardening under your persistent touch, heedless to his rising moans, so very obvious now what was happening in your bedroom.

It didn’t bother you at all. Jungkook walked in here and asked you to wreck and ruin him, so you did exactly what he asked you to do, leaving harsh bite marks and slippery saliva all over his soft skin, your perfume rubbing off onto his body, coating his chest in your scent and his pulsating thick length with your spit, and he was so fucking hard that you were impressed, feeling his mouth suck on your fingers desperately and wetly, your name a messy garble above your head.

“Fuck, yes, umpf, oh fuck, I’m so close, so close, gonna cum, goona cum for you…!”

“Jungkook?”

You had no idea who called his name through your door, because the next second Jungkook was pitching forward and shooting his cum up your thigh and chest, thick white strings painting your leggings and band t-shirt, soaking into the fabric and creating a sticky mess on your skin, your head lifting in response to his movement to avoid knocking into him, your fingers sliding out of his lips, strings of saliva snapping as they left, and suddenly Jungkook’s face was in your face, his lips on yours in a passionate kiss, rutting into your hand to increase the sensitivity, shoulders and hips flinching, whimpering gratitude and ecstasy into your mouth, his hands in your hair, kissing you deeper, more ravenously, ignoring the questioning voices, lost in the pleasure of his orgasm.

You heard Namjoon say outside your door, “I think he made his move.”

You asshole, at least warn me, you thought irritably.

“You’re so good… so good, exactly what I need… I knew you would be… fuck…”

You thrust your tongue into his lips once and backed off, chuckling as he whined for more.

“Go ask for a shirt.”

Jungkook shook his head rapidly, violet hair flying everywhere. Your hand was still wrapped around his semi-hard cock, his cum dripping onto your wrist. His ears were turning red.

“I can’t… They know something is going on…” he mumbled, scooting closer to you, as if your body heat could somehow mask the fact that you just jacked him off with six of his friends standing outside your bedroom door whispering.

“Maybe you wanted them to know.”

You squeezed his ass and he trembled, clutching your shoulders.

“Easy way to tell them that you want to be owned by me, right?”

You could tell by the way his eyes were darting around rapidly that the thought crossed his mind more than once.

“Jungkook.”

You said it loud enough for a keen ear to hear it if they were really eavesdropping. You looked up at Jungkook, his eyes immediately fixating on yours because of your tone.

In control, not to be questioned.

“Get on your knees.”

Dead silence outside your bedroom.

“B… but…”

His cheeks flushed pink.

You took his chin and pulled him down to your face, murmuring to that mole under his lips, pecking it daintily, almost innocently, his wispy moan drifting over your nose. Your words were barely above a whisper, only for him.

“You made a mess. Clean it up.”

You stroked Jungkook’s chin with your thumb, your other hand tucking his long hair behind his ear.

“I’ll let you sleep in my bed tonight, so be a good boy for me right now and I’ll let you be a bad boy in bed.”

His head tilted and Jungkook whispered your name into your mouth, drenched with desire.

You smirked, stroking his jaw fondly.

He got to his knees, in between your open thighs, leaning forward, subservient eyes on your face as his pink tongue extended, licking at his own cum staining your clothes, eyes closing at your hand on the top of his head, not directing the movement, but reminding him who was in charge here, reminding him with nails in his scalp that he was going to be fucked until he couldn’t think straight.

Used, abused, wrecked, ruined.

-

“I don’t wanna.”

“We both know you do.”

“But I want to fuck you,” Jungkook protested, speaking softly because everyone was sleeping, or at least it seemed that way, not that either you or Jungkook cared, because you were forcing him to his knees on your bed, pushing his torso back, nails digging into his chest, towering over him, his naked body already covered in your bites and scratches, focused on his inner thighs and chest, none on his neck because that’s where he wanted it the most.

And you knew it.

“Noona, please…”

He said please a lot for someone who did not, in fact, want to be pleased, but tortured.

You grabbed him by the chin, cocking an eyebrow.

His hands were behind him, arms shaking as they held him up, shivering delightfully under your petrifying gaze.

“Please what? Hm? Saying please when you come crawling into my room, begging for dirty things with your friends right outside, saying please when you interrupt me and distract me, jeopardizing my chances to win my game?”

You leaned in close, you knowing you were only crafting a scene, him knowing that you didn’t actually care, but Jungkook wanted to hear the words, wanted you to put that malice in your tone to caress his ears, wanted you to cannibalize his sanity and put him in a different headspace, his cock already responding to it, bobbing in the air, purple-red and achingly hard from multiple orgasms, and he still wanted more.

“Saying please so you can say please when you’re under me, helplessly begging me to let you cum?”

You could hear his whines vibrating under your fingertips, pupils blown wide, lower lip trembling, begging you already, such a needy little thing, those lovely brown eyes full of submission, muscles tense with anticipation, every passing second spiraling him into increased frustration, because instead of doing anything, you were only smirking wider and wider, pushing his head back.

