#but I have to draw my OCs every now and then or I collapse

[lynaferns]

I had the urge to draw this OC too (and make a cople of changes on her design). I think this is the first time I ever show this OC in social media.

I wanted to have posted it yesterday but it got late.

Not gonna say much about her, just let you know that she's a psychopath and will do whaever it takes to get what she wants. She's also an awful mother.

Smiling 99% of the time.

colorless ver under cut.

Had Villainous Thing on loop while drawing this.

[factual-fantasy]

24 asks!! :0000🌟🎭🌟

I HAVE!!! :DDDD

Kinger and Caine are my favorite characters! I've seen a lot of theories and fanart and I've already started making my own AU and angst and everything but I cant DRAW any of that yet because I'm REALLY BUSY with an OVERDUE PROJECT AAAAA

(In recent development, Asgore is unable to heal Spamton because he is a darkener :((( )

I think it might have been addressed at one point yeah :0 Maybe something was wrong with Seam and Asgore reached out to help. In which Seam was terrified and Jevil jumped in to protect him. Asgore could see the trauma and tension in the both of them so he carefully backed off.

Later he could hear from Seam about their pasts and why they were afraid of him. Asgore would then try to take steps to.. not..? Be scary to them?? <:D

Spade king could have talked in a very gravely and booming voice. So Asgore is sure to always talk softly and clearly. He is careful to not make any sudden movements around Seam and Jevil. If he's reaching for something near Seam/Jevil he will gently announce what he's doing and make sure they understand before he does it.

Asgore with his hands in his lap: "Seam, I want to grab that bag.."

Seam: *turns "huh?"

Asgore, hands still in his lap: "That bag beside you, I'd like to grab it."

Seam: "oh, okay,"

Asgore then gently reaches for the bag, making sure that Seam can see his hand coming.

Little things like that would really ease Seam and Jevils nerves. And its what made Asgore so trustworthy to them. The fact that he cared so much about their comfort and went above and beyond to make sure they felt safe around him.

Not really a parental figure. He sees Seam as his equal in every way. So like.. he sees him as his brother of the same age.?

@beryl-shade

Oh he didn't lock Seam up in a cell. He just put shackles around his wrists and neck :00

The thing about Jevil is that the bigger the group got, the worse his habits became. And the harder it became to break those habits.. Jevil was the one who collected these people, so they are his responsibility. Giving up his food not just for Seam, but for everyone. Staying awake to keep the fire large and roaring to keep the group warm.

The others try to help him.. but they would have a hard time getting Jevil to listen to them. Telling him he needs to eat, sleep or just relax. He probably wouldn't listen because he's a bit stubborn and is probably riddled with anxiety 24/7.

Although when Asgore came around things got a lot easier.

Asgore is very powerful and has proved his trustworthiness multiple times to Seam and Jevil. So although the royal vibe is off putting.. Jevil trusts him to watch the fire at night and protect the group. Seam has been able to reason with Jevil about the food part a little too.

Jevil: "You need this food more than me. You gotta keep your strength up until we can find someone to break these chains!"

Seam: "Jevil, you consume energy to make those mirrors to other worlds. How are you supposed to keep looking for someone to break my chains, if you're collapsed on the ground, too weak to make another mirror?"

Jevil: "......."

Jevil: *takes ONE bite out of sandwich

I was thinking around 10 years or so..? Maybe more? Haven't really decided :0 And he was able to escape by making a mirror and stepping through it. That mirror basically poked a hole in the walls of the AU and he was able to step out of the AU. Effectively stepping out of his cell and breaking free :}

Also thank you!! :DD

@gracebeth3604

I've completely ignored comments like this recently because I don't wanna deal with all the drama that will surly follow. But you were really polite and very thorough with your evidence.. sooo I guess I might as well answer it now,

I am aware that people use they/them for Seam. But -> my version <- of Seam goes by he/him.

I don't reeallly have a Splatoon AU..? And I haven't played Splatoon in a while- although I do still like it and have made some Splatoon ocs!

These drawings are pretty old. I've been meaning to come back and re-draw them haha <XD

Yeah its okay to tag like that. Like "seam and jevil" or "mario and luigi". That's just tagging them as being in the same post, no big deal 👍

Also no, no art of any kind. If you truly wanna show that you appreciate my work then leave comments. Maybe reblog once in a while or send me an ask. The comments don't have to be anything complex. You could leave a "Looks great!" comment on 50 posts of mine in a row and I will see what you're doing and appreciate it endlessly.

@genericcereal-wastaken

(I most likely will lol XD) Also thank you! I'm glad you love it! :DD

@elegysonnet

Honestly I can see Seam wanting nothing wrapped around/touching his wrists for a while.. even though they need it. But he could accept cold rags being dabbed on the wounds to ease the stinging.

As for what he'd eat? Dude- anything XDD Probably a burger to start. He'd just take a big fat bite and cry about how good it tastes 😭

And yeah! Now that he has his full range of movement he has his cat like flexibility back :}}

When it comes to Seam using his magic? Its hard for a while...

He hasn't used it consistently in so long.. he would be rusty, and probably anxious to use it again. It would take a lot of sparing and gentle guidance from Jevil and probably Asgore to get his grove back.

It would also take time for him to physically heal. Having his body's energy constantly drained has really effected his ability to control his magic. He would need a few weeks of good sleep and hearty meals before he could get his groove back. But he'll get there. With the group/Jevils support, he would eventually be back to the way he was. Equally matched with Jevil. :}

@clevermakercupcake

Thank you!! :}}} 🌻🌻

I don't remember that, did he do that?? Kwazii whyyy that's nasty XDDD

@cupcake-kingdom

Seam is frightened and confused but appreciates the message! XD

Joy. There's just joy and relief everywhere.

There has been a constant anxiety over this group- not just Jevil, that Seam would suddenly collapse and die. Finally succumbing to the chains draining properties.

Now that the chains are off? Seam will heal. He will eat and stay full. He will absorb those calories and turn it into energy. And he will keep that energy. When he sleeps he will wake up feeling rested. He will heal, he will live.

For Seam, it was almost too good to be true. It just, it blew his mind. He was free. He was really free. No more pain, no more aches. No more hunger. His freedom truly starts here. The relief he felt can't be described. He cried, hard. But he also laughed, and for the first time in years, he smiled.

And Jevil? He couldn't speak. He just cried and cried and cried.. He couldn't let go of Seam. He couldn't stop looking at his wrists. Exanimating them over and over again. As if he couldn't truly believe it. All the anxiety, all the worry, all the sleepless nights. They were all over. Seam was gonna live, he didn't have to worry anymore. He couldn't let go of Seam, he couldn't stop shaking, he couldn't stop crying. He couldn't stop smiling.

They will likely leave some kind of permanent scar on Seam yes.. but his floofy orange fur hides the scars around his neck. And the scars on his wrists will be somewhat covered up by his fur. So thankfully they wont really be noticeable. <:)

@nunyabusiness459

Heck yeah. After they cry their souls out together they go and crash for like 6 hours or something XDD

(Also funny username, made me laugh! XD)

WAAA THANK YOU SO MUCH!! And heck yeah!! Feel free to send me your AU stuff when you're done/ready! I'd love to see it! :}}

@ocinstituterep I imagine he's just reeeeally quiet about sneaking out. My Kwazii doesn't sneak out though he knows better XD

Thank you so much! Also Spongebob has angst??? :00000

Things are mostly better!

Little Red got her knees fixed, Escorts broken down a few times but he's currently in working order! Suburban is stiillll a work in progress... undrivable at the moment- :x

Greenie now takes all 4 limbs to start, Brown is out of the garage and U.M is out of the trailer! Pretty good stuff :}}

(If any of that made sense to you I applaud you for your dedication to my Transformer ocs <XDD)

@skywillow28022

She does exist, although I didn't have any real plans for her.. maybe she was just a gal that the bros knew in passing back on Earth.?

@beryl-shade

I feel like none of them would willing visit that old stage.. expect for maybe Foxy. I feel like Foxy would be a very emotional and tender hearted character. I can see him not wanting to "leave them behind" in a way. He would come back now and then and talk to the stage as if they were standing on it and could hear him. The staff think that Foxy's programming just hasn't properly registered that Chica and Freddy are gone. And in a way.. they're right..

Foxy cant let go of their memory. And despite how much it would ache seeing that empty stage, I can see him coming back to it anyway..

This also means that part of the reason why Bonnie and Foxy clash so much now is that Bonnie is trying to snuff out any memories and feelings of the past. Meanwhile Foxy is wallowing in those memories and refuses to let go.

If any of the four of them had to preform on that stage once again? Oh man. That would hurt. It would kill Foxy to stand in the place of his late friends. He would feel guilty, ashamed.. Monty and Roxy also couldn't handle it. They would be crushed. Monty would likely get emotional and angry. Roxy would want to run and hide her face. Maybe the three of them would find a way to fake a malfunction so they could just get off the stage..

But Bonnie? Man. Maybe he's so overwhelmed that he just goes on autopilot and finishes the performance. Only to have a complete mental breakdown in his room later.. being so close to the memory of Chica and Freddy.. its crippling to him.

@skatermusic

Daww, thank you :}}}

[invidiaesc]

🇧🇷 LET US SAVE RIO GRANDE DO SUL - BRASIL 🇧🇷

EVERY SINGLE DRAWING YOU BUY THE MONEY WILL GO 100% TO HELP RIO GRANDE DO SUL. GO GET YOUR DRAWING! Any character,OC,person, anything, bust up face FOR $5 SUCH BIG SALE. BEST DEAL! ⚠️

Paypal: gabi.estrazulas@yahoo.com.br

The Goal? At least 1k to send to my two friends who are in need. It will be used to buy medicine for pets and food for them. The drawing is made by A HUMAN ARTIST (me)

PLEASE HELP ME HELP MY FRIENDS AND MY LAND. 1 Dolar is 5,08 Reais. You're helping A LOT donating.

Who am I? I'm Invidia, I was born in Rio Grande do Sul, I only changed my home state (but I'm still living close there) because my father and grandparents died, they are still buried there. Two of my friends, my dear coralis who I know personally, are suffering due this tragedy.

Coralis is helping as a voluntary to the pets who were hurt due the dirty water or abandoned (or even lost by the owners, who are missing or dead). She needs help with money for pet food and medicine.

Tabata is a victim who lost everything, her entire house is destroyed due the water and she doesn't have anything than being with her family in another place, who are in a risk area of flood too. She is needing money to help with food and with the expenses.

An example of how much Tabata lost is that she lost all her computer, television, freezer and her home, everything is underwater now.

I got some help from an american friend and send entirely the money to Tabata, who is using to buy food. They accepted me to share the transaction (ofc I'm censoring our personal data for safety measure).

Tabata: https://instagram.com/lunari_alune/

Coralis: https://twitter.com/unfragility

What is happening with Brazil? Rio Grande do Sul currently has 497 municipalities, with 345 of these municipalities being affected by the recent rains and floods that are happening in the state.

More than 850,422 people were harmed, 83 dead, 111 missing, 276 injured, 121,957 displaced and 19,368 people in shelters. Today, at 9:15 am, the measurement of Lake Guaíba was 5.27M, with the warning level for flooding being 2.5M and the flood level being 3M

Currently the home state is on alert due to the possible collapse of dikes and walls that prevent all the water from rivers and lakes from going to the city, but during the week the population has been witnessing historic moments.

More information from:

I'll be sharing the screens of the transactions to them with the amount of money I get from it on my twitter:

I will be sharing everything!

If you read everything, THANK YOU!

Please share with everyone, you're literally saving lives.

I'm sorry any english mistake.

[butchsophiewalten]

Man this is so random but this theory is stuck in my head and I wanna see how other people feel about it because I don't see people talk about it a lot (I have no clue if the link will go through properly since I've never put a link in a ask box)

https://www.tumblr.com/art-w0rm/667910993425350656/theory-time

Oh god not this theory again. I really truly try not to be mean to people for no good reason on this blog, but this theory is literally one of the stupidest fucking things I've ever seen in my entire life. I don't talk about this theory because to me it's like the walten files theory equivalent of that tubby custard mechanically separated chicken post.

Most of the time I genuinely don't even consider it worthy of my time, because it's nonsense, but this is a very nicely worded ask, and I really don't mean to dedicate any of the vitriol I hold towards this theory to You, poor anonymous person, so I will deconstruct it. I will go through the theory point-by-point and deconstruct why I disagree with it.

First up, this:

Showbear is not a character in The Walten Files anymore. Showbear was fully retconned and is never going to appear in the series again. He was effectively just a cameo of ThunderingStatic's (one of Martin's friends) OC, but when The Walten Files blew up and people started assuming Showbear was Martin's character, Static decided to withdraw his character from the series and focus putting him in other projects.

Martin talked about this on Twitter forever ago, but I wouldn't be able to find that tweet now. But here's a bit from the interview he did with KnowYourMeme back in 2021 where he talks about it:

Now this:

This is just stupid to me? Like a complete logical incongruity? I barely even know how describe what is dumb about this because I can't even fathom how anyone draws this conclusion from this information. How is it strange for a man to say 'if my wife isn't home by the time she said she was going to be, let me know, in case something happened.'????? Why would Rosemary be out cheating on her husband with her fucking daughter with her??? If Rosemary was cheating on her husband why would her whole life collapse when he went missing? If Rosemary was cheating on her husband why would she show up at the restaurant every day after he disappeared asking if anyone had seen him and hoping to find him alive??? Why would she make paintings of herself and him together after he disappeared????? What the fuck are you talking about?

Ok now this:

Whatever. This is maybe the most coherent part of the theory, to me. I definitely agree that Sha evokes a 'wolf in sheep's clothing' sort of aesthetic, but I do remember Martin saying something in a Twitter Q&A at one point about how that wasn't actually intentional, and that Bon was the character he actually meant to seem unusually predatory. I looked for a while and couldn't find a screenshot of that, but I did find this one where he says the thing about Bon:

So whatever. take that with a grain of salt.

I don't even know what to say. here. Whatever. sure she was rolling in the hay

yeah Rosemary is asking if she's still beautiful because she cheated on her husband and not because she was chopped up and stuffed inside a big animatronic sheep. I think this is correct and is the True Deep Lore.of the walten files. I'm sure this doesn't have anything to do with the recurring motif of the double-meaning behind the word Beautiful either.

I don't know why it's weird that the lost lingering spirit of a mother would be calling out to her only living child. I Don't know why that needs additional explanation involving this batshit infidelity conspiracy theory.

Sha's chest is also ripped out

So is Banny's, honestly? Just a little less?

ok now this:

I guess I can't disprove this except that I think this is dumb. I think this is a really incredibly stupid logical leap to make. Y'know I really meant to go into this levelheadedly and very calmly go through every point and talk about why I think it's Decisively Disagreeable or whatever but I can't. I really can't. I just cannot keep my patience with this sort of thing.

You'd think if there was an infidelity aspect here it would've been lampshaded in some respect, at all, in the old /sophiewalten findjackwalten page text. Where it's literally Sophie talking to Jenny about what she remembers about her family.

Especially if the idea is that Sophie is meant to have been there. You'd think something like that would have come up here. Not 'she was nice and a good mom until my dad disappeared and her mental health started getting worse'

[permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88]

WIP sneak peek | Flames and Darkness

Right. Clearly I can't stop writing ahead of myself in my WIPs to save my life. Here's another little tidbit from the planned sequel to The Wanderer!

Warnings: spoilers for my existing WIP's canon regarding my OC Tilda and her connection to a few main characters, the fact that the story contains an OC in and of itself, angst, literally nothing but Tilda's internal monologue in this one, folks.

