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witchthewriter · 21 days ago

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𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐛𝐚𝐥 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

From this poll, this series is born!

a/n: this is changing the dragons from not just mount, but to being able to shift into a human-like form at will...

𝑺𝑭𝑾🌿

・In his dragon form, The Cannibal is larger than Vermithor, and three times nastier as well.

・With fire that breathed green, he seemed like an otherwordly creature to the people of Westeros.

・Once he was claimed, many came to see The Cannibal 'up close.' Crowds would form whenever you went flying; a sight that so many would tell their children, and their childrens children and so on.

・With sharp black horns that curled and protruded from the dragons head, he was terrifying.

・And you loved him.

・Many asked how you 'tamed' him. But that ... wasn't how it happened.

・Unlike many throughout history; he found you.

・And when he came snout to face with you, you did not balk. For dragons were your family's legacy. If you died by his flame, then so be it.

・The Cannibal sensed that.

・Maybe it was bravery. Maybe it was stupidity. Maybe it was the fact that you felt so alone that you did not care what may have happened.

・Your relationship with the Cannibal was different to other dragonriders and their mounts.

・You never chained him up and put him in the dragon pit.

・You gave him free range of the world. Just because you were tethered together did not mean that you owned him.

・For he was far older and experienced than you could ever be.

・The first time you saw your mount transform, you thought it was a dream. One wickedly wonderful dream.

・In his half form, he towers over you at 7.5 feet tall. With long onyx coloured hair partly braided, two glowing green eyes, pointed ears and a face so ... handsome yet scarred, menacing and well honestly a little terrifying. He looked like a death promise to those who look him in the eye.

・Some of his teeth are sharp as well, and he challenges anyone who looks in your direction.

・He's completely attached to you, because why else would he want to be around other people, other beings?

・His name? He was happy with being called Cannibal - but you told him he couldn't be out in society with it. So his 'human' name is: Vorzhul.

・The Cannibal/Vorzhul is very wary of others; as his time has been spent alone. He doesn't know how to converse with others without coming off as ... slightly crazy.

・That's one of the reasons why he becomes so attached to you. Not only because you are his bonded rider, but because he feels like his walls can come down.

・He can be quite funny at times -

・Particularly when he mind-speaks during something important.

・When you're feeling down, he reminds you that: "I'm eternally yours."

・So now you never feel lonely. Or that the world is against you. Because someone always has your back. No matter what you say or do.

・The knowledge that certain dragons can shift, is only known by certain people. High ranking people. Ones who have blood sworn not to tell another soul.

・One maester, your parents and the Hand of the King.

・Marriage is a difficult subject.

・Some shifters will allow their bonded to marry another. But not yours.

・Even if it is tried, he will turn into dragon form and eat those who come to marry you. And their families.

・So it is either, he marries you or a war will break out.

・When he's in his hybrid form, Vorzhul is able to understand English and High Valyrian. With some people he pretends not to know English and lets them talk shit until he responds.

・They usually excuse themselves (basically running away)

・When he's in his dragon form, he'll only take commands in High Valyrian though, just like every other dragon.

𝑹��𝒍𝒂𝒕��𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

No Social Skills (The Cannibal/Vorzhul) x No Social Skills Either, That's Why We're Bonded (You)

Undying Loyalty x2

"Think they'll try us?" x "Fuck I hope so."

𝑹𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒄 𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆

Found Family

Intertwined Destinies

Legacy and Legend

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

Do I Wanna Know by Arctic Monkeys

I Need You by James Newton Howard

Me and the Devil by Soap&Skin

𝑁𝑆𝐹𝑊 🔞 No one under the age of 18 past this point, makes me feel weird if you read it.

・As you would think, he is completely dominant in bed. Rough; hands gripping you tight against him, teeth sinking into your skin without a second thought.

・His tongue decided it liked the taste of your skin, and started moving further and further downward. And then he pushed your legs apart and devoured you until you came three times ... in a row.

・His animalistic nature could not hold off when he was with you - the suppleness of your skin, the way you trembled underneath his grasp.

・He laughed when you finally wrestled to sit on top of him, only for him to buck you off and roll you onto your back:

"You will have to try better than that little one."

・He felt primal around you.

・Like a peace he never had, had finally found him.

・And sex was more than pleasure; it was about connecting with you. Becoming one with you.

"Just let it stay in a little longer ñuha jorrāeliarzy (my beloved)"

You whispered back, "elilla (honey), you are too big, and it hurts."

He huffed and with a frown, slowly slid himself out of you.

"Are you pouting!"

"No."

"You are!"

"No I am not!"