“Well? Tell me if you’re a dirty boy or not. Maybe I’ll do what you want.”

His violet hair cascaded to his shoulder blades, his low moan coursing through your fingertips and the heated air of your bedroom.

“Y… Yes, I’m a d-dirty boy…”

“Noona,” you prompted.

Just because you could.

His lips curved into an open smile, two of your fingers hooked over his lower lip, fingertips rubbing his tongue. Your thumb nail pressed into his mole.

“Noona.”

You ripped the condom open with your teeth, which was not advisable unless you were the kind of person that practiced that for hours on end, spending an obscene amount of money on unused condoms to perfect your technique, because nobody wants a broken condom or lube in their teeth. Why would you want to learn such a thing? You were a stickler for details. A perfectionist in perfecting a perfect display of raw dominance.

You spat out the torn corner onto Jungkook’s chest and he whimpered, unashamedly amazed.

Your left hand removed the condom from the package and your right slid out of his mouth and encircled his neck.

You inspected the condom, lazily turning it to the correct position, fingers pressed to the sides of his neck, leaving plenty of space for his trachea between your thumb and forefinger. You didn’t bother looking at his face. Instead, you spread your legs, poised and naked over him and his throbbing cock.

Your right hand started choking him.

Your left hand started rolling the condom down his thick, hard length.

Your name leaked out of his lips in a thin gurgle, his eyes rolling back into his head.

“Say please, Jungkook.”

A sharp, distinct order.

“P… Please…” he gasped out, chest shuddering.

Your hand tightened around his throat and your pussy clenched around his cock as you forced yourself down on him.

“Oh, fuuuuuuuck…”

You didn’t bother asking if he liked it. His vicious fisting of your sheets and trembling body, cries and cock included, told you everything you needed to know. You only watched the color of his cheeks, knowing there were limits to how long you could choke him. Therefore there was no time to be wasted, already starting your favorite pace, rough and hard, filling yourself with that delicious cock built to take your abuse, jaw set, gripping his throat, blood pounding under your fingertips, slapping hips to crotch, heat sparking though your veins, hotter, hotter, your smirk growing more and more smug, tongue tracing your lips as you witnessed Jungkook’s descent into sin, raising his head so he could watch you bounce on his cock with hazed brown orbs, mouth open, tongue lolling out, circulation thinning, purple hair wild around that cute, distressed face.

You let up the pressure on his neck, dark snicker rumbling in your chest.

“This pussy worth it, brat?”

The rush of missing blood into his brain, the suffocating pleasure of your pulsating walls wrapped around his twitching cock, your authoritative growl and merciless words tearing through him – you saw it all taking over Jungkook, forced to respond honestly from pure instinct because there was no time to compile pretty words or a smart comeback.

“Yes, noona, yes, I love it, I love it, this brat fucking loves what you do to him…”

You immediately choked him again and slapped your pussy onto his cock like you were whipping him.

His eyes rolled back and a wild moan tore out of his chest, cut off by your hand.

The bed creaked under you, bearing the weight of your roughness.

“I know you love it,” you snarled, leaning in, fucking him into your bed with vigor, straining his knees, so uncomfortable and so comfortable for him at the same time, pain and pleasure, clearly something he craved and loved from how hard he was. “You said you need me to touch you or you can’t get off.”

You knew that couldn’t be true.

Jungkook probably got off hundreds of times thinking about you, otherwise he wouldn’t be so ecstatic about you violently riding his dick right now.

His teeth sank into his swollen lower lip, staring at you through his lashes, his voice a thin whisper laced with insatiable need.

“I can’t cum without you anymore.”

You removed your hand.

Your hips stopped abruptly, fulling sheathing his cock inside you.

“No!”

His shout was so loud and desperate that you had to conceal your surprise, not expecting the frantic ferocity of his tone, nearly an agonized sob as he grabbed your upper arms in a crushing grip, his indigo locks crashing into his high cheekbones, sticking to his sweaty face and sharp jaw. It took everything in you to stay calm, everything to not give in and let him have what he wanted. Maybe it was stubbornness, maybe it was knowing the role you were playing, maybe it was the sadistic side of you, who the fuck knew, but there was only a beat of hesitation, a second of you staring into those beautiful dark brown eyes, so perfect.

Just perfect.

Perfectly wrecked, willing to do anything in this moment for you to continue.

Before he could utter a peep of a plea, you shook out of his grip and seized his head, crashing his lips onto your neck.

Jungkook bit you.