The funeral pyre blazes against an otherwise darkened sky, its flames burning against her eyes so brightly that it borders upon pain, yet even still, Tilda cannot persuade herself to look away.

It is the twelfth of such vigils that they have held in as many nights, those who had suffered injuries in the eruption of Orodruin having, more often than not, succumbed to them not long after.  Since that morning nearly a fortnight ago, when she and Isildur had woken amongst the ash and ruin to find themselves surrounded by orcs, Tilda had seized upon the first chance she had to attempt helping them.  A purely selfish choice, it had been fueled by her determination to avoid allowing herself any time to think of all she had endured in the preceding days.  

Despite how reluctant she had been to be in any close proximity to the one in charge of this new land, such as it is—a person she still could hardly understand—she had joined her mother in aiding those under his care, who had been burned, or inhaled too much smoke from the fire mountain, as well as those who had been injured in the battle preceding it without question, but all efforts, it seemed, had been in vain.

Even with her mother’s skill as a healer, orcs—uruk—were different from men.  Different, even, from elves, when it came to injuries, and recovering from them.  

And now, the one who had been their best hope for such a recovery is resting on a pyre of her very own.  Her mother’s ability to heal others had been the one thing that enabled her to conceal her own injury.  To keep it secret until it had been too late.

Over and over again, Tilda replays the precise moment in which her mother had collapsed in her mind.  She tries to discern if there had been some sign displayed prior, that she had missed.  Some statement or behavior that could have alerted her to the reality of her mother’s condition sooner.  Something that would mean she could have helped, but there is nothing.  Her mind is a complete, unyielding blank.

Even the rage she feels over her own incompetence has somehow been forced aside.  Or at the very least, temporarily cast to the back of her mind in favor of the utter numbness that spreads over her, now.  It is almost a comfort, that numbness, or at least so she tells herself.  It is easier to exist in that state, than to risk feeling anything that could deter her from her current course.

Uruk and Southlander alike had seen so much death.  So much of it, in such a small expanse of time, and with more likely to follow.  Try though she might to avoid it, it is a reality that creeps inside her very being.  It curls in an insidious path around her heart, and tightens, bit by bit.

The loss of her mother only provides that noose with further strength, until she can feel it igniting her very veins, and threatening to burn her to ash from the inside out.  It is a reality that becomes more and more apparent, the longer she remains standing before the pyre.

She can feel it crawling through her, bit by bit, out from her heart, and into bone, muscle and flesh, alike.  Her nails dig into the skin of her palms so fiercely she nearly draws blood.  The names of each loss they have suffered echo inside of her mind, and as each one takes its place, a stone’s weight settles inside of her chest, as well.

Ontamo.  Amara.  Ulf, and Arryk.  Griselda.  Her mother.

Halbrand.

Blinking back tears that burn against her eyes every bit as much as the fire weaving its way through her veins, Tilda drags in a shuddering breath.  She tries to remain focused upon the pyre, but her heart is suddenly aching with such a force it very nearly drives her to her knees.

She has no proof of his demise.  Not like the others, but somehow she has come to fear its truth all the same.  With the number of Southlanders that had already sworn their allegiance to Adar in the wreckage of their former home, that Halbrand had not yet been among them seemed in itself a sort of confirmation of her very worst supposition.

The thoughts alone provoke a horror that Tilda dares not face.  A horror that has somehow surrounded her, threatening to pull her under its sway forever.  Again, she attempts to return to that blessed numbness that had graced her with its presence, mere moments before.  A refuge that would enable her to remain standing, gaze locked, upon the pyre, but the effort fails almost as soon as it begins.  As soon as she recognizes the familiar presence that has come to stand beside her.

The presence of the only family she would appear to have left.

Her f—

No.  She would not call him that.  Not yet.  She could not.

Not even knowing that it was by his hand that she had been allowed her current position without ever having truly earned it.

A glance in his direction shows an expression that is unreadable.  Something for which she is hardly surprised, given how little she knew of the one person other than Bain who might share in her grief.  He watches the pyre, as well, as transfixed by its flames as she had been, herself.

For a moment, Tilda almost suspects she might see a glimmer of emotion in his eyes.  Eyes that her mother had told her so resembled her own.  But she does not dare to investigate this any further, when the tumult she feels over a reality she had learned of not that long ago still threatens to overwhelm her every bit as much as her mother’s loss.  As Halbrand’s loss.

It closes in around her as though it desires to burrow deep beneath her skin.  As though its sole wish is to poison her very being, until there is no possibility of ever healing again. 

Her throat seems to constrict around a sob, then, eyes once more pricking with the unforgiving sting of tears.  And rather than risk a hint of her own turmoil becoming exposed like the jagged edges of a fresh wound, Tilda turns on a heel and pushes past those gathered nearby to head for the outer edge of their grouping, instead, aware of Adar’s unreadable gaze following her as she goes.

It is better this way.  Better to keep to herself, until she regains at least some shred of control over her own emotions.  

Better than allowing any of those surrounding her to gain anything that might be used against her.

She did not trust the Uruk.  Not the Southlanders who had sworn allegiance to Adar, either, as much as they used to be like her own kin.  In the days since Orodruin’s eruption, every one of them had chosen survival over all else.  Those who had not were now prisoners, and Tilda heard their whispers about her.  She had heard the whispers that had followed her mother before her death, as well.

They did not seem to care that Tilda and her mother had made the same choices, for much the same reasons.  Did not seem to realize that perhaps they were not so different after all.  Perhaps, they, too, had done only what was needed for survival.  Tilda had certainly not dared to ask her mother for explanations when Freida had come to her to beg her to see reason.  When she had claimed it was the only way to save Isildur, and herself.

All Tilda had cared about, in those moments, was the safety of her Numenorian friend.  She had gone willingly when her mother brought her to Adar’s tent, hardly knowing that doing so would ensure that she stood upon a precipice that would not be easy to navigate, regardless of either of their intentions.

In the end, Isildur had been healed.  Freed.  She had seen to it herself that he left the land now known as Mordor, and earned her punishment for the deed in turn.

The whispers that dogged her every step had only increased, after that, from both Uruk, and the Southlanders, imprisoned, and free, alike.  All had come to question why she still stood, drawing breath, when many of their own had been killed or exiled for far less.  And even now, after so many losses on all sides, she can still feel their stares as they try to worm their way beneath her skin.

They did not trust her, either, and why should they?  She’d made no overt claims of loyalty for one side or the other, and now, the one who had shielded her from much of the scrutiny such a thing brought her way is gone.

Adar would expect an answer to the question of her loyalties, soon enough.  He would expect her to choose a side.  She did not know if she could count on her mother’s memory to save her, should she decide incorrectly, and yet no matter which way she turns, Tilda knows she will be in the wrong.

Choose the Uruk, and she would be betraying those who she had once considered her people.  She would be betraying Halbrand, who had been meant to be their king.  But in the wake of the battle, Adar’s capture by Galadriel, and the memory of her mother’s desperate pleas to free him, Tilda also knows that choosing the Southlanders would mean betraying the woman who had given her life.  Betraying the man she had so yearned to search for that it had nearly consumed her.  And what had she found, as a result?

Another predicament to muddle through, only this time, she would face that predicament alone.

Only blood can bind.

[runningfrom2am]

the sea around us; chapter twenty-three

In which Rafe Cameron has to choose between his dad and a pogue who's changing his outlook on life more and more every day.

(rafe cameron x f!oc)

(eventual!jj maybank x f!oc)

warnings/tags: violence, drug/alcohol use, smoking, sexual content (if you squint), slowburn, older brother’s best friend, (these tags are obv not exhaustive but regardless it’s pretty PG13)

wc: 0.9k

my masterlist

series masterlist

requests

*:･ﾟ✧*:���

~ Rafe's POV ~

I step out of the truck and load the gun in my hand, walking up behind the plane. I look under and see my dad on his knees, and Sheriff Peterkin pointing a gun right at him. I have to do something. I have to save him.

Right as I round the corner, aiming my gun at the sheriff, I hear someone calling my name. No. No, no. This can't be happening. She can't be here. I try and stay focussed, but I watch as suddenly my dad, Sarah and John B, and the sheriff look up and see me.

"Don't move! Don't fucking move!" I shout, resisting the urge to look over my shoulder as I hear Snowy calling to me.

"Put your gun down!" I yell at Peterkin, and she turns slightly to look at me, her eyes flicking back and forth between my father and I.

"Rafe." She says, shaking her head at me slightly. Without thinking, I look back and see Snowy stepping onto the tarmac, running right towards me.

"Snowy, you can't be here!" I shout, and before I'm even done yelling the gun is knocked out of my hand and kicked away, and now the sheriffs gun is aimed right at me. I'm staring right down the barrel as I freeze- completely disconnecting from the world around me with the tears that well up in my eyes.

I feel a body crash into mine and I catch her, steadying her as best I can without falling myself, holding one hand up towards Sheriff Peterkin to keep her from shooting.

"Wait! Sheriff Peterkin wait!" It's Snowy, standing right in front of me now. "He's okay- everything is okay." She exclaims, breathing heavily. I can tell she's talking more to herself than anyone else.

"Juliette, take a step back." The sheriff replies, her gun pointed firmly at me without wavering.

"Rafe- Rafe, you have to go with her. Just put your hands up. Please." Snowy pleads with me and I look down at her, seeing her crying as well. My heart jumps in my chest as I try to draw my eyes away and back up to the gun pointed right at my head.

Before I can say anything I hear a shot fire, and flinch as Snowy screams and grabs onto me tightly. "Rafe, no!" She cries out, looking up at me again, a brief flash of confusion crossing her normally soft features as she sees that I'm fine. We both look up to where the sheriff was standing, watching as blood starts to soak her uniform, and she collapses.

My dad is standing behind her, gun in hand.

Quickly, Snowy isn't in my arms anymore- she's at the sheriffs side. I watch Sarah and John B run over as well as I still hear the shot ringing in my ears.

The three teens are leaning over the injured police officer, and my dad quickly grabs me. "Rafe, Rafe- get Sarah and go home. Now!" He demands.

He turns and points the gun between Snowy and John B, as I rush over and grab Sarah, pulling her away.

"I'm calling for help, honey! I'm calling them right now!" Our dad yells at Sarah as she thrashes in my arms, holding up the radio so she can see.

"No! John B!" She screams as I drag her back, trying to get her to the truck parked on the grass not far from here.

"Sarah- we have to go. We have to go." I tell her, wrapping my arms around her to try and carry her.

"No! Rafe- Rafe he's going to kill them! He's going to kill them we have to do something!" I freeze up a little- she's right. I look back and see Snowy standing up slowly from where she was kneeling, raising her blood covered hands as she watches my dad point a gun at her.

"Snowy!" I shout over to her, and she turns to look at me. "Run!" She doesn't respond, but looks back down at the woman lying on the ground.

"Get out of here!" I scream, feeling a tear fall from my eyes as I wrestle with my sister to get her to come with me. I so desperately need Snowy to escape. I can't lose her. I can't let my dad kill her just because she saw something she shouldn't have. If I just get the chance to talk to her she'll understand- we had no choice.

I watch as John B grabs her arm and pulls her back, running past his car and taking off the way she came. I'm thankful that at least he would listen. My dad storms after them, holding up the gun and shooting in their direction as they run away. "Dad!" I yell, shoving Sarah into the door and slamming it. "Dad- let her go!" I plead with him and he sighs angrily, stomping back over to where the sheriff is laying on the ground. I get in the drivers seat and throw it into drive, speeding off as I catch a glimpse of Snowy and John B running past the fence and into the trees. She seems fine- I don't think he hit her. Thank god.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･

A/N: Very short I know- BUT I'm uploading this and the next chapter at the same time so it's fine :) -R

taglist: @boo22sstuff @madelynie @username5786451 (message me or reply if you want to be added!!)

[shebeafancyflapjack]

A Slip Through Worlds (Part 12)

With the truth finally out, Amy ( @idiotwithanipad 's oc) and Co. focus on getting both Silver's back to where they belong.

-

"What do you mean, Fizzy? Hehehe, of course I'm your Silver! Your best friend and fellow dragon rider, hehehe!" The bleeding girl grinned.

Robin also scoffed; "Yeah, what she say! Almost, not dragon bit. Who you think she be? Julian in mask and dress?"

"Ew, no, and fuck you for putting that image in my head." Amy seethed. "I mean she's obviously not our Silver! She must have got swapped with some Silver from another dimension!"

"What?"

The teen pinched the bridge of her nose; "Seriously, mate, I thought you were more into Sci Fi than me. You must have seen that Star Trek film! The one from nearly twenty years ago, with the two Spocks?"

"Oooh, pointy ear guy, long live prosper."

"Yeah, that, that's what she is!" Amy jabbed a finger towards the confused Silver.

Robin frowned; "Vulcan?"

"No! An alternate version! From a world like ours but where things happened different! A world where...our Silver turned blind and crazy when she died, apparently."

"Hey! Hehehe, I'm blind but not deaf, hehehe. 'Crazy' is an offensive term, I am mentally impaired and stuck in a permanant high, haha!"

"Sorry." Amy groaned with a roll of her eyes.

Robin looked at the girl he still had his arm around, peering at her up and down before he shook his head.

"No, no, that not be it. Me know Moonah Girl, would know if she not-."

"Have you smelled her since she woke up?" Amy challenged, "Dude, I'm half the bloodhound you are, and I could smell she weren't our Silv the first moment she glomped me."

"I..." He doesn't look too sure; "Well. No. Maybe not. Been told it rude."

Amy bit her lip and had to restrain herself from throttling the furry idiot.

"This ONE time you have permission!" She told him, tersely.

Robin continued to look uncertain. He moved his head near the base of Weird Silver's neck and sniffed. The blind girl didn't seem offended, merely giggled again as if she were being tickled. Another confirmation for Amy. Their Silver would have swatted the caveman on his nose with the whole of her palm..

When he raised his head back up, he looked as though his world had just collapsed.

"Believe me now?" Amy stressed.

Robin let go of the imposter and stepped back toward her old bed before flopping down to sit on the edge of the mattress.

"But...if she not..." He breathed, wind knocked out of his ancient chest, then looked up at Amy; "Where our Moonah Girl?!"

-

Crackle. Snap. No pop.

Not rice krispies, she thinks upon 'waking' (though she doubts that's what it truly is) in this new place. There are no fae lights floating around her, no Regency style orchestra playing nostalgic melodies. No sky above, just rock. Orange light illuminates the primitive drawings that decorate nearly every inch of the walls. Stick figures wielding spears, defeating mammoths and bears, dancing with smaller stick figures beneath a large circle hanging above.

All the images are freshly drawn, either carved or painted with blood or some crude 'ink'.

She sits up, taking a breath, relieved to hear no laughter or gossip of artificial party guests around her. Only the crackle of a large fire pit beside her, that's as warm and comfy as the furs wrapped around her. Silver runs her fingers along them, not missing the dresses she'd been gifted at all. Was this fox? Or wolf? Maybe both. Maybe something long extinct.

The only other sound is the rain outside. The mouth of the cave is far down on a slope. No risk of her getting damp. This was a home well chosen by whoever set up camp here.

Near the opening, barely visible against the dark of the forest outside, is the silhouette of a ragged man, sat on guard.

"Robin?" She calls, hopefully.

He turns his head. The light of the fire reveals his wounds and tree-like scars from the lightning strike.

Silver deflates a little. Of course.

"You're not him." She sits back, hugging the pelts around her.

