#general gullet

[askvectorprime]

Dear Vector Prime, has anyone ever considered stopping, or at least stalling, the threat of Unicron by revealing his location to the Mecannibals?

Dear Enemy Engager,

One time, Swindle tried to do so. General Gullet simply responded by saying, "We're not that stupid," and went back to pouring arsenic sauce on the unfortunate Combaticon.

[spotsupstuff]

If you could eat any food in rainworld what would you eat?

dear god uhhhhhhh.... a Lizard, i guess, that shit is at least familiar yanno?? alligator meat is a legit thing irl n tho i never had that, i'm fairly sure i'd rather stomach That than bug pupae n mold

if it HAS to be an actual food item that Surv usually eats............................................................................... a lilypuck

[dialtone-town]

just slammed my thoughts on advertising into friend discord. alas nobody is online and i have been rambling about it for a while

[shy-writer-999]

When they're drunk: Monster Trio, Ace + Law (sfw, fluff)

Summary: How do they act when they're drunk? What's their favorite drink? Do they get lovey-dovey? SFW fluff. CW: Curse words/profanity. "Princess" used in Sanji and Ace's parts. Mentions of kissing/making out, suggestive themes but nothing outright explicit (hence, sfw). A singular, mild nod to vomiting in Sanji's section.

Luffy: rowdy and hungry

He’s pretty predictable; he gets rowdy, eats a lot, and has horrible hangovers (one of the main reasons he abstains from drinking almost entirely).

Rarely drinks. One of the reasons in his mind for not over-indulging is that if he gets too drunk he won’t be able to remember all the meat he ate.

Literally no impulse control. So when he does drink, he racks up a HUGE tab (mostly bar food) and one of the crew has to pick up his bill because he forgets to close it out. You make sure to tip extra because it’s his tab.

Eats even more than usual because (obviously) eating good food while you’re drunk makes it taste even better. Chokes on his food more, too. It's kind of a pain in the ass.

Luffy is a MENACE about the food. He’ll gomu gomu his arm to the other side of the bar to swoop up some unsuspecting random’s food and he’ll shove it in his gullet in the blink of an eye. No evidence or crumbs. A monster.

He gets dehydrated because he doesn’t drink water when he’s drunk, and his salt intake is crazy, so he literally has to be reminded to do so. At some point you just start pushing a glass of water into his hands and rolling your eyes because you know he’s going to be the biggest complainer the next morning.

Luffy and Usopp egg each other on, it’s bad because sometimes they have drinking contests (or eating contests). They get scrappy sometimes and you have to tell them off because they cause a scene.

He won’t shut up about being king of the pirates. No one minds but, goddamn, how many times can one person say that in a night?

He’s endearingly sweet when he’s had too much to drink. He can’t stop staring at you when his face isn’t buried in a plate of food.

His eyes are glued to your face.

“Luffy, what? Why are you staring at me?”

“You just look so pretty.”

He even wants to hold your hand when you walk back to the ship at the end of the night. The whole crew thinks you make a cute couple, and they love how happy you make each other.

When you crawl into bed at the end of the night, he clings onto you like a sloth and then starts snoring in your ear. He wraps himself around you and conks out almost immediately.

Sure enough, the next morning he’s complaining so much it would be insufferable if you didn’t love him to pieces. He whines and you take care of him.

Luffy recovers from his monster hangover at a superhuman speed, which makes the whining not so bad—it’ll be less than an hour of complaining and whining and pouting, but when you’ve made him drink enough water and brought him enough food, he is as good as new in mere minutes. It’s uncanny.

Favorite drink?: Anything he can get his hands on, but he likes beer best (more volume). Will never do shots.

Zoro: over-indulges like clockwork

When he's drunk he generally does things he shouldn’t. Drinks too much and flirts too much. Eats way too much and runs his mouth too much, too.

He flirts with anyone he wants to, which is usually VERY out of character, but he doesn’t care at all when he’s drunk. He’ll flirt with you, with Sanji’s partner, with Sanji (?), the bartender, anyone and everyone he feels like.

It’s when he’s tipsy that the flirting starts. He’s deviously subtle about it at first. Zoro jokes and tease, but after coaxing so much laughter out of you one too many times, you start to wonder if he’s flirting with you (he is).