Instant, searing pain, taking out all his sexual frustration on your neck, sucking at the skin, hot tongue lapping, groaning, moaning, half-crying because you didn’t move. You just sat on his dick and forced his mouth onto your neck, gleefully savoring his despair, closing your eyes and allowing yourself to feel the pleasure, his hands and nails digging into your waist, his teeth latched to the side of your throat, his stiff cock shuddering inside you, your tight heat keeping him hard but not letting him cum, repeatedly squeezing the engorged head brutally, driving him insane.

Insane.

You could feel his lips move, but you muffled his words, pushing his head into your neck.

Please.

Deep inhale, his wonderful scent filling your nose.

Please.

Riding the high that was Jungkook’s desire for you, fingers tangled into violet strands.

Please.

He felt so, so good, spoon-feeding the dom in you with his tiny whimpers and distraught sniffles.

“P… Please…”

You pressed your lips to his hair, murmuring his name sweetly.

“Jungkook.”

No quiver to your tone, only serene calm.

“Noona…”

His hands slid up your back as your hips began to rock, slow, so painfully slow, building the frenzy layer by layer, his hardness swelling inside you, his soft lips pressed to his hickey onto your neck, even more turned on because he knew you let him mark you, he knew in this moment you were his and only his, everything he wanted and more, his hips rising to meet yours, deepening your thrusts, matching your force, burying his face into your skin and your scent, wanting nothing more than your command over his body.

You turned his head, tucking his hair behind one ear, speaking dark whispers into that curve.

“You look the best when on your knees for me, Jungkook.”

He shivered, your name falling sloppily from his lips, drunk from your power and lost in his service.

You let go of his head and grabbed his shoulders instead, putting all of your weight onto him, now letting yourself chase it, chase the orgasm that you had been building for yourself all this time, letting yourself feel Jungkook and feel the full force of the pleasure he gave you, because, yes, of course, you served him first before you, even if it didn’t seem like it.

Because when it came down to it, Jungkook came to you, opening himself petal by petal to show you his vulnerable side, testing the waters, hoping, wishing, praying that maybe, just maybe, you were the kind of person that he was expecting, wanting, needing, and you, knowing how difficult that was because, well, you had made it difficult, only focusing on games and not on those longing eyes that watched you whenever you came into his view.

Eyes that you looked into now.

Half-lidded, glazed over, fucked-out, still honest.

His large hands were still on your waist, holding you to him as you rode him with furious slaps, muscles flexed in his chest and arms, tattoos on his right arm tense and taut from holding this position for so long. He looked so good. Felt so good. Had an amazing cock.

And fuck.

Jungkook had a cute face.

You genuinely smiled.

“I’ll take care of everything,” you drawled, injecting your words with conviction and adoration.

That did it.

His lips parted, low groan emitting from his throat as his head tipped back, purple waterfalling onto his back, thrusting up into you and shooting into the condom with fierce jolts, unable to hold back any longer, his entire length flinching uncontrollably, sweet whimpers at his release, feeling sorry that he didn’t let you cum first, but that didn’t matter, because you rode through it, already there, falling, falling, your sigh like laden smoke as your orgasm slammed into you, welcoming the bolts of cruel pulses flying through you, concentrated onto your core, Jungkook’s moans hiking into pitched ecstasy at the convulsing clenches of his oversensitive, overused cock, arms embracing you tightly, hugging you for dear life, chest to chest, pounding heart against yours.

Your fingers tangled into his hair.

His hand fitted around your head.

Lips to lips and you took care of everything, claiming that mouth as yours, holding him up even though you were the one in his lap, your kiss onto that perfect mole under that pretty pout, cherishing every mumble of your name, lowering him onto your pillows, soft kisses in between. You took care of everything, lifting yourself off him, chuckling as he whined, pawing for you to come back, but you rapped his knuckles and calmed him, removing the condom and cleaning him off gently with a towel, soft kisses in between because he wanted the attention, deliberately not closing his eyes until you crawled back into the bed, tucking the covers around you and him, Jungkook immediately turning and yanking you into his chest, nose against your skin.

“Who’s the pillow princess?” you teased, ruffling his long violet locks.

His lips pressed onto your hickey, his mark on you, and he sighed in content, drifting into sleep.

-

In the morning, you found a pile of five guys in the living room sleeping in various positions on the giant gray furry beanbag and the sofa. Jungkook was in your bed, passed out. The last guy, Min Yoongi, was in Kim Namjoon’s room, sleeping on his bed, because he was a smart man and took advantage of a perfectly good bed that five drunk hooligans undoubtedly forgot about.

You chuckled and rubbed your neck as you brushed your teeth, seeing yourself and the large purple hickey Jungkook had made last night in the bathroom mirror.

You went back to your room after retrieving the sewing basket from the living room, spending the morning calmly stitching the small buttons back onto his black dress shirt as the seven guys in your apartment continued to snore away.

Then you went back to playing League of Legends.

Ah, Cassiopeia, I had an eventful evening, but I have returned to you.

-

drabble morning-after hungover breakfast

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masterpost