He grunts.

Sorry to disappoint.

Silver looks up, blinking; "...Did you just speak?"

Another grunt.

No. No speak. Me think. You hear. Like Big Eyed Girl do.

Right. Silver nodded, understanding; "So...this is another of the witch's tricks?"

Not Robin shook his mane.

Not quite. She not bring you here. Me did. Not sure how.

He shrugged again.

Fell asleep. Saw Strange Girl trapped in loud party. Brought here. More quiet. Where I come when nap to get away from Noisy Cub.

Silver looked back at the walls, to the drawings. She ran her finger over one depicting a taller stick figure holding the hands of two smaller ones at his sides.

"This is your dream?"

With a nod, he grunted.

Yes. No mess anything up.

She smiled. There wasn't much in the way of 'furniture'. Bedrolls, ceremonial altars with skulls and other offerings, toys made from sticks and long grass, other stone tools. Still miles preferable to any fantasy luxury the witch could summon for her.

"Why did you bring me here?" She asked.

Another grunt as he looked away.

Strange Girl not stop crying. Thought quiet help. Did. Strange Girl no cry now. Me no have headache.

She smiled; "Thank you. That was sweet."

When he turned his head to growl at her, she flinched, shuffling closer to the fire.

Me not sweet! Me dangerous! Strange Girl no forget!

He snarled at her, curling his lips back.

Silver felt the smile creep back; "My bad. I was clearly right about you from the start. You have no heart. No feelings."

Another grunt as he nodded, content for that to be the agreement.

She tucked her knees in close before stretching her hand to soak in some of the fire's warmth. It would be a comfort, if not for the smell, that reminded her of what she might never see again. She sniffed.

Not Robin grunted.

Strange Girl start cry again?!

"No. I'm tired of crying." She sighed; "I'm just sad, okay. I dunno if I'll ever see my home again. My friends. My mum....my real mum..."

A rumble sounded from the caveman's throat.

After a long pause, he spoke again, to her mind.

Mistress ask if me want to see babies when visit here. She say she make seem real. Many time tempted. But say no. Not real. Not want.

Her heart panged for him. As she looked over, she saw he carried that same pain of loss that her own Robin did in his eyes.

Silver got up, tugging the pelts around her like a giant shawl and sitting closer to him.

"Did these belong to your kids?" She asked.

A grizzle. At first she was afraid that the question upset him too much to answer. Then he turned and poked the grey fur.

That Pin favorite. Always like wolf.

He then moved his finger to the spotted print.

Sol, he like leopard. Hard to find, harder to kill. Worth it to see smile. And fox...Kya love fox.

"Kya. Your second daughter." She spoke.

He met her eyes.

How Strange Girl know?

Silver smiled; "I told you. We're friends in that other world. You don't....find it easy to talk about your kids and I try not to push but...Kya was pretty special, right?"

All babies special. Kya just...most like me. Little idiot.

A twitch appeared in the corner of that crooked mouth, and for a second he looked like her Robin.

She wanted to hug him but....given all those wounds close to his neck, she doubted that would be comfy for him.

"Thank you, Rogh. For sharing their furs with me." She said, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

He flinched at first, looking ready to push her away or growl in defense, but then surprised when she pulled back so quick.

Looking adorably confused, he reached up to stroke his own cheek.

Strange Girl welcome. Sorry....Mistress make cry. She no mean to.

Silver cringed as she turned away, looking towards the trees.

"Excuse me if I don't forgive her for trapping me."

She only do what she think right. She not monster. She Mum.

"Not my mum. And she never will be." Silver gulps, "I don't care if she keeps me here for a thousand years. I'll never stop trying to get home."

The caveman dips his head before rubbing at his own chest. Is that remorse that she spots on his face?

"Do you think they'd be happy with you? If they saw you now? Scratch that, I can confirm they are watching, if the after-afterlife here is anything like my world." Silver presses.

She reaches for his paw and presses it against the fox pelt.

"D'you think they'd be proud of their dad? Helping keep a girl away from her real family?"

The haggard face winces and Not Robin pulls his hand away. With a growl, he gets up and moves on his knuckles further from her.

Go back to fire, Strange Girl. Rest. Enjoy quiet before Sister arrives.

-

"Okay...me think I get it now." Robin sighed once Stompy had finished her explanation.

Moonah Girl raised her hand.

"I'm still a bit lost, hehehe. How many Spider-Mans are there again?" She asked.

"Too many, but that wasn't the point!" Amy groaned, feeling like a school teacher stuck with the two most dense students to deal with; "To sum up, there are infinite universes and infinite versions of us all. The Silvers obviously got switched at the big freaky wall."

"Ooh, you mean the window? Hahaha, where I had a dance with that funny girl and then she disappeared."

Both Amy and Robin stared at her.

"Funny girl? What funny girl?" The hoodie wearing teen asked.

"The one who knocked on the window, hehehe. I pushed and found her hands, we twirled around, then she was gone! Poof! Haha. And then I woke up and Robin found me!"

He tried not to flinch as the girl reached for his hand. Her touch made him feel ill now, where moments ago he'd welcomed it, relieved to be someone that Moonah Girl trusted again. Back when she was Moonah Girl.

Amy frowned as she seemed to put all the pieces together quicker than he could. It was still a shock for him to realise the girl he'd been devoting every minute of care to for the past three nights hadn't been who he thought.

"Right....so that must have been how it happened. Two Silvers touched each other and that, for some reason, let them go through the wall? Weird. But at least we know how to fix all this."

"We do?" Robin asked.

"Keep up, dummy! We just need to get this Silver back to the wall, hope our Silver can be there at the same time and swap them back." She said, making it sound so easy.

The bleeding girl holding onto him gasped.

"Wait! You're saying, hehehe, that I can go home? I can see Mummy and my Amy? They're not gone forever?!" She bounced in her seat on the duvet.

Amy nodded; "That's what I'm hoping, yeah."

"Oh that is wonderful!" She squealed and then threw her arms around Robin's neck; "Did you hear that, fluffy friend?! I can have Mummy back!"

"Uh, yeah...Sorry me told you she gone. That just Mu...This world Silver's mum." He said, looking to Amy for a nod of clarification that he got that right.

Not Silver just giggled more; "Oh that's okay! It's always good news to hear your mum isn't gone forever, hehehe. Oh but....Wait. The Silver who lived here has no Mummy? Or Fizzy Girl? That's so sad! Hahaha."

"Yeah, you really sound broken up about it." Amy frowned, impatient.

"Sorry, hehehe, I can't help it! Hahaha, I laugh even when I'm sad or bored or even screaming, hahaha."

"Oh." Amy looked horrified at that thought; "Okay, that...does sound awful."

"It sucks balls, hahaha!" The girl wiped a tear from her eyes as she cackled, ceaselessly; "Oh, poor other Silver. She must be so lonely."

"Well don't feel that sorry for her." Amy frowned, a little defensive; "She still has me, I ain't chopped liver! I visit her dreams when I can and bring messages from her mum. And she'll see her again, someday."

"Oh, that's nice." The teen calmed. "And I guess she has all the nice ghosts here like your daddy, Mr Patrick, Kitty and Sweet Robin, of course! Hehehe. She's so lucky to have you as a friend." Silver hugged his furry sleeve.

Robin gulped, avoiding Amy's knowing gaze. Yeah. So lucky.

"You still have mum in your world? She no go up to stars?" He said, looking at her, then to Stompy; "That good then! Moonah Girl safe with other Mary. She take care of her." That was some relief, surely.

Amy frowned; "She didn't look safe to me. If that dream we both had was Silver then she looked like she was in deep shit!"

"But that's silly, hehehe." Other Silver kicked her boots; "Mummy is the nicest, most magical and beautiful woman ever! She'd never hurt anyone...who was innocent..."

The twitch in the teen's neck as she finished that sentence made them both go cold.

"Innocent? What d'you mean?" Asked Amy.

"Oh nothing, hahaha. Just that Mummy can sometimes be a teensy winsy bit overprotective when it comes to me, haha."

"Overprotective how?"

"The usual stuff! Giving me a strict curfew, not wanting me to leave the forest alone...." Silver listed off her fingers, casually; "Burns anyone to a crisp who looks at me funny, all that stuff!"

Robin's eyes widened, as did Amy's. He suddenly remembered some of the other things about 'Mummy' that the girl had mentioned over the past few days that sounded like a very extreme version of their Mary.

"You sure she wouldn't harm our Silver then? Even if maybe she thought she might be to blame for you being gone?" Amy pressed further, clenching her jaw.

"Well....Hehehe...She might be a little bit tense..." Even the girl didn't seem as though she could fully convince herself the other Silver might not be in danger.

Amy and Robin exchanged looks again. His chest tightened as he recalled the image that had flashed in his mind from that awful nightmare.

Moonah Girl's eyes so big. So scared.

"Right. We have to fix this." Amy stated, resolute; "I should be able to take that Silver with me while she's asleep and follow the trace back to the wall."

"Then what? Just wait? How long for?" Robin asked.

"Ooh, I'll call for Mummy! She'll come find me and bring the other me, I'm sure of it." The Pagan bounced again.

"The mad hippie might be right." Said Amy, surprised; "Our Silver called my name in that dream. She sent it out all the way to me and I was able to follow it back. This one might be able to do the same but to her Mary."

Robin got to his feet; "Then me come too!"

She nodded; "Good. Was gonna drag you along anyway. In case I need backup."

Fear thrummed through his body along with a surge of territorial protectiveness. He hadn't felt anything like that since the time men from a rival tribe attempted to steal some of their babies. Not even his, he hadn't had any at then, only eleven himself. But even then, he had the instinct to do whatever it took to keep Tribe safe.

"Yay! I'm going home! I'm gonna see Mummy and Fizzy and Floof and all my dragons again! Haha!" The other Silver began to skip and dance around.

Amy lunged to grab the girl's wrist; "Hey! Harley Quinn! This isn't a game, okay?! All of this is mostly your fault, so you need to do your part and make sure this goes to plan!"

The blind girl's bottom lip stuck out, like a child being told off.

Robin tried to part the two.

"Go easy, Stompy, she not know what she do." He said, unable to stop feeling a sense of care for this Moonah Girl too, after all the time he'd spent with her.

"I don't give a flying fuck. You didn't see or hear her as clearly as I did!" Amy said, referring back to the dream; "My friend is trapped and she called out to me to save her! Nothing else matters except getting our Silver home! Got it?!"

He nodded. Of course, he agreed, guilt burning in his throat like poison again.

Amy stepped back; "Wait here. Don't wake up, not if you wanna come with us."

"Where you go?"

"To see Mary." She said, heading towards the door; "If we mess this up, then she at least needs to know where her daughter really is. Once I'm back, we'll head for the wall."

-

The words sound too fantastical for Mary at first, once young Amy has finished explaining it all to her. References to various movies and books flew over her head and so Amy used mirrors as an analogy instead.

They sat in the kitchen of her and Annie's cottage, two untouched cups of tea and three empty bright blue cans of Monster on the wooden table.

"So....Mirror Me has my little'en...and our Robin has the mirror Silver?" The larger woman frowned.

Amy cracked open her fourth can.

"That's the gist of it. Except the mirror seems to be all...broken and smudged like someone took a cricket bat to it." She swigged down a load of the fruity liquid; "It's why the mirror version of you that you saw in the dream weren't your best side, Mary."

Mary's hand flung up to her mouth as she recalled the expression on her darling girl's face. Those bony hands wrapped tight around her wrist.

Annie rubbed her back.

"Don't ye think yous had enough there, child?" She said to Amy as she swallowed her drink.

"Trust me. I'm gonna need another three or four to get me to that wall. Especially if that flaming bitch shows her face. No offence." The girl's eyes met Mary's.

"None be taken, little'en." She said, quietly; "If I could get my hands on that shadow o' mine, she be....Oh, is there no way wes can come join you and Robin?!"

Amy shook her head and got to her feet.

"Not unless you both learn how to astral project really fucking fast."

The married women exchanged dubious looks. Both seemed regretful they hadn't attempted to practice the skill during their time here. It was hardly something to be acquired overnight.

And they had to act now. Enough time had been wasted. But Mary understood why Amy had taken the opportunity to tell her the truth. Silver would have wanted her to know, rather than for the other one to arrive and believe wrongly that it was her daughter.

Fighting back tears, Mary wasn't sure what was worse. Her daughter having a self-destructive mental breakdown or still being sane but trapped with some demon version of herself?

Either way, her baby was lost. And there was sod all she could do to help bring her home.

"Don't worry." Amy squeezed Mary's hand on the table. "I'll get her back. Or fucking obliterate myself trying."

[solar-argo]

I FORGOT ABOUT THE OC-TOBER IM SO SORRY

I'm going on a road trip with my mom tomorrow tho, which means! A lot of time to draw! So i will try my bestest to do a few days LMAO

Anyway to tide yall over, have my lego monkie kid oc!! I love her with all of my heart.

I have edited her design a little, and given her a backstory!! I also finished the show. Giggles autistically. CW for below, season 3 spoilers for Lego Monkie Kid! As well as minor character death, but that's not a show spoiler

So, she has a little sister, Fēn, and she loves her little sister. Her parents are. Distant at best, so Qiu was kinda eldest daughter syndrome-ed by their parents. During the Lady Bone Demon attack, her house collapsed while her sister was at school (Qiu is in university, taking classes at night, and working part time to afford a babysitter for Fēn when their parents arent around, which is often).

Qiu wakes up in a pocket of rubble and is able to wiggle her way out, and stays at a hospital thats taking in displaced people while tracking down her sister. When she finally finds her, about a week later, she tells Fēn that she couldn't find their parents, but when people offer to try to help finding them, Qiu politely declines, and never does bother to put in effort to find them.

Considering Qiu is now the SOLE provider for her little sister, she drops out of her evening classes and searches for a full-time job that will take her despite her lack of degree. Her search takes her to Pigsy's noodles, where she's once again told that there aren't any openings. However, she is desperate for a job, and begs Pigsy to consider her. So, he hesitantly offers her a job in the kitchen; doing prep work for him, grocery runs when they run out of an ingredient, etc. She thanks him, and the next day she sends Fēn off to school, and goes to Pigsy's noodles.

Every weekday she leaves early to pick up her sister, and then comes right back, plonking her sister in a chair at the counter to do her homework. Eventually, Tang and Mei offer to do it, and trade off picking Fēn up from school. While she's at the shop, Tang and Mei usually keep her company, and, when it's not busy, so will MK.

Eventually, they find out that Qiu dropped out of school, and when they ask why, she shrugs and responds 'I couldn't afford a house, food, AND a babysitter while in school, so I had to sacrifice something.' They all feel bad, despite the fact that Qiu shrugs it off, saying that it was a part of life. So, MK, Mei, and Tang all band together and tell Qiu that they'll watch Fēn for free while she is in classes. Qiu cries, thanks them, and applies to uni again for the new school year.

Problems arise, however, during the first set of exams. Qiu needs to be at school in the morning, and everyone is busy in the morning; MK doing training, Mei training as well (I headcanon that after the arc was finished, Mei kept training to use the samadhi fire with Red Son), and Tang usually shopping with Pigsy.

So, on MK's day with Fēn, she's brought the flower fruit mountain, and gets to meet Sun Wukong. They get along... alright; Sun Wukong is a little awkward around her, considering she's a lot younger than MK, and he's not quite sure how to talk to her. They spend the day painting rocks while MK does chores around the mountain; Qiu didn't want them to work on fighting with a 6 year old right there.