He gets a more blunt as the night goes on. The drunker he is the bolder he is. He manages to elicit more crimson, flushed faces in the bar than anyone on the crew, and this can be attributed to the fact that he’s strikingly handsome and he almost never says anything suggestive. But the liquor brings out his cheeky smiles. And it’s hard to look away from those muscles or flashing eyes.

Drinks wayyyy too much but has a super high tolerance, so he doesn’t usually act very drunk. He can drink the whole crew (and usually whole bar) under the table.

Always down for a drinking game and loves to bet on it because he knows he’ll win. He pouts when no one wants to participate because everyoje can only lose to him so many times before they start to refuse for good.

Generally just down for gambling in general, but when he’s drunk he goes balls to the wall with it. And he actually doesn’t lose very much. Almost makes enough to pay off his tab.

While he doesn’t act very drunk, if you know him well enough you can tell when he’s too far gone. His eyes linger, he smiles harder, his glass empties faster, and he turns his body towards yours more with each passing second. His knee or thigh rests against yours and you’re so intoxicated with his presence that it’s hard to pay attention to his words.

Zoro orders more than he knows he should, and more than he knows he can pay for. Somehow it always works out—one of the crew members bails him out (usually Nami, and when she does, she adds 300% interest, but Zoro is too drunk to care).

Surprisingly polite to waitstaff, maybe a little curt at times.

It’s no secret that he just loves a good glass of sake, beer, wine, anything and everything with alcohol. One of his favorite things is to just sit back, relax, and drink. It would concern you if you didn’t know how strict his discipline and self-control are.

He gets extra handsy when he’s drunk (and possessive). He never crosses lines with you, but since you started seeing each other in an intimate capacity, he can’t take his hands off of you, especially when he’s drunk. Doesn’t care if he’s in public, doesn’t care if people are watching. The rest of the crew is shocked when they first witness him getting a rough handful of your ass.

Zoro pulls out pet names, which you’d assume is out of character. Somehow the liquor makes him sweet. “C’mere gorgeous.”

But it also makes him spicier. “God, you’re so fucking hot.”

Loves sloppy make out sessions after he's had a few drinks. Also is prone to pulling you away somewhere and... well, you know. The man's a dog.

Zoro’s voice gets lower and huskier when he’s too far gone. It makes you feel some sort of way. And your blush does not escape him.

But when he’s wayyyy drunk, he just falls asleep. Like he’ll pass out at the bar. He makes it back to the ship by himself usually, but you’ve had to shake the sleepy swordsman awake a couple of times.

“Zoro, get up. We’re going back to the ship.”

You have no idea how he can sleep in such a loud bar, and the bartender has been glaring at him for a good 20 minutes at this point.

“Wha-?” He raises his head and blinks sleep out of his eyes while he instinctively reaches for his (empty) pint. “Oh hey, pretty.” He mumbles and your heart does a flip for the 100th time that night.

Zoro gets MONSTER, BRUTAL hangovers. Next level. He doesn’t complain, per say, but he’ll walk around squinting, shielding his eyes from light, wincing, muttering curse words, and hissing in air through his teeth the whole time. Forces himself to train through the hangovers and gets grumpy about it.

Favorite drink: sake. Really nice sake.

Sanji: as doting as ever

Ohhh Sanji. He’s adorable when he’s drunk.

His whole face gets red and his hair gets a bit ruffled. He blushes more than usual and you can practically see his eyes turn into hearts when he looks at you.

Sanji drunk flirts wayyy more audaciously than Zoro, and when he’s drunk he actually spits mad game.

He’s incapable of doing so when he’s sober, but when he’s drunk he literally attracts a crowd of women. But his eyes are only for you.

If the bar has music and people are dancing, Sanji begs you to dance with him. He loves to twirl you around, feel your hand in his, and let loose. And he’s surprisingly good at it.

Orders bar food even though he’s continually unimpressed by it.

He somehow manages to weasel his way into the kitchen every time he sets foot in a bar. He wants to see what’s going on in there—when’s the last time they cleaned the stove? Are the knives sharp? What’s the mise en place setup? What’s their speciality? Why are they using cabernet sauvignon to cook, instead of a pinot noir that would obviously be the better choice? God forbid they use frozen french fries.

Inevitably, he ends up cooking something and either getting along with or fighting with the cooks.