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themusingsofacurlyhairednerd · 3 months ago

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Obsidian Salt

Summary: A little Witch!Reader x Demon!Rhys AU for my Spooky Season Fic List

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My hands shake around the ancient text, the worn tome heavy and dust laden from years upon years of sitting on a shelf, untouched and forgotten. The old latin script is illegible in places, the ink faded and hidden under unidentifiable stains; the parchment is dog-eared and scribbled in, the margins full of strange, archaic markings I’ve never seen used in our Coven’s rune work. These are not the spells of my ancestors, not the runes my mother and grandmother cast upon the old foundations of our family home. We are a family of witches, dating back beyond the ages of written word; I am supposed to carry on that legacy, but truth be told, I’ve always been terrible at spellwork. My potions are mediocre; powers of persuasion abysmal. I truly am a poor excuse for a witch, and everyone in the coven knows it. Perhaps that is why Sister Ruth chose me to put on a demonstration at the Solstice Festival tomorrow. If I cannot prove my worth, well, maybe it is in the best interest of the coven to throw me out, or worse, make a sacrifice out of me.

I would not be the first.

I grip the tome a little tighter. I must prove my usefulness. I cannot fail my sisters, or worse, my grandmother. She raised eight successful witches, it would be to her utter shame to have been my teacher all these years for nothing.

I draw a shaking breath. These spells are old magic. Dark magic. But I must get good at something quickly, and the gods know I will not get there on any natural talent. Perhaps I don’t need to be a natural. Perhaps I just need to summon something that is.

On the old wood floor of our basement, I have laid the circle of obsidian salt in three overlapping circles, each etched with runes of chalk for protection. Just in case, I’ve dusted the floor with dried rosemary and anise seeds; an added barrier against whatever evil I might accidentally conjure if this goes wrong. My mother’s amulet feels heavy beneath my sweater, the cold iron biting against my skin as if in warning against what I am about to do.

I take another deep breath and ignore the warning. I must not fail.

The words are clunky, foreign on my tongue, the first couple of tries produces no results at all. Perhaps I really am the worst witch ever!

I grip the tome so tight the spine groans as I try again, slower this time, sounding out each word piece by piece. I will not fail.

The whole basement is lit with candles and as I finish the final words of the spell, the light suddenly snuffs itself out.

The air in the room drops to near freezing temperatures. My hands so stiff and shaky around the old tome that the book slips from my hands and falls somewhere in the darkness. I make it onto my knees to look for it in a mad scramble before the sound of rushing wind fills the tiny room. It’s so loud I have to cover my ears with my shaking hands.

In the center of the salt ring, dark shadows begin to slither out from a crack in the floor, hissing like a dozen tiny snakes.

What have I done?!

I scramble to find the book in the dark, hands tearing over the anise seeds and clumps of rosemary. Perhaps the crushed scent of herbs will be enough to ward off whatever terrible shadow I’ve just called upon!

The temperature of the room continues to drop, lower and lower, even as the screeching wind gets louder and louder. The shadows within the circle grow darker and thicker by the moment, spinning now like a whirlwind. At least the salt holds.

And then, as quickly as the noise had begun, it suddenly quiets. All the candles light themselves again, allowing me to see where I’d dropped the book: Directly into the circle, having bounced over the line, and it now sits at the feet of the most handsome male I’ve ever seen in my life.

I can do nothing but stare. I had meant to summon some help, the soul of an old mage or a spirit from another world, perhaps, but not… well, whatever he is. He’s definitely alive, his bronze, bair chest rising and falling, making the swirl of dark ink over his skin move in twining patterns. Not a spirit, though I do not know what to make of the great, bat-like wings that sprout from his back, the leathery membrane twitching as he brings them close to his body to avoid the barrier the salt creates. And his eyes! Gods, there like two blazing, violet suns inside the sharp planes of his face.

“Well isn’t this interesting,” he purrs, voice smooth as velvet.

“Gods, what have I done?” I whisper to no one in particular.

His mouth twists in a devilish grin as he bends down to pick up my tome. From the tips of his fingers come dark claws. A bit of living shadow curls over his wrist, moving like snakes across the worn pages. “No gods here, Darling.”

I, somehow, find it within me to stand, despite my shaking legs. It is still terribly cold in this basement; the source of it seems to be coming from him. “What are you?”

He chuckles as he flips through the pages, claws running affectionately over the runes written in the margins. “Why don’t you come closer and I’ll show you?”

The longer I watch him the more off I realize he is. There are fangs in his mouth, the sharp tips of them glinting in the candlelight. Tiny, glittering drops of starlight glisten in the strands of his raven-black hair. Intertwined within the ink across his chest are smaller versions of the runes written within the pages of the book.

“I’ll stay right here,” I say.

He sticks out his full lower lip in a pout. “That’s no fun!”