On Mei's day, she takes Fēn to see Red Son, who has Mei work on her focus and control over the fire. Red Son, who has a MUCH easier time talking to her than Wukong, ends up sitting next to Fēn and playing various games with her while Mei trains.

On Tang's day, she gets dropped off with Sandy, who ends up having a several hour long tea party with her and Mo, complete with a comically small tiara for Sandy, and a pink ballgown for Mo. And of course, Fēn dresses up in her own blue gown, and doesn't ask Sandy why or how he had her favorite color ballgown. (He asked Qiu what Fēn's size was, and made a gown for her, just in case she ever came over)

And on the last day of exams, MK had training again; this time, with Macaque. Macaque was, to most people's surprise, very soft with Fēn. When MK arrived to his dojo, visibly frazzled with an excited 6 year old, he'd blinked, stared for a moment. He'd sighed, canceling training, and left the dojo, locking it behind him, before bending down to talk to Fēn, introducing himself, and asking what she wanted to do. And so, the 3 of them went to an arcade, MK and Fēn playing while Macaque kept an eye out. By the end of the day, Fēn was referring to Macaque as "uncle M"

That's all I got for now, and I did not mean for it to be so damn LONG?? Jesus christ- TLDR lbd attacks, oc becomes mom to her little sister, works at Pigsy's, goes to college, and The Gang babysits her little sister for her.

Mayhaps I should make a fic out of this. (I will never make a fic out of this, I do NOT have the motivation to write. Like, ever)

[rehkloo6]

ALRIGHT HERE WE GO INTO THE OC EXPLAINY ZONE YOU CAN ASK THEM ANYTHING TOO IN THE ASKS BOX

My first OC is 6 golden stars.

(me about to load the OC lore)

(oh god)

6 Golden Stars was an iterator who woke up in the 1st waking period of dry world. He adored scavs, took their RW DNA and placed them on dry world, got convinced that the oldest iterator (who was given the title "Head Iterator" by the ancients), Sunset Dunes (not my OC!) was hiding information from the iterator populace and sent an announcement where he was....

...sort of bullied in private....

Then started stealing void fluid to use for his tests because Dry World has none or its a very small amount deep down in the core. Void fluid is in wells near/on every iterator can. He did this with the Inspector Class units.

The investigator was an air attack unit, used for dropping charged siphoner/examiner eyes. Siphoners were used for stealing void fluid. Examiners were used for ground attack/defence.

Sifters were used to repair the holes Metal Eating Batflies (SD made) in his superstructure. This plan failed.

Observers were floating signs to tell you to fuck off.

Scrutinizor missiles were missiles launched by a turret on the can.

Now, the metal eating batflies were painful, so he attacks SD, collapsing/melting his superstructure with the Examiners Teslas. (he still survives). As he looses his forces, 6GS wants to make a weapon that would win the war. Right as he is about to make it, one of his legs collapses and that disrupts the effort, breaking it free.

(typo here, in this image, i mean SD when i said 6GS)

(incase you are wondering why he can see the private messages, him collapsing made the system not recognize him as him for a second.)

The weapon was (god here we go) MIND CONTROL ROT. Its purpose was to keep SD and his buddies neutralised, but 6GS collapsed and set it free, mind controling HIM instead.

So everyone thinks 6GS is dead until he makes gibberish broadcasts to lure curious people in so their overseers can get rotted so then they can get rotted, because the rot wants to kill people.

Here comes Snow Reaches Soft Meadows (GOD THIS IMAGE IS SHIT HOW DID I MANAGE TO DRAW HIM SO BAD??????) (ONLY REFERENCE PICTURE OF OLD SNOW :sob:)

Snow was an iterator who wanted to explore 6GS dead corpse. Surprise surprise, he gets rotted, and now the rot has a host with a working factory.

Some time passes and an iterator by the name of Helix HNA (not my OC) makes a hypertumor to kill the rot. They are cured with some scars, 6GS is in shame, and quickly logs off the comms, while having occasional "seizures" where he thinks he is back in the rot again and immense pain and stuff. 6 golden stars is suffering, and thinks he deserved his collapse, so he wants noone to repair him.

Snow, on the other hand, continues on his work...

he has administrator status now.

Something i forgot to tell you: SRSM really liked spying, and keeping his ancient colony in check. He spied on them and crushed rebellions. One time, during the RW/DW indepedence war, he got to lead an entire faction and did horrible things.

He has that power back now.

As you would expect, he has gone full censory informationary 1984 mode.

He gives himself a new, upgraded puppet.

After some time, 6GS keeps speaking out and SRSM is very tired about that.

He factory resets him.

He fixes his can, gives him new clothes, new eyes, a backdoor that allows SRSM to survay him at all times and take control of him sometimes, and a wiped memory.

Now heres the promotion for Dry World RP server you can interact with SRSMS 1984 shenanigans right now!!! https://discord.gg/9sPdSWpbue

(Also 6GS has a GF already, SRSM has no GF)

(little dark age animatic coming soon tooo!!!!!! thats right little dark age (im surprised noone has done a rain world animatic of it tho wierd))

[ammonitetheseaserpent]

I haev so many OC story ideas I’ve been keeping mute abt. NO MORE I SAY-

Scales and Tails - talked abt this one before; there’s dragons. and these lil guys called fribbles (I named em before I found out the word actually existed AAJABSBAGGAGW) all living in this pocket dimension that’s slowly collapsing. details here: https://www.tumblr.com/ammonitetheseaserpent/744352394841817088/hmmm-scales-and-tails-masterpost-3-dragon

Prehysteria (working title) - hmm animated series idea I think abt sometimes. Post-apocalyptic earth with all kinds of sentient prehistoric species. details here: https://www.tumblr.com/ammonitetheseaserpent/712600530702172160/uhhh-who-wants-to-hear-about-the-kinda-crude-so

Pre-Sapient Arts - sort of a story ig? Mostly an excuse for me to draw all sorts of Dinosaurs and other critters. An organization (the aforementioned title is their name) is making all sorts of creatures; the main branch is just doing genetically modified dinos, while the hidden branch is doing… something a bit more. Hidden branch creatures here: https://toyhou.se/BumbleDippity/characters/folder:4401336

Jabber From Tabloid Jungle - so basically there’s this jungle that’s like. the main place of magic on earth. It’s inhabited by a pack of magic dogs, a demon, a birdlike spirit, and a… pretty out-of-place mountain in the middle. I’ve been feeling on-again off-again inspired by pocketss and their comics, and I were to ever do a webcomic, I think I’d want it to be this.

Galvin - some guy named Alvin wakes up as a Gallimimus in a town with a superstitious hatred of dinosaurs. He’s joined by his paleo enthusiast niece, who helps him figure out why he’s a dinosaur now. I have…. no idea what I’ll do with this alansbagtatsgsgsc

Turbulence Time - OOOOOO this one’s one of my favorites. it’s abt a torture dungeon that an eldritch being enhances into something a lot more existentially terrifying. and him and the secret society behind it take over the continent it’s on w/ their practices. It’s v dark and gritty and a little bit inspired by MD

Centennial Paradox - my most recent idea hehe. Takes place on a planet called Edoris, which is afflicted by some sort of time curse where every 100 years, something screwy happens, as if the past were changed. The residents catch onto the weirdness, and build robots that can act outside of time, as well as being aware of any changes made to it. I wanna write this as a book someday

[reach-4-thesky]

Ancient scribes awake me, that means I have been tagged for a game by [@hua-fei-hua]

~~ 15 Questions for 15 Mutuals ~~

1. Are you named after anyone?   > A saint, and it has done nothing but fuel my hubris. 2. when was the last time you cried? 

> I’m not sure, a bit recent tho. 3. Do you have kids? > would you count the creatures that are my ocs as kids? I would count some of them as my children, I would count the rest of them as rabid beasts  4. do you use sarcasm a lot?  > Constantly, too much of the time actually. the funny thing is I am horrible at identifying sarcasm

5. what sports do you play/have played? > used to be very athletic, like constantly doing some sport, then mental illness took over and now I write about stupid little characters 6. what's the first thing you notice about people? > Style? I guess. Not really style but more physical things like people’s shoes since I tend to look down a lot, also hands since I stare at what people do. Jackets too because it tends to make a silhouette.  7. eye color?  > a long time ago, I knew it was hazel, now I am not so sure. so brown 8. scary movies or happy endings? > scary movies but if you make deaths just for the sake of dying then it’s just a boring movie. Happy endings generally can be done better but if it’s not earned or people who deserved happy endings didn’t get them and people who didn’t deserve did get a happy ending, then it’s useless. 9. any special talents? > I have the special ability to collapse onto the floor and ragdoll, it freaks people out sometimes. But it’s perfect for slapstick idiot content. I also am very good at only writing drafts and amazing ideas and doing nothing with them and never finishing a fic. 10. where were you born?  > as far as anyone knows, I wasn’t born 11. what are your hobbies? > There is not enough time in this day-week-month to list down everything. but my main hobby is never shutting up.  12. do you have any pets? > the evil little demons inside my head are in the thousands. 13. how tall are you?  > Taller than most people I know, shorter than a lot of people. 5′11! 14. favorite subject in school? > I like science nonsense, but it was never cultivated well in school but the knowledge is still very fun. Physics is something I enjoyed! I also enjoyed anything that allowed me to do stupid creative bs. Like making a video presentation on video game music. 15. dream job? > Joke answer: writing fanfiction and being paid 7 figures for every fanfiction posted.> Real answer: I love drawing, I love writing, I love designing; something that could allow me to do all of these things and make something I would be genuinely proud of.I tag anyone whose seen this, if you’ve seen this I’m sorry but you are legally obligated to do this by law (you don’t have to!)

[goodeapple]

i had all and then most of you / some and now none of you

II

ya'll really peer pressured me into writing this lmao. i was perfectly content with my little cliffhanger but nooooo. whatevs, hope you all enjoy...

pairing : Aemond x Ysilla (Rhaenyra'sDaughter!OC)

word count : 3908

masterlist

tags : @rainy-day-lady @blonddnamedhandz @hnybitches @highexpectationsgurl @jankityjankjank @signyvenetia

“We can’t keep doing this.” 

Ysilla’s voice is desperate to even her own ears. The breaths she pant out fog the glass, transforming her mirror’s image into muddled blends of black and brown. A flash of white gleams through the fog, Ysilla catching sight of her bethrothed’s actions before she feels them. 

“Mmmmmm…” she watches him drag his nose up the slope of her shoulder, tickling at her collarbone. His breath is warm and slips over her skin like Meeran waters. The candles flicker in their waning light, painting them in shades of orange and yellow. 

“It is improper.” Ysilla’s voice breaks as Aemond’s teeth graze the nape of her neck. He brushes his lips along the scrape in a silent apology before starting a trail of kisses down her spine. 

“It is.” Aemond whispers his agreement into her back, slithering his tongue out to trace a slick line along a slip of skin before he’s interrupted in his conquest of Ysilla’s body by the start of her dress. The rough scratch irritates him so greatly, he draws his blade and drags the fine point swiftly through the offending fabric. 

Golden sleek skin greets him like the sunrise, the rolling valley of her body his to map and conquer. She tastes of salt and spice, and he rolls her tang around his palette like a good summer ale. Relishing in her gasp, Aemond drags the tip of his tongue further down the line of her spine. 

He drops to his knees, his hands rounding the swell of her hips and edging her spliced dress further down her figure. He peeks around her hip to gaze upon her reflection, lips brushing heat along the swell of her ass.  

Ysilla is a painting of lust. Her hair, long undone from the intricate plaits she donned today, tumbles in spiraling waves of ebony down her naked shoulders. Lips swollen by her own teeth’s abuse are ruby red and spit-slick, her skin misted dewy from the heat swimming in from her balcony and Aemond’s touch. She’s gripping the edge of her mirror with such strength that she will have angry red lines cutting her palms, but it is the only thing holding herself up from collapsing to the floor into a pile of helpless want. 

The gown, at one time intricately crafted and sewn, hangs off her body like a burlap sack and Aemond struggles to breathe at the sight of her bare breasts. Two perky swells with buds the color of wilting roses taunt him, swaying deliciously with every rise of her chest, almost as if they’re dancing to their own melody.  

Aemond groans, struck with the memory of how Ysilla went feral when he put his mouth to them a few nights prior. The scratches marring his shoulders still burn from her talons- Aemond wears them with pride. 

Ysilla’s eyes, stormier than the Blackwater’s depths, catch his enamored gaze and she smiles at him.  

It’s a twist of her lips specifically crafted for Aemond himself. She sneaks it at him behind her cup when they break fast, flashes it when he passes her and her youngest brother in the courtyard, and buries it in his shoulder when he presses her into the library stacks. 

It’s heat, heat only those of their blood can stand but there’s something else there too. Something that if Aemond looks too closely at, he might just find his future staring back at him. It’s as jarring as it is tempting. 

Ysilla balances on one foot, dragging her heel behind her and up up up Aemond’s clothed thigh. He’s still on his knees, the stones digging cruelly into him leaving marks proving his devotion to his future wife. 

He widens the spread of his hips, allowing Ysilla to press her heel gently against the laces of his breeches. Aemond shudders, a sight Ysilla drinks in like cool water on a dry day and she battles the urge to squeeze her thighs together for a taste of relief. Having him like this, so willing for her, to let her do anything to him, makes a tightness coil in her belly. 

She rocks her foot in rhythm, stroking the length of his manhood gingerly, committing every vein and every ridge to memory. Ysilla can’t wait to have every heavenly inch stretch her open. 

Aemond lashes out without warning, gripping her ankle tightly and Ysilla knows her time in charge has halted. This game they play, she hopes they never tire of it. It’s the most alive she’s felt, the most true she’s felt, for as long as she can recall.

“If you continue on like that, I’m going to cum in my trousers.” The breathiness to his voice strikes pride in Ysilla’s chest and she grins salaciously at the blonde. His gray eye locks onto her and her smile wavers. The promise lying there, the promise to make her pay splendidly for her little game is nearly enough to make her feel faint. 

“And if I am to cum anywhere, it’ll be in your precious cunt, niece.” Aemond finishes his declaration with a bite to her calf and Ysilla buckles with a strangled moan. 

Aemond rises like the moon at nightfall behind her, his hands mapping over the rises and dips of her body that he’s come to memorize in the few weeks since their initial betrothal. 

“Or maybe,” his thumb drifts over the roundness of her cheek, sweeping a sweaty lock of hair to her other shoulder as he presses himself flush against her back. “Maybe I’ll paint your pretty face with my seed. Might aim for your tongue as you can’t seem to close your mouth. I would pair so nicely with the shade of your lips.” 

Ysilla laughs through the desire threatening to crumble her. Coming from a man that has already been on his knees for her tonight, it’s a rich statement. 

A muscle in Aemond’s jaw twitches. 

“I want to hear you say it.”

Ysilla groans her annoyance, arching her bare back into a swooping dip, pressing her backside into the curve of Aemond’s hips. Ysilla grins viciously at the steel press of his cock through the leather of his breeches; so desperate for her as she is for him. 

She thinks briefly of playing the fool, widening her eyes and blinking owlishly in mock confusion.  

Say what, my Prince? on the tip of her tongue, waiting to tempt the dragon into a handling harsh enough to bruise her skin. 

But the sweet agony brewing between her thighs makes her pliant and obedient. 

“I want you, Aemond.” His name on her lips must be what the Seven feel when they hear the prayers made to them. She speaks it as both a curse and a plea. 

Ysilla pours every ounce of want into the look she aims at Aemond in the mirror. It nearly knocks him over. 