Sometimes he even ends up behind the bar. He isn’t just a spectacular chef, he’s also good at making drinks. Obviously his are better than the bartender’s.

Smokes so many cigs when he’s drunk (because nothing trumps a drunk cigarette) >_>

When he isn’t fucking around in the kitchen or slinging cocktails, Sanji waits on you hand and foot. He gets you literally anything you desire when you’re at the bar, and when you’re back home he asks you (and everyone else) what food you’d like.

“Princess, would you like another cocktail?” and “Have you been drinking enough water, sweetheart?”

If a creepy guy at the bar so much as looks at you, let alone puts an unwanted hand on your arm or small of your back, Sanji flips his shit. “Hey asshole, watch it. Do that again and I’ll kick your ass.”

This goes without saying, but Sanji loves to cook when he’s drunk and somehow his food is even better than usual—and that isn’t because you’re drunk, too. It’s just that good.

“What would you like me to make you, my love?”

If you don’t know what particular dish you’re in the mood for, he makes you a feast comprised of your favorite foods.

Even if you request something elaborate, he has no problems with it. Cooking is his love language, and he puts extra love into your food.

“God, you’re so beautiful. I can’t take my eyes off of you.” He praises you beyond belief, even when he’s at the stovetop. “You’re perfect, my angel.”

Sanji smothers you in kisses and wants to entwine his fingers with yours. He’s a huge hand holder and cuddler.

If you get way too drunk, he carries you to bed, helps you into some comfy clothes and makes sure you’re sleeping on your side. He’ll pet your hair and watch over you carefully. He’d never let you get to the point of throwing up, but just in case you do, he brings you the necessary supplies.

He sets out everything he thinks you could possibly want in case you wake up before him, and when he is awake, he brings you whatever you ask for. He’s attentive, never overbearing, thoughtful, and darling.

“You somehow get more beautiful every day,” he tells you first thing in the morning when you feel like shit from your hangover and (objectively) look a damn mess. “So perfect, like always.”

Favorite drink(s): bougie and carefully curated glass of pinot gris. Even better if it comes with complementary accoutrements. Also enjoys a negroni.

Ace: charming and protective

When Ace is drunk, he’s smooth, flirty, charming, polite, and a bit forward. But he gets just as rowdy as Luffy. God forbid they’re at the same bar.

He loves it when a bar has pool. He’s crazy good at it and begs everyone to play.

When the situation calls for it, he either breaks up bar fights or runs his mouth so much that he starts them. He’s sassy in general but also talks big game (that he can back up). Especially if someone starts slandering or talking out of their ass about someone he knows.

Somehow manages to gain control over the music every bar he walks into. And he has good playlists too. He hates it if the vibe is off so he takes it upon himself to remedy or prevent that.

Also a big fan of drinking games.

Weirdly excited if there is any opportunity to grill meat. Thinks it’s fun to fuck around with his powers and show off (but it doesn’t get too cringey or anything).

Won’t smoke any drunk cigs (like Sanji) but will accompany people outside and give them a light if they need one (he’s just so thoughtful!!!)

He’s wildly protective over you.

Makes you blush nonstop and pays for everything. Making you blush is like a sport to him.

And while he’s obsessed with you, he doesn’t cling to you at the bar or demand your attention every second. He wants you to have fun with your friends, but he also wants you to be safe, so he keeps a watchful eye.

Sings random bar pirate songs with his friends and crew and gets super goofy.

Raucous laughter. Spit-take level

When his cheeks are ruddy and his eyes are glazed over he looks painfully good. The flush makes his freckles pop and when he scrunches his nose up to laugh they’re emphasized even more. He looks ridiculously good. Like, squeeze your thighs together good.

Ace TEARS UP bar food when he’s drunk. He’s a beast for it. Can put away plates of fries, wings, pizza, pretzels, you name it. The man is a machine.

Loves to put a hand on your thigh when you’re sitting next to him. He does this sober but when he’s drunk it’s feels so much more intense.

Pulls out the sweetest pet names.

“How’s it going, sugar?”

“You drinking enough water, pumpkin?”

Among others: buttercup, darling, angel, princess, doll, etc.

His polite tendencies are multiplied by 1000 any time he gets a drop of alcohol in him.

Gets into sports (or strength) debates at bars.

Has a penchant for accidentally leaving stuff at bars, e.g. wallet. Gets embarrassed about it afterwards.