He takes a step closer to the line of salt, testing the barrier with the tip of his boot. At least I managed to summon him half-way decent in a dark, leather pair of pants and boots. I don’t know what I’d do if I had summoned him fully nude.

My cheeks flush at the thought, drifting down to follow the defined V of his abs, and where his pants slide low on his hips. If he were human I’d climb him like a tree.

“Don’t tell me you summoned me just to gawk?” He presses. When he catches where my eyes are on his body, he adds, “Although you’re welcome to enjoy the view for as long as you like.”

I let out a huff. “I didn’t summon you for anything! I was trying to talk to the spirits.”

“There’s only one spell that can summon me, and you picked it,” he turns the book to show me the exact page I’d been reading from. “So tell me, what is it you want, Witchling?”

The way he says Witchling makes my skin flush; the heat in his tone enough to make me second guess myself. Why did I think that spell would summon something else?

Perhaps I am a fool for saying it, but I blurt, “I need help.”

“Do tell,” he purrs.

“I’m supposed to give my coven a display of my magic tomorrow, for the Solstice, and well… I’m kind of the worst witch ever.”

He glances at the herbs on the floor, and then back up to me. I swear there are actual violet flames moving around within his irises. I don’t know what he is, but I don’t think it’s anything that can help me. But how am I supposed to send him back without the book?

“I meant to summon a spirit to guide me in some quick magic. I didn’t mean to summon, well, whatever you are.”

“I am many things,” he says, walking a slow circle around the barrier, testing it. It’s like watching a recently caged animal at the zoo; he’s testing every point for a weak spot, and if he finds it, he’s using it.

I swallow the lump in my throat. What do I do if he gets out?

“But you can call me Rhys.”

If there is any heat left in the room, it leaves in a rush. “As in Rhysand? One of the Princes of Hel?”

Rhys drags his claws over the invisible barrier the salt creates and I watch the magic ripple and pulse under those sharp tips. “Perhaps.”

“You need to go back,” I say in panic, even though I know it can’t work that way. I summoned him. I have to be the one to send him back. Without the book, Hel, even with the book, I can’t do anything.

“Then send me back, Witchling.”

I’m going to have to get my grandmother, and everyone is going to know that not only am I a failure as a witch, but I am a danger to all of us. I can’t even read a spell book right! I summoned a Prince of Hel by accident!

I chew on my thumbnail, pacing now myself around the outside edges of the salt. What do I do? What do I do?

“Oh but you can’t, can you?” He teases, knocking the book against the barrier. “Not without this pretty little thing.”

The dried herbs crunch under my boots as I keep pacing. There are no other tomes like that accessible to me, not without the Elders knowledge. This one had slipped past unnoticed in my grandmother’s grand collection, I had found it by sheer luck. There were no other texts to help me out of this one, and at this rate, even if there was, could I even get it to work?

“So how about we do this my way, hmm?”

A shiver crawls its way up my spine.

“You break the barrier, and I will help you with your little Solstice tomorrow.”

I finally turn to look at him. “You would do that?”

“After tomorrow night, you can send me back and we can pretend this whole thing was a bad dream.”

Maybe this wasn’t a mistake after all! Maybe I can still turn this around!

“You won’t cause any trouble?” I ask.

He puts a clawed hand over his heart. “I will not cause any trouble.”

“You swear it?”

“I cannot break my word, Darling,” he returns.

My hands shake. What other choice do I have? “Just until the Solstice passes.”

“I promise you, that is all the time I will need.” I have to admit, his voice is strangely soothing. He does not strike me as some malevolent ruler of darkness at all.

I grab a broom off the wall. “It’s a bargain then.”

He grins wolfishly the entire time, watching my every step as I approach with the intensity of a wolf stalking a deer.

I swallow the lump in my throat. It’s only one night, what could one night hurt? With one last shaking breath, I drag the broom through the salt and break the seal.

The book clatters to the floor for a second time tonight, as he lunges forward, a clawed hand wrapping around my neck as his momentum propels me back against the wall. I hit the worn stones so hard dust rains down from the ceiling.

Panic grips me; I have no magic to save me as a real witch ought. He’s taller than I thought he was, towering over me as his grip on me tightens to the point of pain, the tips of his claws leaving indents in my skin. Rhys chuckles at my plight as he leans down and brushes his lips over mine in the ghost of a kiss. Ice fills my veins at the contact. “Silly little, Witchling, a night is more than enough to make you mine.”

#rhys x reader #rhysand x reader #demon!rhys #demon!Rhys au #demon!Rhys x reader #witch aesthetic #monster fics #spooky season #spooky season fics #acotar fics #acotar au #acotar rhysand #my writing #my fanfic

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