“I want your cock. I want you to be the only to have me like this. I want you to make me yours… make me your wife.” 

His heartbeat pounds against her back, flying higher than Vhagar and his blood screeching in his veins as the winged beast does. A power he’s never known ignites in his soul, casting his insides to burning embers. 

To have Ysilla beneath him this way, more wanton than a tavern slut, casting all decorum off herself as she does her dresses off her person when he arrives at her quarters in the fall of night is a crowning glory. After hearing the prophecy from his mother, Aemond wears his regalness on the ease of his shoulders, kept broad and high at attention, the realm’s future king consort he’ll be. His ivory head is a perfect fit for the crown. 

The vision of Ysilla beside him (more like him beside her, which Aemond finds he doesn’t object to as much as he thought he would,) draped in jewels and silks in the hues of their house, her dark shadowy locks the differing color to his stark white mane, and their subjects bowing before them brings the young prince to his knees. 

His Targaryean bride, suited so well for him. Almost if destiny Herself fated the two together.

Knock, knock, knock. 

Three sharp raps against her chamber door stills the two lovers.

Aemond’s eyes cut to Ysilla’s in the mirror, his arms circling her waist and bringing her tighter against him. Her hands rise to cover her chest and Aemond tries not to whine like a petulant child. 

“One of your handmaids?” He whispers so low Ysilla has to read his lips in their reflection. 

Ysilla frowns, shaking her head. 

“They know not to bother me this late.” 

Knock. Knock. Knock.  

More insistent this time and Ysilla huffs out an annoyed puff of air. She pulls at the straps of her dress only for them to slip gracelessly back down her arms. 

She aims a glare at the blonde in the mirror. 

“This was a gift from my brothers.” 

Aemond raises a brow in false interest. 

“Must’ve been why it was so easy to shred. Cheap material.” Aemond catches her sharp elbow before it makes meeting with his ribs. He smiles sweetly at the fury brightening her eyes an alluring violet. She looks so ravishing in her anger.

“Don’t fret, little one. I’ll buy you enough gowns to fill every corner of the throne room.” The wet kiss he drops behind her ear makes her eyes fall shut, and Ysilla wonders if they just ignore the uninvited guest at the door, they might take hint and fuck off. 

But another booming knock, this one sounding as if they’re attempting to come through the door, finally makes the two lovers tear themselves in two. 

Ysilla throws a shawl over her shoulders, situating herself awkwardly to keep her dress up and modesty protected. Aemond adjusts himself stiffly in his breeches, wincing at the unforgiving leather trapping him against his thigh. Ysilla grins lecherously at her counterpart, stepping backwards to the door, putting distance she wishes to cross immediately the further it grows. Aemond flashes her a smirk, heat still swimming in his eyes as he holds her smokey gaze, walking unseeing back towards the open balcony he snuck through when she was readying herself for bed.

Ysilla lets the silken shawl slip innocently down her shoulders, flashing her betrothed a final peek at the swell of her tits busting out of her slackened neckline, his love bites bestowed earlier already purpling along the fragile skin. 

Aemond digs his nails into the stone of the balcony ledge, fighting every instinct he has to clear the railing back into Ysilla’s room and drag her into her sheets. 

“I’ll see you soon.” His voice carries his promise across the stones to her ears and she bids him a wink before he disappears silently over the railing. 

Ysilla sighs a final disappointed sound, before taking her anger out on her chamber door’s knob, wrenching the wood open with a screeching creek of its hinges. 

Ysilla stops short, annoyance draining from her like a pot with a leak at the greeting of Ser Criston Cole in her entryway. 

The candles throw rays of light off his silver breastplate, blinding her with his honor and duty. He stands at attention, hands clasped behind his back and chin held high. His face is as blank as the armor encapsulating him. 

“Ser Criston…” Ysilla hopes the breathlessness in her voice can be dismissed as surprise rather than the desire still coating her inner thighs. 

The knight looks her over swiftly before bowing his head forward. 

“Princess Ysilla, my apologies for the lateness of the hour and my disturbance.” 

Ysilla nods her acknowledgment, twisting her fingers tighter through the shawl’s knot at her throat. Her skin raises in goose flesh at the knowledge of how bare she is underneath the thin slip. 

“I’ve come because I cannot seem to find the Prince in his chambers or in his usual holdings.”

Ysilla breathes evenly, her heartbeat a steady thrum she can feel behind her ears. 

“I haven’t seen Aegon in quite some time, Ser.” 

Something cinches in Ser Criston’s face, and Ysilla wonders if she imagines the burst of animosity that clouds his eyes or if it’s been there all along. 

“Aemond, Princess. I speak of Prince Aemond.” He shifts in his stance, becoming more of a permanence in her archway rather than a passing visitor. 

Ysilla knows a bait when she hears one. How many times had her mother questioned her about where her stitch work had gone, knowing full well that it was floating in the tide pools? Or how Laenor would ask her what she wished for on her name day, when he had seen her clearing room for more books on her shelves?

A man asking a question he already knows the answer to is one to be met with redirection and aloofness. 

Or in this case, complete fibbing. 

“I wouldn’t know, Ser.” Ysilla makes sure to pull her brows together in the center, stitching them into a line of ignorance. Her eyes betray only confusion. “I haven’t seen Aemond since we joined our families for dinner.” 

Ysilla doesn’t feel a shred of guilt at the lie that spills like wine from her lips. 

She concedes there are worse things to be done- murder, treachery, heresy; stealing away with her future husband to acquaint themselves with the nuances of each other’s bodies seems forgivable enough. 

If only Ysilla wasn’t betrayed by her own morality, jumping at every bird chirp and clattering echo from the castle outside her chamber door. The honor of her family has already been tainted by rumors and whispers and if it were to come to light that Ysilla couldn’t wait a fortnite before fucking her future husband, she’s sure her mother would flog her. 

But the thought of being away from Aemond now, of passing him in the halls and staring through him as if he were a ship’s sail in a breeze makes Ysilla feel as if she’s swallowed sand. 

She’s taken with him, wholly, fully, and while she’s never endured the heavy hand of love before, Ysilla thinks this must be what it feels like. 

In for a penny, in for a pound. 

“Please,” she sweeps the door open, sending a gust of castle air into her chambers, “Come see for yourself.” 

If Ser Criston is surprised, he doesn’t let on, sparing a second before waltzing into her room with purpose. 

“You remind me much of your mother,” Ser Criston remarks, eyes fixed disinterestedly on her room’s sparse belongings, peering into every corner and nook, hoping for Aemond to materialize through sheer will. Ysilla bites her tongue to keep from asking if he wished to peek under the bed.

Her eyebrow twitches at the comment, the tone of his words prickling something in the back of her head. 

Ser Criston snorts at her expression, a mocking sound accompanying the look eclipsing his face. 

“Do not take that as the compliment you are choosing to hear it as, girl.” 

He plucks a crudely carved wooden dragon off her table, a name day present from Joff that she accepted with flourish and gusto, examining it with a critical eye. Sneering, he lets it clatter back on the table, shaking the nearby candles so that their flame’s dance and away before settling. 

Ysilla considers he might be intimidating in another world, with his broad shoulders and towering height. His longsword gleams its lethality even in the dusky dimness of night. 

But Ysilla was raised in part by a man who rode a dragon since he could walk, who had recounted tales of crab king’s heads on spikes at bedtime, who severed her great-uncle’s head in two for insulting her mother and her siblings. Ysilla is far from impressed. 

She has no reason to treat this man as anything more than who he is- a complete and utter cunt.

“I would watch your tongue if I were you, Ser Criston. The last man who voiced his thoughts on my mother didn’t fare too well. It would be a shame to waste such handsomeness on an ill choice of words.” 

Ser Criston’s glower would roast her alive if she didn’t relish in the burn. 

Hesitation lances through her but it doesn’t halt the damning words tumbling from her mouth; it’s the first time she's been within a foot’s breadth of him since that day in the small council room. She has to ask him now or she fears she won’t get the chance again. She wonders if this might spell the end for her. How poetically tragic it would be to perish at the hands of her… Ysilla isn’t sure what to address him as, even in the privacy of her own thoughts.

“Who were you to my mother?” 

Ser Criston’s hands turn to fists, the sharp crinkling of his chainmail shattering the stillness of the hushed evening air. His face is still sullen and vacant, but his eyes reveal the hatred he so obviously holds for her mother. 

Ysilla hates that even in this moment, even with him unveiling his true feelings, she feels a touch of pity for him. 

“No one of importance, I can assure you.” 

Ser Criston seems to reach the end of his rope with her, his dark eyes shuttering closed, the deep depths of them no longer lit with fury but now as chilled as Winterfell snow. 

“I apologize for interrupting your evening, Princess.” There’s distance between them now that cannot be measured in length. Ysilla has crossed an ocean that seemed shorter than what separates them now. 

Ysilla keeps her mouth shut, untrusting of herself not to speak something that cannot be unsaid. That cannot be taken back. 

Who are you to me?  

Ser Criston takes her silence as dismissal, exiting in long, sure strides past her still form and closing the door behind him with a soft brush of the wood. 

Ysilla’s eyes burned dryly. 

Who am I to you? 

.

.

.

“There is… somewhat of a problem we need to discuss.” 

Rhaenyra rubs at her temples, yearning for nothing more than a good long soak in a near-boiling tub and a goblet of wine big enough to drown in. 

But a queen’s work is never done, more so, a queen that has yet to be crowned. 

Alicent groans a sound so undignified it couldn’t possibly come from a former Queen Regent. 

The servants have retired for the night at the order of the two royal ladies so it is only them, illuminated by the roaring fire in the small council room’s hearth. 

In this moment, the titles of the women have been shed at the door and they sit apart from each other as old friends and current acquaintances. 

And soon, future mother-in-laws. 

“Are you aware we nearly got to the end of the first day where we wouldn’t have had to deal with a problemmm?” Alicent gulps her cup down and Rhaenyra grits her teeth and stares hard at the red jeweled chalice. The war battling in her mind threatens to spill from her ears. 

“I have something to share with you.”

Alicent’s eyes roll to her, seriousness registering in her gaze as she catches the discomfort on Rhaenyra’s face. Alicent straightens her posture, setting the goblet atop the table. She tries not to pick anxiously at a loose hangnail along her finger. 

Rhaenyra clears her throat, finding a spot not quite Alicent’s eyes to focus on.

“At the start of this year, I decided that Ysilla was to marry. She had come of age and I knew that as the year started to pass, and with my impending ascension to the throne coming closer with each day,” Rhaenyra pauses at the admittance, her father’s shadow forever too large to extinguish. The grief is a thick ball in her throat as she continues on. 

“I wanted to have time to focus on matching her for love, if even possible, rather than duty. I didn’t want the crown to impair my judgment of what was best for her.” 

Rhaenyra could have killed a man for a bottle of Dorne’s finest in that moment. 

“So I decided on a ball, of sorts. A celebration… a courting. To take place at the end of this month. It is to be held at Dragonstone, in the comfort of Ysilla’s home.” Rhaenyra locked eyes with Alicent’s stare. “Daemon and I had already sent ravens to all the houses with eligible suitors before we sailed here.”

Alicent’s forehead wrinkles in her confusion. 

“So send new ones informing them of our children’s betrothal.”

Rhaenyra wants to throttle the redhead, the urge to shake some sense into her pulsing in Rhaenyra’s fists. The final days of her pregnancy and the beginning days of her reign a strain upon her shoulders. 

She longs for her husband, for her bed, and for peace. She longs for her father. 

“How would that look, Alicent? To extend an invitation to our neighboring kingdoms, an invitation of marriage to the daughter of the future Queen, and then to snatch it back so carelessly?” Rhaenyra winced, stroking her belly at Visenya’s kick that rocks through her abdomen. 

“I already have too many eyes watching for me to fall. I can’t begin my reign with such an act. The ball must go on.”  

She rests her gaze upon the table’s illustrated map of Westeros.

Alicent’s outrage drapes over the room like a thick blanket.

“There’s more to think about here than just your reign now.”

Rhaenyra murmurs something unintelligible, tracing the Narrow Sea with her fingertips.

“They’re already taken with each other, Rhaenyra!” 

“I know.” 

“They think they’re so suave and so secretive, but Seven Hell’s, if those two could ignite fire with the looks they aim at each other when they think themselves alone, the entire castle would be ablaze.” 

“I know, Alicent.” 

“When Ysilla fainted, Aemond nearly shoved me out of the window trying to get to her first.” 

“Alicent.” Rhaenyra hissed, palm flattening the Bay of Pentos with a smack. “I know.” 

Alicent keeps her gaze, sighing out a tired breath. She feels so much older than her years. 

“I’m her mother. That girl is more of me than she’ll ever know… more of me than I’ll ever admit. That is why I wanted her to make her own choice.” Rhaenyra shifts uncomfortably, the past spread out between the two women still too mountainous to summit. 

Alicent wanted to feel some sense of vindication, some source of victory at the admittance from her former friend about her blatant uncouthness. Maybe if it were a different day and a different Alicent, she would’ve felt the rush of righteousness at her triumph.

But this was after she had felt Viserys’ hot, dying breath at her ear, had listened to the dreadful final days of her family laid forth in a vision, creeping ever closer with the path that she was barreling down. 

Alicent only felt the worry that held her heart in a vice now.

“Does Ysilla know of these plans?” 

Rhaenyra looks away in something akin to shame. Alicent heaves a sigh, and slouches down in her chair. Retrieving the bottle of wine, she splashes a few drops into her former step-daughter's cup and empties the rest into her own.

“She will soon enough.”

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thank you endlessly for all the love. means more to me than i can type ❤️🔥

[noteguk]

bad attitude | jjk | m

[ ! ] this is part of the bad influence collection. You can read it as a stand-alone though! 

— summary; in which Jungkook finally learns how to behave. Kind of. 

— contents and warnings; pwp, smut, badboy!jk x goodgirl!reader, enemies with benefits/enemies to lovers, brattysub!kook x dom!reader, actually more of a switch!kook/switch!reader, the oc is kind of a demon with teasing because payback is a bitch, bondage, edging, dirty talk, begging, oral (m receiving), female masturbation, cockwarming, unprotected sex (don’t be dumb), creampie, stuffing, Taehyung makes a cameo, terrible use of the two wolves meme I’m so sorry 

— words; 7,2k 

— author’s note; yes I started this with a meme and no I’m not okay. This is kind of chaotic tbh but I wanted to write something a bit more unhinged and lighthearted after all that drama from the third part of the series. This happens some time after bad reputation. 

Also! Take a look at the text messages that brought them to this moment ;) 

Probably one of the dumbest things that Jungkook had ever heard came from his roommate and childhood friend, Taehyung, after a few hours scrolling through Facebook with a blunt hanging from the corner of his lips. Taehyung was in the deep web equivalent of social media: entrepreneur pages, where young, overly-dressed men with obviously rented convertibles promised to teach gullible people how to become millionaires by working at home (if you only pay for their courses). Nevertheless, what started as an ironic scroll through shallow motivational quotes quickly escalated into a semi-believable, mostly high rant about the importance of controlling your inner demons, which Jungkook sadly had to endure, since he was the only person around and, therefore, his roommate's sole target. 

Taehyung was high out of his mind, but it seemed as if he would be the last to get that memo: in his twisted conception, he was spilling the hottest of truths (and not the incoherent ramble that it really was). Fighting through Jungkook’s complaints and eye rolls, he simply went on and on about how the page “Alpha Billionaire 101” wasn’t really that off beat when they said that you do, in fact, have two wolves inside you — and the one you feed is the one that wins. Jungkook was basically disassociating by the point that Taehyung started drawing some graphs, looking fixedly at the two wolves on the screen of his computer (one written “success and drive” and the other one representing “failure and procrastination”) and wishing that the gods above would strike him down once and for all. 