Ace’s body gets HOT when he’s drunk—his ability (or attention) to control his temperature slips a bit and he can sometimes forget to regulate himself (regarding his devil fruit). And while he’s physically hot, he doesn’t get sweaty or anything. And it’s nice to hold his hand when it’s warm, too. Super comforting.

He’s all hands (and lips) when he’s drunk, and when you let him/when neither of you are too wasted, but if you’re really drunk and try to initiate anything with him, he IMMEDIATELY puts a stop to it. He’s a gentleman (not implying that anyone mentioned here would do the opposite of this, just stressing it for Ace because I think he’d put a lot of intention and thought into this, along with Sanji).

He makes sure you don’t drink too much (and tries to do the same) because he hates seeing you miserable with a hangover. But if you do over-indulge, he’s there to bring you anything you need—ibuprophen, water, Pedialyte, more blankets, different clothes, food, literally anything you could think of.

When you’re out of bed the morning after, he literally chews people out for speaking too loudly around you when he knows you have a headache. He's attentive and gets grumpy (not towards you, of course) whenever you're feeling bad.

Favorite drink: whiskey or rum and coke. Beer guy, too, so might indulge in the occasional IPA and pretend like it tastes good.

Law: awkward, silly, and endearing

Frequently refuses to drink because he hates having his senses dulled in the slightest. But on rare occasions when he does drink, the whole crew has a blast.

His standoffish and cold disposition melts away when he has a few drinks in him.

The first time you witness his coldness melting away, you’re sitting around a table with the crew at a pub. He’s a couple drinks in, mean mugging like usual, deadpan and unamused. But someone says something ridiculously funny and he breaks into roaring laughter. You weren’t expecting that but everyone else is grinning because they love to see their captain happy.

When Law gets past a certain point he lets loose. It’s fun to see him mess around with the crew. He’ll laugh so hard he doubles over.

He's so sweet and tender inside. And that makes more of a prominent impression when he lets his guard down just a tad.

When he’s drunk he thinks Bepo is even cuter and goes a little overboard about it to the point where Bepo side eyes him >_> he thinks it’s weird to have his captain hang all over him sometimes. But Bepo is just so fluffy and cute!

When Law is intoxicated and you’re around, his face is covered in big, goofy, sweet smiles. Flashing eyes and lingering touches. He gets rosy cheeks and his hair gets messed up. Makes him look even better.

But he also has the tendency to make blisteringly intense eye contact. So strong and scathing that it makes you squirm in awkwardness if you aren’t used to it. He can’t help it though, he’s locked-in on how beautiful you are.

Surprisingly a fan of drinking games (no gambling though), but what he likes best is if a bar has old arcade games (air hockey and pool will suffice, if not). He could play them for hours and gets super excited about them. He knows all the facts and history behind each arcade game and will rant about it to anyone in earshot.

His ears perk up if he hears some nerdy shit. Did someone mention a comic he read when he was five? A commemorative coin that he has been on the hunt for? He’ll get to the bottom of it.

If he hears a bad take on his interests^^ he’ll sit down for a heated debate and he always wins.

Surprisingly cute when he’s wasted because he slurs the “-ya”

Watches the crew's water intake like a hawk. Reminds everyone to drink water and makes sure everyone has a glass of it at all times.

Will make sure the crew has enough bar food to eat, family-style.

Picks up the crew's huge tab without being fussy about it. Might pretend to be grumpy about it. But he does it lovingly because he cherishes his crew so much and it's a nice way to showcase that without having to say it out loud.

If you’re one on one, Law can be persuaded to talk about deep and personal things, or rather, he’s more comfortable speaking about them when he has some liquid courage in his veins.

The first time he got too drunk and you took care of him was before you started seeing each other. You practically had to carry him back to the Polar Tang. He almost left his hat at the bar, too.

Law was being uncharacteristically sweet to you all night. When you got back to his cabin, you helped him get into bed and brought him water. He (drunkenly) thanked you profusely and called you beautiful (you didn’t expect that).

The next morning he blushed bright red and was painfully awkward when he said thank you. He had a massive hangover and tried to hide it but you could tell every time he winced.

After that, Law figured out he could just use his devil fruit powers to remove the last traces of alcohol from his (or someone else's) systems, so it's safe to say that the Polar Tang doesn't experience hangovers much.