And why is that important? Well, because eventually Taehyung fell asleep and moved on with his life, only casually mentioning the other stuff he saw on that page, but his words stuck around, glued to the back of Jungkook’s head. Not because they held any sort of meaning, but because the wolf metaphor was just too stupid to forget. And that eventually caught up to Jungkook in the strangest, most unexpected of ways: with you and bondage being involved. 

Now, Jungkook had two wolves inside of him: one was extremely laid back and barely cared about most things that happened, as long as he was having a good time. The second wolf was a bitter, prideful, egocentric, mean little thing that simply wouldn’t fold no matter how much the world wanted it to. And it was that second wolf that took him to that position: because Jungkook told you that he was positive, certain, a hundred percent sure that he’d never be like you and beg for something during sex. 

Which made both of your wolves absolutely pissed. 

“What the fuck…” he mumbled, looking up at your agile hands moving like wasps around his wrists. The room was dark, barely illuminated by the moonlight that came from the window, but that wasn’t really the reason why his pupils were so blown-out. “Where did you learn to tie knots like this?” 

You smiled, giving a last pull on the ropes to make sure they would stay still. Jungkook had been elated when you finally told him that you’d be willing to try it out bondage. One thing he didn’t expect, though, was that he would be the one getting tied up. “I was in the Girl Scouts,” you told him, sitting back against his thighs. 

Jungkook scoffed, tugging at the ropes. They weren’t too tight, yet they burned his skin a bit — not an unwelcome feeling, but his mind wasn’t too focused on it. He had to live up to his own words. “Of course you were in the fucking Girl Scouts.” He rolled his eyes. “So, how long is this gonna take?”

His gaze followed as your hands unclasped your bra. Jungkook, who had already been stripped down to his boxers, could barely disguise the twitching of his eyebrows when your breasts finally came into view. The bra collapsed somewhere on the floor. “Depends on how long it takes for you to say it,” you reminded him. 

Jungkook shifted around, gaze following the rise and fall of your chest. His hands struggled against the ropes, aching to touch your breasts, and you could notice the frustration blossoming at the back of his throat when he spoke up. “I’m not gonna say it.” 

With a pout, you leaned back in, placing your hands on his broad chest for leverage. “Then it’s probably going to take a long time.” You blinked up at him, and there was a devilish glint in your eyes that he didn’t remember seeing before. He was doomed. “Comfortable?”

“Not at all,” he complained. 

The smile you gifted him made his knees weak for a second. “Perfect.” Your hands traveled to the back of his neck, fingers playing with his hair and eyes zeroing in on his mouth. “Now, be good and kiss me like you mean it, okay?” 

Be good? 

Jungkook didn’t get any time to digest your words before your mouth was pressing against his, enveloping him in your warmth — and suddenly he didn’t want to think about anything else. How could he? When you had your hands caressing his neck, with a soft sigh against his lips, there was nothing else in the world that could rob his attention. 

In the end, past his brooding, unshakable persona, Jungkook was still a weak man when it came to you, he really was. It had become a natural, well-rehearsed reaction of his to explore your mouth with his tongue at every chance that he got; your lips slapping together as he groaned against you. The skin of his wrists was tingling, pressing hard against the ropes that held his hands back from exploring your body; from pulling you closer like he wanted to. Instead, he was at your mercy, following your own pace as you leaned your head to the side, fingers tugging on his hair as you sighed happily into the kiss. 

It was exactly the way he liked: sensual, slow, messy; made his head spin when you rolled your clothed center on his erection before sucking on his tongue. Jungkook was sure that you were doing all that on purpose, riling him up as much as possible before finally touching him where he needed so much, and that was definitely going to be a problem. 

In the back of his head, Jungkook was currently trying to decide if he hated Taehyung or not: the fact that his roommate had compulsively chosen to attend a party three hours away was the reason that you were there, kissing him like he was the air that you breathed, but also the reason why Jungkook had gotten tied up in the first place. If he had had a bit more time between texting you that he would never beg in sex (a very dumb, very unthought action), and the moment that you actually tried to make it happen, perhaps he would be able to convince you to step down from it. Perhaps he would realize that his prideful side was also really, really fucking stupid when it came to predicting his own limits. 

Truth was: Jungkook was pretty much panicking when you moaned against his lips, because his cock was unbearably hard inside his underwear and he just knew that he would fold after some time. Especially when you were acting like that, like a demon trying to seduce him into selling his soul; a siren about to drag him to the abyssal depths of the ocean. He could barely follow what was happening. 

Because of his dominating tendencies, Jungkook had never seen you showing your typical neurotic, controlling self during your sexual adventures — which was something he endlessly teased you for, but never thought it would actually have any sort of backlash. It seemed that both of you liked the usual dynamic (of Jungkook taking over) well enough and, yet, as he watched that sadistic expression monopolizing your features, he realized that maybe it was for the best. Maybe you had been training your whole life to perfect the masterful art of having things happening the way you wanted it, and maybe giving you the lead was one of the worst decisions he had made in some time. 

As you pulled away, Jungkook chased after your mouth, managing to place another small kiss on your lips before the ropes held him back. “More,” he groaned. 

The curve of your mouth was a wicked little thing, almost making him lose his composure for a second. “No, no more,” you were firm in your words. “Be patient.” 

He huffed. “You only got an attitude because my hands are tied up.”

“I always have an attitude,” you were fast to correct, getting out of his lap. The lack of your warmth was instantly felt, made his chest heave in frustration as you sat down next to him. There was an embarrassingly large wet spot on his underwear that he was hoping you wouldn’t notice. “But, yeah, maybe I’m a little braver because of it.” Before he could muster up a response, one of your hands traveled between his thighs, faintly tracing its way up his skin. “And what are you going to do about it?” 

Jungkook clenched his jaw — it was embarrassing how sensitive he was, goosebumps spreading through his legs. “Don’t tease."

“Or what?” A squeeze of his bulge was everything you need to make him shut up, his hips buckling up to meet your palm. Jungkook was hard and leaking, pulsating as you gave him a few, half-assed pumps through his underwear. A few seconds were more than enough to let him have his fun, it seemed, because you were soon removing your hand from his erection. “Now, stay still unless you want me to tie your feet too.” 

He hissed at the lack of contact, but refused to complain about it out loud. You smiled at his reaction: Jungkook was so stubborn when it came to things like that, would never show you his weak, needy side so easily. But you were patient and, from what you had been told, you had all night to get your way. 

Call it revenge, call it whatever: there was nothing that you wanted more than to see Jungkook bite back his own words and beg for you. It was an ego thing, perhaps, the mission to leave him just as overwhelmed and desperate as he had made you so many times in the past. Maybe you were a bit mean about it. But it was well deserved. 

You took your time pulling one of his legs towards you, watching as his cock throbbed when you placed your body between his thighs. Jungkook could only think about how soft your mouth felt as you kissed up his thigh before, at last, you were nuzzling your face against his erection, placing kisses on his clothed member as your thumb pressed down on his sensitive tip. His breath grew irregular at the feeling, his tongue poking out to wet his lips as you looked up at him with that demonic smirk of yours, those big doe eyes that wiped his thoughts clean. Jungkook was absolutely fucked. 

Luckily, he didn’t have to urge you further because, soon enough, you were pulling his underwear down, making it join your bra on his bedroom floor. Jungkook could’ve cried when you rolled your thumb over his crown, spreading his precum all over him, a delighted hum dripping past your throat. “You’re leaking,” you commented, eyes following the glistening of his reddened tip. He could only muster a raggedy, short sigh before you were talking again. “I can clean you up, don’t worry.” 

Jungkook moaned out when you wrapped your lips around his cock, not hesitating much before you sank down on him. His head fell back when you started sucking, your cheeks hollowing out and tongue pressed flat against him. “God, your mouth feels so fucking perfect.” His hips thrusted up, but you had enough of a reflex to pull away before he managed to hit the back of your throat. “Take it deeper, baby, do it for me.”

But you did the opposite, removing him from your mouth. You glanced up at him with a disinterested look plastered all over your face, lips glossy with a beautiful mixture of your saliva and his wetness. Jungkook made a mental note to never forget that sight. “I don’t know if you understand what’s going on here, Jungkook.” You wrapped one hand around his cock, pumping it twice. It felt good, but nothing compared to your mouth. “But it’s really not your place to tell me what to do right now. That’s not how it works.” 

“Yeah?” He chuckled, eyebrows raised in a silent dare. “And what are you going to do about it?” 

Poor decisions: Jungkook’s week was filled with poor decisions. Blame that unshakable arrogant side of his, blame his terribly constructed defense mechanisms; blame whatever it was that didn’t allow him to think clearly when you were so beautifully placed between his legs, but it seemed that he really thought it would be a good call to provoke you when you were already 1) deadset on making him embarrass himself 2) probably the best Girl Scout to ever tie a knot in history. 

Jungkook was completely helpless: he knew that, you knew that. So the reason why he mocked you in such a position would forever be another mystery that science could never answer. 

And the payback arrived soon enough. Jungkook only earned a few seconds of relaxation, staring at your impassive face, before your mouth was sinking back down around his member. 

If Jungkook thought that you were teasing him before, now you were sucking him like you wanted him to cum in two seconds — hands pumping his length, playing with his balls, tip hitting your throat, tongue dragging against his slit: the four horsemen of your apocalyptic blowjob technique that got him seeing stars in no time. “Fuck, that’s my girl,” he moaned. He was sure his wrists would be all red in the following morning from the way he was mindlessly moving his arms around, his mind just so hyper-focused on the need to touch you, to pull your hair when you were wrapping around his cock so well. “Feels so fucking perfect.” 

Then, as he was just about to tip over, you pulled away. 

“No, what the fuck,” Jungkook’s eyes snapped open, still unfocused and glazed-over. His body flinched at the interruption of his pleasure, and his cock throbbing against his pelvis, angry for attention. “Fuck, why did you stop?”

“That’s what I’m going to do about it.” You smiled, and Jungkook noticed that he was really playing a very dangerous game. In a span of two seconds, he asked himself if he was that mean to you, realized that he probably was, and came to terms with the fact that he wouldn’t change anything about it. “Are you going to behave now, Jungkook?” 

He groaned, fighting against the frustrated waves that overtook his body. His orgasm, before so close, had now been washed away, leaving him with a pulsating feeling inside his guts. “You’re pissing me off.”

“Likewise.” You tilted your head to the side, placing one hand on his thigh. “Now, stay still and do what I tell you to do. That’s the last time I’m asking.” 

He frowned. “Or what?”

You blinked, pausing for a second. “Isn’t it obvious? Or I’m leaving you like this.” 

Jungkook’s brain finally seemed to comprehend the fact that, sometimes, it’s better to keep your mouth shut. So, instead of saying something, he simply watched as you removed your underwear before sitting between his legs, your thighs over his. 

Because you absolutely hated him, you had opened your legs wide, pussy on full display, as you used one hand to lean back against the mattress. His eyes almost jumped out of their sockets when you used two fingers to spread your folds apart. “Look,” you said, your breathy voice making something inside his chest switch. “I’m so wet.” 

And wet you were. Jungkook exhaled, nostrils flaring. His mouth salivated at the thought of licking you clean, fingers growing white around the ropes. He never hated an object so hard in his life. “I can… I can see that.” 

You giggled at the grogginess of his tone, dove into the satisfaction that came from his focused eyes on your soaked folds. A gentle suspire left you as your digits slipped up, covering your clit with your arousal before pressing down on it. You were acting up a bit, whining loudly at the feeling because you knew that it drove him crazy to hear you make sounds for him. “Jungkook…” you trailed off. You had to bite back a laugh when his stare snapped up at you, looking so overwhelmingly horny and pissed off at the same time — the duality of men. “Want to have you inside me.” 

He exhaled heavily. “Do it,” he said and you allowed him to think that it was his order (and not your decision) that made you move. 

Jungkook’s pupils were blown out in sheer desire, wanting to absorb every light that bounced off your soft skin when you lined yourself with his cock, covering his tip with your warm wetness, allowing it to rub between your folds. By the time that you sat down on him, he was dangerously close to cracking. 

“Oh fuck.” His hips thrusted up, wanting to feel more of your tight walls around him. It was heaven and hell, just the way he loved it, but his delight wouldn’t last long. “Fuck, baby, that feels so good.”

“It does,” you agreed, but there was a teasing inflection in your tone that he did not miss. Soon, your fingers were back where they were before, circling your clit. “And I happen to know how to make it even better. For myself, at least.” 

It took him a few moments to understand what was going on, but, once it clicked inside his head, he could’ve cried from frustration. “What are you doing?”

“Getting myself off.” You smiled — oh you were such a fucking demon, he thought, a trickster spirit that wouldn’t rest until he was begging you to let him cum. Worst part? He might as well do it. “You don’t mind, do you? I know you love to keep your cock inside me like this.” 

They say that revenge is sweet and, as you saw the flash of desperation that crossed Jungkook’s face, you couldn’t agree more. “Aren’t… aren’t you going to move?” He tried. 

You could tell that he was holding back from just thrusting up inside you, which was equally satisfying and arousing: maybe, just maybe, he was starting to learn one thing or two about following your orders. “Hmmm… not at all.” You smirked, a tiny gasp leaving your lips as you circled your sensitive spot just the right way. Jungkook followed the movement of your lips as if they were writing the secrets of the universe. “Not if you keep that attitude up.” 

He frowned, the corners of his mouth twitching in frustration. From your peripheral vision, you could see his wrists vaguely struggling against your knots — humbly speaking, you were a great Girl Scout, the typical overachiever, and you were positive that they would hold up. 

“You’re going to regret this later,” Jungkook warned, but his words didn’t even have the chance to affect you. One clenching of your walls around him was all that it took for his head to roll back, a deep grunt dripping from his mouth at the sensation. It was just enough to keep him dangling over the edge, but not even close to making him cum. “Your pussy is so fucking tight, baby. Feels so fucking good.”

“I’m almost there, that’s why.” Your other hand slithered up your waist, cupping one of your breasts. Being a bit more theatrical than necessary (because you wanted to provoke him as much as you could), you gasped out his name as you rolled one nipple between your fingers, arching your back at the sensation. You swore you saw Jungkook’s eye twitch. “Gonna cum just like this. And you’re gonna be good and watch me.” 

Again with that be good bullshit, again not giving him enough time to process it before you were timidly rolling your hips. “Baby,” he gasped. “This isn’t fair.” 

“It isn’t,” you agreed, slightly breathless, your hand moving to play with your other breast. Jungkook followed the action like every part of you was magnetic, calling for his attention. “You do that to me all the time, though.” 

He frowned. “But I let you fucking touch me.” 

“How nice of you,” you sarcastically remarked. Another small roll of your hips made you gasp, fingers working faster around your clit. Teasing Jungkook got you shamefully turned on, it seemed, because you were just about to tip over the edge. “Fuck, feels so good.” 

“It would feel so much better if you just— God, you’re so fucking wet,” his mind was barely functioning at that point, the heavenly feeling of your walls clenching around him was making him go insane. “Just ride my cock, baby.” 

“No,” that simple word was like an arrow, shooting all his hopes down. Jungkook closed his eyes and threw his head back, trying to fight against the claustrophobic nature of his position. There was no way he could hold himself back, he thought, he would beg you as many times as he needed it that was what it took for him to finally cum. “I’m close, Kook.” 

That whimpery, needy tone of yours would be the death of him one of those days. “I can fucking feel it,” he cursed. Jungkook just wanted to thrust inside your dripping pussy, make you cream his cock like you were made for it, but he knew that you would just stop everything again if he did so, and he seriously didn’t think he could take that. “S-Shit, baby, you don’t know what you’re doing to me.” 

But you had a good idea of how you were affecting him. Through parted lids, you watched as his face contorted in pleasure when you squeezed particularly tightly around him; a muffled sob perishing on his throat when you vaguely raised your hips. Jungkook was filling you up so perfectly, like he always did, and it was that amazing stretch of his cock inside you, combined with the clear hunger that covered his features, that pulled your climax towards you. 

The orgasm that washed over you was abrupt, overbearing, just blinding enough so you didn’t notice the weak little moans that Jungkook let out at the throbbing of your walls around his aching length. You tried to prolong it for as long as possible, rubbing yourself, crying out his name for theatrical reasons, but eventually sensitivity got the best of you and you stopped. 

What you found when you did, however, was a glorious sight. Jungkook was a perfect picture of lust and desperation, his chest rising and falling rapidly and eyes locked on where your two bodies joined. There was a thin coat of sweat all over his skin, the small sound of the  ropes pulling on the headboard. When he noticed you were staring, he found your gaze. “I- I stood still,” he said. 

“I know, you did so good.” You placed one hand on his cheek, leveling your face with his so you could kiss him. Jungkook melted under your touch, a deep sigh leaving his mouth as you pulled away, his cock still deep inside you. “I’m proud of you.” 

As if something had magically changed, Jungkook tried to fight against his immobilized hands, only to find out that he was still unable to free himself. “Wanna touch you so bad, baby. You look so fucking hot sitting on my cock like this.” Jungkook was spoiled, you realized, because it didn’t take him two seconds of good behavior to revert back to what he wanted to happen. It was a terrible habit, you realized, one that you probably helped enable. “Fuck, just let me cum, baby. Take these off and I’ll fuck you just the way you like it.” 

And maybe if you weren’t so high up in your power rush, you would’ve at least considered his offer. However, having Jungkook turned into a pliant mess beneath you was worth more than anything else at that moment. “I’ll think about it if you say the magic word.”

He frowned, his charm melting away. Jungkook was so adamant on having it his way that it bordered on a joke. “Not gonna do it.” 

You kissed him once again before speaking up. “Then we don’t have a deal.” You shook your head, moving away from him. Jungkook searched after your mouth, but your stupid Girl Scouts knots didn’t allow him to go much further. He collapsed back against the headboard with a frustrated groan. “You’re a terrible sub.”

“Maybe because I’m not a fucking sub— Shit.” All his thoughts were wiped clean when you slowly raised your hips, only leaving his engorged tip inside, before, finally, sitting back down. The drag of your velvety walls against his sensitive cock was driving Jungkook up the wall, his tied-up wrists mindlessly knocking against each other. “Fuck. I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” You pouted, repeating the movement. You watched as his jaw clenched, a sharp exhale leaving his nostrils as Jungkook both fought against and searched for his pleasure. “Sure you don’t wanna say it?” 

A deliciously slow roll of your hips got him gasping out. “I’m not gonna — fuck — not gonna say it.” 

You leaned your head to the side, stopping your movements. Jungkook’s abdomen was caving in with every small brush of your pussy around him, the illumination from the streets making the drops of sweat on his skin look like small diamonds. It was an erotic sight, from the falling of his dark hair over his hooded eyes, to the beautiful inked drawings on his arms. Unfortunately, you had other things to do other than to admire him endlessly. 

With a sigh, you got up from his lap. “Too bad.”

“Baby,” Jungkook whined — actually whined —  when he felt his cock slip out of your perfect heat, collapsing against his abdomen. The sensation got him flinching, made him bite his lip for a second in an attempt to compose himself. “Baby, don’t leave me like this, come on.”

You frowned, faking annoyance. “How can I not leave you like this, Jungkook?” Your palms slithered around his shoulders, pulling your body closer to his. “You’re being horrible right now.” 

“S-Sorry.” His breath caught in his throat when your mouth met the skin of his neck, tongue prodding out to lick a small trail up his skin. Your heat was unbearable, suffocating him and drowning out his thoughts to the point that he had really apologized for his poor demeanor. If your predictions were correct, it wouldn’t take long before he folded the way you wanted him to. “Just, come on, you can’t just— I’m just so hard right now.” 

You giggled, fingertips moving down on his chest until you found what you were looking for. “Aw. Poor thing,” you teased, feeling as he grew stiff when you started to play with his nipples. A few weeks back, you had made the wonderful and unexpected discovery that Jungkook was really sensitive there, but you never really had a chance to explore that side of him before he flipped you over and had you his way. But the universe always searched for balance, and that moment was the karmic payback you were looking for. “What’s the problem, Kook?” 

“Wanna cum.” He winced away from your faint caresses, but he really didn’t have anywhere else to go. A smirk curled up on your lips as you watched Jungkook fight against the knots, a frail, airy moan leaving his chest as you rolled his nipples between your fingers. He sounded so perfect: so needy and desperate that you could feel another gush of arousal accumulating between your folds. “Just wanna cum so bad, baby.” 

“I’m not gonna be mean and hold it off,” you told him, moving back so you could place a kiss against his pouty, swollen lips. Jungkook looked so beautifully messy, so on edge, that you almost cried out at the sight of it. “You just have to say it,” you told him, lowering your hips until you were straddling his cock. 

With a roll of your pussy against him, his cock brushed between your wet folds, tearing a broken sob from his throat. “Fuck,” Jungkook cursed. He was never in a position like that: edged for so long that he couldn’t even control the grunts that left his throat. “You’re so fucking evil.”

“You love it.” Another grind of your pussy had him throwing his head back, a loud moan ripping itself from his heaving chest. Jungkook was sensitive, responsive to the tiniest of your touches and, most of all: he was desperate, seconds away from cracking. “You know, if you say it, I’ll let you cum.” 

His cock throbbed against you when you finally stopped your movements, raising your hips so your center moved away from his. Jungkook complained at the lack of sensation, practically on the limit of throwing a tantrum, and his pelvis mindlessly buckling up in search of your warmth. Instead, he found nothing, and his member simply collapsed back against his abdomen, aching for its release. 

“This— This is torture,” he groaned. You giggled at his distress, taking one hand to brush away the sweaty hair from his forehead. Jungkook leaned into your touch. “Please, baby, just fuck me.”

Your ears perked up at that, a pool of arousal starting to grow between your legs. That sounded even better than you had predicted. “Sorry, what was that?” You teased. 

Jungkook closed his eyes, clenching his jaw. “Don’t make me say it again.” 

Slowly, you lowered your hips again, pressing your pussy against his cock. Jungkook reacted instantly, taking in a sharp inhale. “Didn’t hear you,” you said. 

“God, baby, just fuck me, please,” he finally broke down, his dazed-out gaze seemed to have some trouble focusing on your face. Desperation was plastered all over him, staring at you like a beautiful, shimmering trophy. “Please, just let me cum. Please.” 

You hummed, leaning away so you could sit on his thighs, facing his erection. You were a woman of your word: you said you wouldn’t hold it back, and you wouldn’t. “Since you asked so nicely…” you trailed off, one hand wrapping around his base, pumping him a few times. Jungkook throbbed in your hands, his abdomen sinking as your thumb grazed his sensitive crown. “Where do you wanna cum?” 

It looked like you had truly broken the poor boy down because, for the first time in his life, Jungkook didn’t have any idea on how to answer that question. “I- I don’t know,” he struggled to speak when your hand was still caressing his member: just enough for him to feel something, but too slow and light for him to actually cum. “Anywhere. Just wanna cum.” 

You pouted, letting his cock go. It bounced on his pelvis, tore a painful cry from his throat as he felt his pleasure wash away once again. “I need an answer, Kook.” 

And he said the first thing that came into his mind. “Your pussy, baby, please.” 

A smile tugged on your lips — it seemed as if that word wasn’t so hard to say anymore. “Of course, you’ve been so good.” You moved around until you were sinking down on him, feeling that fantastic stretch all over again, and earning a shaky moan from his part. You only spoke up again after you were sure he couldn’t go any deeper. “Kook?” You called. His pleading eyes shot up at you. “Wanna fuck me?” 

He breathed out, just a tremulous gush of air that he could barely get ahold of. “Y-Yes, yes, please.” 

You hummed, wiggling your ass around just so you could watch his face contort in despair, crumbling under the delicious drag of your plump walls around his cock. Jungkook almost looked cute, you dared to think, even if you were sure he would fold you in half the second that he got those ropes off. It was like teasing a tiger in a zoo: people only felt brave enough to do it because there was a thick glass between them. “You better do it, then,” you told him. 

After everything you had put him through, Jungkook seemed almost hesitant to do so. “C-Can I move?” He asked, just to be sure. Last thing he needed was to do something wrong and have you walking out on him. His cock was so hard, leaking inside you, and he didn’t believe that he could handle being left like that. 

“Of course,” you told him, the tenderness of your voice so different from what you sounded like all night. Jungkook was still on the palm of your hand, but your victory when it came to making him beg had already been achieved. So you could relax and let him do the heavy lifting for once. Being active was exhausting sometimes. “Come on, Kook,” you egged him on, leaning forward so you could find support on his chest. You knew what was coming. “Fuck me.” 

That seemed to be the last spark he needed to ignite his fire because, soon enough, he was placing both feet on the mattress and thrusting upwards, your body collapsing forward under the force of his movements. Jungkook barely gave you any time to breathe: he fucked you fast and deep, helped by the gravity of your weight above him; shallow breaths and noisy whines leaving his mouth in a beautiful cacophony of sounds. It wasn’t long before he was making you bounce on his cock, pretty moans melting upon your lips as you fought to keep your balance over him. 

“B-Baby,” Jungkook stammered, an airy, high-pitched moan sounding from his parted mouth. His brain was utterly bewildered by the movement of your body above his own, the bouncing of your breasts and the wild fluttering of your eyelashes. And those moans, those gorgeous, ethereal little sounds that you reserved just for him. “S-So perfect. All mine.” 

“All yours,” you said promptly, struggling to meet his gaze. No matter how much you tried, you could not follow the speed of his thrusts, so you simply kept your body in place as he used it as he pleased. “Is this what you wanted?” 

He nodded, mouth falling open. His lips were pouty and swollen, slightly red from the way he had bitten them before. “Wanna cum,” he breathed out, “inside you.” 

No pretty please, you realized. Perhaps it wasn’t your best call to ask him to fuck you, because it dawned on you that you had just handed Jungkook his esteemed control back on a silver platter. That started simply as a doubt in the corners of your mind, however, you were sure that you had lost that battle once his needy whimpers started to wash away, instead replaced by the guttural, rough groans that he usually presented to you. 

Not that you truly cared about it: you had already proven your point. 

His head leaned to the side, pressing against his elevated arm. Jungkook was hypnotized by the way that your bodies met, the way you held yourself up so he could fuck himself inside you. You were always so good for him. “Your pussy feels so fucking amazing, baby,” Jungkook moaned out, hips snapping up against yours. A hiss dripped from his mouth when he felt you clench around him, signaling that you were close once again. “Look so pretty. Made for my cock.” 

“Y-Yes,” you stammered, head falling back. You could feel that familiar tingling at the bottom of your stomach, your orgasm ready to snap once more. Jungkook always fucked you so well, even when his hands were tied up, always left your brain scrambling after the most basic of words. “I’m c-close.” 

Jungkook tried once more to pull at his restraints, but it simply wouldn’t bulge. The contrast between the red ropes and the dark ink decorating his skin was beautiful, the veins of his hands getting thicker as tugged again and again. Jungkook was beyond the realms of reason by that point, struggling like a caged animal because there was nothing else in the world that he wanted more than to touch; to suck your breasts and to fuck you the way he wanted to. “Gonna cum too, baby,” his voice was almost a roar, deep and frustrated. It shot straight up to your core, made you tip over the edge and come down spasming around his cock, your high washing over you. “That’s it, cream my cock,” he praised. In the background of your overwhelmed state, you could feel as his member throbbed inside you, ready to release. “Take everything for me, alright? Wanna fill you up.”  

You barely had any time to nod before he was spilling himself inside you, a long, throaty moan dripping like sin from his lips. Jungkook tried to keep his movements up for a bit longer, delighting himself in the way you winced at the feeling, but even he had grown too tired to continue it. So, at last, he collapsed back against the mattress, sweaty hair falling over his eyes. 

“Get up,” he commanded, breathless. “Let me see it.” 

With shaky movements, you did as he requested, planting one hand on his thigh so you could raise your body. His cock slipped out at the motion, already softening, but his gaze was stuck on the gradual dripping of his cum between your pussy lips. As much as you were used to that specific request, it always made your legs weak when you looked at him during that part — no matter what happened before, Jungkook always had that maniac expression plastered all over his face, like the mere image of his cum slipping out of you was enough to send him into a frenzy all over again. And, most times, it was. 

“Good girl,” his dark stare slowly navigated towards your eyes. His arms were surprisingly still, no longer battling against the ropes, and there was something ominous about that. “Push it back in.” 

Because you didn’t want to anger him any further, you agreed. It was almost impressive how quickly Jungkook was able to take back his control: even with him being immobilized, you were still folding and following his wishes like it was your second nature. “Like this?” You asked, using two of your fingers to stuff his cum back inside. 

“Yeah, just like that.” He breathed out, the final seconds of his exhale morphing into a low growl. “Now, ___,” he called, eyes still glued to your pussy. “Untie me.” 

You almost wanted to go against that, given the way he was about to break you in half, but that wasn’t probably the brightest of ideas. A bit nervous, you moved off his lap and sat down next to him, hands flying to undo the knots. “Hang on,” you requested. From the corners of his vision, you could see Jungkook staring you down, his piercing eyes focused on your face, silently watching you through the curtain of his black hair. At last, you managed to undo the ropes, the thick material falling beside you as Jungkook lowered his arms and started to massage his wrists. “How are your hands? I hope it wasn’t—“

“Lay down.” He interrupted, dry. Your mouth fell shut — none of your usual sarcastic remarks finding their way past the lump in your throat. 

The softness of the pillow was a welcomed sensation, but your body could not relax, not when Jungkook was still looking at the pink marks on his inked skin, thinking about what he was going to do to you. You waited for what seemed like hours until he finally moved around, arms on either side of your head and chest pressed flush against yours. Jungkook’s heat was asphyxiating, his nose bumping against yours as he placed a small, tender kiss on your lips. He was being too calm, you noticed that instantly; still waters with sharks swimming underneath. 

“Silly girl,” he mumbled against your mouth, fingers pressing on either side of your jaw. Jungkook pulled your mouth open, thumb caressing your lower lip as he stared down at you like an arrogant monarch. You felt terribly small, shrinking under his presence. “It’s not my hands that you should be worrying about.” He smirked, and his thumb paused its tender motions on your lip. He sighed. “Now that you had your fun, I’m gonna have mine.” 

~ 

Jungkook was right: his wrists were red the next day. He naively thought that no one would be able to see it through his tattoos, but Taehyung, even in his hungover stupor, had his detective eye ready and noticed the marks right away. There was absolutely no way all his crime documentaries made him such an expert, Jungkook thought, but couldn’t really be sure of it. 

“You know… things like this only make me more curious,” Taehyung said after Jungkook had refused to tell him who had come over the previous night. He was munching on his sandwich like his life depended on it, brows furrowed into a perfect picture of concentration. There was jelly all over his mouth, pulling up the corners of his lips and making Taehyung look like a terrible, discount copy of the joker. “Like, a chick tied you up? Come on, I have to meet someone like that. It’s a matter of, like, survival, some alpha wolf bullshit—“

“Fuck off,” Jungkook cut him short, burying his face on his hands. He was too tired to deal with any of that. “I never want to hear about you or your wolves ever again.”

~

check out the rest of the bad influence collection! 

taglist > @minyoongiboongi  @bvrrym0re @marcoazam2 @shojotae @youurkryptonite @fan-ati--c @btstrasht @crazy4myself @ft-multi @kooafraid @dianaaviny @ggukkieland @cryinginmypromdress @kissestothesky @imluckybitches @gyukult @jinsalpaca @0901-1230 @we8joon​ @gamerkooks​

[whumptober]

Whumptober 2020 - Updated

Welcome to Whumptober 2020! We’re doing things a little differently this year so please make sure to read the Event Info carefully. We are also excited to announce the addition of an AO3 Collection, which can be found here.

We hope you’re as excited as us to watch the Whump Community come together once again for a month of bone-crunching creativity and collaboration!

(All 31 Themes + Prompts, Event Information, and FAQs are posted below the cut!)

No 1. LET'S HANG OUT SOMETIME Waking Up Restrained | Shackled | Hanging

No 2. IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY  "Pick Who Dies" | Collars | Kidnapped

No 3. MY WAY OR THE HIGHWAY Manhandled | Forced to their Knees | Held at Gunpoint

No 4. RUNNING OUT OF TIME Caged | Buried Alive | Collapsed Building

No 5. WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING? On the Run | Failed Escape | Rescue

No 6. PLEASE.... "Get it Out" | No More | "Stop, please"

No 7. I'VE GOT YOU Support | Carrying | Enemy to Caretaker

No 8. WHERE DID EVERYBODY GO? "Don't Say Goodbye" | Abandoned | Isolation

No 9. FOR THE GREATER GOOD "Take Me Instead" | "Run!” | Ritual Sacrifice

No 10. THEY LOOK SO PRETTY WHEN THEY BLEED Blood Loss | Internal Bleeding | Trail of Blood

No 11. PSYCH 101 Defiance | Struggling | Crying

No 12. I THINK I'VE BROKEN SOMETHING Broken Down | Broken Bones | Broken Trust

No 13. BREATHE IN BREATHE OUT Delayed Drowning | Chemical Pneumonia | Oxygen Mask

No 14. IS SOMETHING BURNING? Branding | Heat Exhaustion | Fire

No 15. INTO THE UNKNOWN Possession | Magical Healing | Science Gone Wrong

No 16. A TERRIBLE, HORRIBLE, NO GOOD, VERY BAD DAY Forced to Beg | Hallucinations | Shoot the Hostage

No 17. I DID NOT SEE THAT COMING Blackmail | Dirty Secret | Wrongfully Accused

No 18. PANIC! AT THE DISCO Panic Attacks | Phobias | Paranoia

No 19. BROKEN HEARTS Grief | Mourning Loved One | Survivor's Guilt

No 20. TOTO, I HAVE A FEELING WE'RE NOT IN KANSAS ANYMORE Lost | Field Medicine | Medieval

No 21. I DON'T FEEL SO WELL Chronic Pain | Hypothermia | Infection

No 22. DO THESE TACOS TASTE FUNNY TO YOU? Poisoned | Drugged | Withdrawal

No 23. WHAT’S A WHUMPEE GOTTA DO TO GET SOME SLEEP AROUND HERE? Exhaustion | Narcolepsy | Sleep Deprivation

No 24. YOU’RE NOT MAKING ANY SENSE Forced Mutism | Blindfolded | Sensory Deprivation

No 25. I THINK I’LL JUST COLLAPSE RIGHT HERE, THANKS Disorientation | Blurred Vision | Ringing Ears

No 26. IF YOU THOUGHT THE HEAD TRAUMA WAS BAD... Migraine | Concussion | Blindness

No 27. OK, WHO HAD NATURAL DISASTERS ON THEIR 2020 BINGO CARD? Earthquake | Extreme Weather | Power Outage

No 28. SUCH WOW. MANY NORMAL. VERY OOPS. Accidents | Hunting Season | Mugged

No 29. I THINK I NEED A DOCTOR Intubation | Emergency Room | Reluctant Bedrest

No 30. NOW WHERE DID THAT COME FROM? Wound Reveal | Ignoring an Injury | Internal Organ Injury

No 31. TODAY’S SPECIAL: TORTURE Experiment | Whipped | Left for Dead

Alternate Prompt List

Alt 1. Punctured

Alt 2. Falling

Alt 3. Comfort

Alt 4. Stitches

Alt 5. Stoic Whumpees

Alt 6. Altered States

Alt 7. Found Family

Alt 8. Adverse Reactions

Alt 9. Memory Loss

Alt 10. Nightmares

Alt 11. Presumed Dead

Alt. 12. Water

Alt. 13 Accidents

Alt. 14 Shot

Alt. 15 Carry/Support

Event Info

WHUMPTOBER is a month-long, prompt-based creation challenge (think: Inktober, but whumpier). There are 31 Official themes this year - one for each day of the month - which can be used, skipped, or combined in any way you’d like. They are meant to serve as inspiration without being taken literally (e.g. you don't have to include the exact wording into your work). Additionally, there are 3 prompts for each theme.  These are optional suggestions and can be used in conjunction with the theme, or as options/alternatives.  We want to give everyone as much creative freedom as possible, as well as increase event accessibility for folks with triggers and squicks.

Creators can PRODUCE work in any media they choose, including but not limited to: writing, visual artwork, and photo/video/audio edits. Creators can PARTICIPATE as much or as little as they want (i.e. you don’t have to do ALL the prompts if you don’t want to) and prompts can be used in any order. They are also free to use even after the event ends.

When uploading Whumptober content to your blog, be sure to tag the with:

#whumptober2020 …..(the event tag)

#no.1, #no.2, #no.3, …..(theme number)

#bruised, #stabbed,  …..(the theme or specific prompt you chose)

#fandom or #OC

#medium …..(gifs, fic, podcast, art, etc.)

#teeth, #etc …..(trigger warnings & any additional tags. Keep in mind not to add “tw” in front but only use the word/trigger itself, because tumblr sucks)

#nsfw, #nsfwhump …..(only for nsfw content)

PLEASE BE DILIGENT WITH YOUR TAGGING. Only properly tagged posts are considered for archiving on the official @whumptober2020​ blog. They must be tagged in the order above.

Unfortunately, due to the sheer number of participants in recent years, we cannot guarantee your work will be archived. A random selection of properly tagged posts from all genres will be reblogged each day.

Whumpers who produce content for 31 total theme days are considered event completionists and will be tagged in a masterpost at the end of the month.

Questions not addressed below can be directed to this blog as well.

Thanks for reading, and happy whumping!

Frequently Asked Questions

Q. What kind of content can I make? Can it be NSFW?

This is a MIXED MEDIA event! You can write fic, post meta, doodle or paint, create a gif set or photo edit, link a song, or get crafty with video - anything goes. As for NSFW, make what you like, we just hope that you’ll tag your work accordingly so that others participating in the event can stay safe :)

Q. Do I have to do all 31 Days? Can I post early/late?

Participate as much or little as you like, and post whenever! Just be sure to tag your posts properly (ex. #no.11, #psych101). Combining prompts into one piece of work is okay, and posting late is as well so as long as it’s in October.

Q. What if I don’t understand a theme?

Send us an ask! We’re happy to help clarify. That said, the themes are entirely up for interpretation :)

Q. Can I combine Whumptober with other creation challenges?

Absolutely! That’s like shooting two whumpees with one bullet :)

Q. Can I upload/repost my whumptober content to other social media platforms?

Of course! We’ve created an AO3 Collection to archive any fics posted there. The archive can be accessed here. The blog is the official archive, so please respect the boundaries of any closeted whumpers in your social circle :)

Q. Can I use prompts to write a new chapter for an existing fic?

Yes

Q. An existing fic I am currently writing contains many of the Whumptober prompts, can I use it?

If you are actively writing this fic at the moment with the whumptober prompts in mind, yes. If it just conveniently checks the boxes, then please don’t. You can, however, add new chapters answering one or more of the prompts.

Q. What kind of characters can I write for?

Fandom characters, OC characters, human, furry, alien, cyborg, whoever you like.

Q. Can I use a prompt multiple times?

Yes,  but it only counts once

Q. If I’m not comfortable with one day's prompts can I use a prompt of a different day as a substitute and still be a completionist?

Yes, but please do not use a specific prompt twice. We have also created an alternate prompts list that you can draw from [here].

Q. Where can I post my work?

Post where and how you want. You don’t even have to (cross)post it to Tumblr. Just keep in mind if it’s not on Tumblr we will not be able to add it to the blog archive.

Q. Can I start posting early?

You can, but this is an October event and wouldn’t it be more fun with everyone doing it at the same time? That being said, you can post early, but we won’t be reblogging any work predating October 1st.

Q. Do I have to finish a fic I started/can I post WIP’s.?

Yes you can post WIPs. And you’re not obligated to finish it in October for it to count towards being a completionist.  

Q. Is co-writing allowed?

Yes, absolutely, and it would count towards being a completionist for both/all of you :)

Q. Do I have to create 31 standalone pieces to be considered a completionist or can I write one continuous story?

One continuous story is fine.  The challenge is to write something for 31 prompts. If that’s spread over 31 fics or just one, you are still considered a completionist. (The same goes for every other media you choose.)

Q. Is there a min/max limit on word count?

There is no limit

Q. Can I combine prompts? Is there a limit on how many?

No limit and combine as many as you’d like.

Q. Is a hc/angst focus ok?

Of course!

Q. What’s considered nsfw?

See this post

Q. What's whump?

See this post

Q. My interpretation of the prompt isn't whumpy at all, does that count?

No, sorry, but keep in mind that whump [see definition] is something very nuanced and different for everyone and emotional whump/angst is just as much part of it, as is physical whump and torture. So before you dismiss your idea, think about this.

Q. Can I start working on the prompts before October?

Absolutely! That’s why we posted the prompts a month in advance. We recognise how difficult it can be creating for 31 days in “real time”.

Q. How do I tag triggers?

tw at the end of the word, ex. emeto tw

Q. Do I have to use your tags?

Yes, if you want your work archived on the blog. If not, feel free to use whatever tags you want.  

Q. Does combining prompts count towards completion?

Yes

Q. Can we @ you?

Yes but we mostly rely on the whumptober2020 tag

Q. Is there anything we are absolutely not allowed to write?

There are no rules, just be sure to properly tag your trigger warnings. And keep in mind Tumblr’s policies if you are posting it here (or the policies of whatever site you use).

Q. Where can I go for brainstorming help?

Here on Discord

Q. My characters are minors, is that ok?

Yes, but as with everything else, tags are your best friend.

Q. Can I cross post on other blogs?

Yes, multiple platforms and blogs are perfectly acceptable. You can also post different works to different accounts under different names, without posting them everywhere at once.

Note: This is a creation challenge, please don’t repost your old work under our tags (unless it’s been changed or edited for the event).

[maya-tl]

I'm not a very good writer yet, but I do love to write. Original works I find too big of an undertaking, but fanworks? Fanfiction of a media that has brought me incredible joy?

That I can do.

I'm an artist as well, I like to draw sometimes, but writing I feel suits me a little more. I don't have many OCs, and usually I simply recycle/redesign one of my originals if I need another OC.

Two of them are twins, yin and yang, older than time and wise and powerful beyond reason or logic. She is chaos incarnate, he is peace and order and tranquillity. There is nothing they wouldn't do for each other. They keep watch over our multiverse and maintain the natural order of things. Their world has technically never existed.

One of them has a son, the other a nephew. He is bold and brilliant and so very tired, and angsty as only a teenager can be. He is not theirs by blood, but his world was on the brink of collapse when he was found and they took him in. He is a genius in engineering and chemistry and spends his time in his laboratory working on his next breakthrough.

Then there is a witch and an angel, an unlikely couple. She ran away from her home universe, full of bitterness and cold fury that has softened into peace of mind over the years, he was cast down by his God for dealing with sinners and is desperate to return. She is a healer by choice, he is a healer by nature. They better each other simply by existing together.

A young woman and a young man, mortal as can be and soulmates in nearly every way. Both bright and curious and full of life, she a blogger and a photographer, he an adventurer and an artist. They strive for knowledge, but most of all they simply want to live life to the fullest.

Last is a demon, cast out of the Underworld for his kind heart and gentle soul. Rescued and given a second chance, he swore eternal allegiance to his Lady and Lord and Princeling and now does their bidding gladly. They are guardians and he their willing servant, and he is happy and content and most of all hardworking.

They all know each other.

This is all I have to offer when it comes to OCs. If you'd like to read some of my fanworks, I have them all posted on Ao3 under the same username; I wrote for Tolkien, Tf2, Sanders Sides and HTTYD.

I don't get to share my original ideas often, so thank you very much for reading! I hope I've sparked your interest, or at least entertained you in some measure if nothing else. ❤️

to the attention of writers

[doobnnoob-tf2]

what would a demoman and pyro friendship be like?

(also i am looking at the ferret in your banner and crying. ferrets are the best)

absolutely chaotic duo once they start scheming things

they love building fireworks together, and will do so for every occasion they can get away with it.  4th of July?  New Years?  Scout’s birthday?  city hall collapsed in town and now Teufort is scrambling trying to figure out what to do because they’re none too bright and think this just means there’s no government anymore?

okay wait, maybe not that last one, guys

Pyro is always the one who prepares everything for Demoman’s birthday every year, it’s not that the others forget it’s just Demo doesn’t always throw a huge fuss over it himself

Pyro is like Demo’s personal hype-person, anything he wants to do that he gets excited for they’ll cheer him on even if it’s the craziest idea ever

Demo fixes a lot of Pyro’s weapons for them when they get damaged, which may sometimes consist of “let’s put some duct tape on it, that’ll patch it right up!” and Engie is rolling at the thought

Demo usually takes Pyro with him and Soldier when they go into town for their shopping runs and even though they have a shopping list, none of it will be brought back and someone else will have to go out again

Pyro loves hearing about the creatures in Demo’s books and will spend hours with him as he tells them tales of these mythical beasts and how he’s totally battled one at some point in his life, no one else believes him but Pyro does and he’s happy with his attentive audience of one - not that anyone else stops listening of course, but it’s nice to know someone appreciates his adventures!

when Demoman is gone for things, Pyro likes to go into his room and take some of the books to draw Demo fighting the creatures he’s talked about and leave them in the pages for him, every single one of them goes into their own book and is stored in a very safe place so nothing happens to them

Demo is the only one on base that will admit he enjoys watching weekend cartoons with Pyro, Scout does but he won’t admit it despite him joining them every morning without fail

Demo is one of the few who can almost understand Pyro’s muffles, he tends to understand them more when he’s more sober ironically enough

Pyro really enjoys helping Demo make his bombs, they’re not allowed to handle the chemistry part of it but they’re allowed to help put them together, this is usually the time Demo will go off on his stories about fighting monsters if they’re not sitting around a campfire with the others

and that's my Sniper OC Mike and his ferret Sydney!  I sometimes get a bit emotional when I look at art of those two together and that one is my most favorite piece, Sydney was based on my first ferret Monty.  I miss that lil guy a LOT