Favorite drink: Espresso martini.

tysm for reading ヽ(>∀<☆)ノ

i'm back from my mini-hiatus! but i can't say i'll be posting regularly (or at all? idk) until mid december. (๑˃ᴗ˂)ﻭ it's final papers and app season so i'm going to be getting it from all sides 😭 but holy shit i can't wait to go absolutely crazy when i'm free from those obligations!

see my masterlist if you'd like more~

[tamajiki2]

𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐒!! 🫙 𝐒. 𝐀𝐈𝐙𝐀𝐖𝐀

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒;

student/teacher relationships,

facefucking, age gap, pred reader,

manipulation and blackmail, top reader,

hehim amab reader, general dark content.

𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄.

it was a fucking mistake.

that was all aizawa could think of as he shakily knelt on the shiny white tiles that floored his office. sure, it was a mistake, but it was one he could actually feel. and best of all? it felt good.

a hazy night dancing with coworkers and a few too many drinks. terrible decisions, and groaning into the crook of someone's neck. a blurry face, and the hard imprint of a cock rutting against his back. he could hardly see anything, let alone remember. bright white and a loud, shuddering orgasm. he could've sworn he was floating.

however, his fun was promptly put to an end when he was met with one of his third-year students sitting lazily at the desk chair in his office the following morning.

"[ name ].", he warned.

you smiled. what you were so giddy about, aizawa wasn't in a hurry to find out. you were usually a quiet, mild-tempered kid who remained comfortably around his friends, and never behaved outside the norm of the average student.

he watched, puzzled, as you ignored his call and rested your legs on top of his desk.

so what was up with this brazen display of confidence?

"i don't think you understand the situation you're in, teach.", you chuckled and pulled your phone from your pocket. that fateful day, he was too wasted to recognize you and you were too horny— sorry, ambitious to reject this shining opportunity right in front of you. you turned the screen so that aizawa could see its contents clearly.

his heart dropped.

it was him, sprawled out on pure white sheets. his eyes were half-lidded and hair disheveled as he was fucked on camera. he looked like a mess. he hardly even had the sense to cover his face while the flash raked over his entire body.

you waved the phone around, watching aizawa's eyes follow it with a gaze of pure resentment. "sleeping with a student, mr. aizawa? gee, that's terrible. you could lose your job over something like that, you know?", you hummed, voice light and teasing.

aizawa opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

you continued, "it's alright though, i have no intention of telling. as long as you do me a teensy favor..." you gestured for him to come close and aizawa knew he had no choice. aizawa grit his teeth as you stood, now face to face with him.

"on your knees."

which brought him to now.

aizawa stared down at the floor when the familiar jingle of metal scraped at his ears. then, the rapid clinking sound of a zipper. a pool of dread filled his stomach. a long pause during which he didn't dare to look up.

two light slaps against aizawa's cheek. you were already hard. he couldn't miss the distinctive feeling of veins pulsing against his skin.

"open wide.", you singsonged, pressing your tip to aizawa's lips.

reluctantly, he did, and immediately wished he hadn't as you gagged him on his cock. you didn't waste a second setting a brutal pace. you gripped him harshly by the hair, groaning something about how sexy he was. but aizawa couldn't hear you over his own rhythmic choking. aizawa desperately grasped at your thighs.

"ghk—", his back was arching, body trying to struggle against your hold. his eyes were burning.

globs of saliva and pre streamed down his chin and splattered onto the floor. you fucked his throat pliant; aizawa could feel every trace and curve of your cock in his brain. you looked down at him and, god, that almost threw you over the edge. his eyes were sparkling and wet with tearful shame. he no longer had energy to glare at you. not like it would do anything anyway, with your thick dick down his gullet. stray hairs stuck to his face which framed it like a pornographic painting. aizawa kneaded the back of your thighs in a wordless plea. that only drove you further into your descent to orgasm.

he thought that he'd surely die at a particularly rough snap of your hips. you had tangled more of his hair into your grip, like a ponytail, and were punching the back of his throat. aizawa whined loudly.

"shit, you feel so good. 'm gonna cum."

you were rolling your hips now, instead of thrusting like before. aizawa thought that was worse. he was forced down to your hilt where he would stay for what felt like hours, gagging and swallowing around your cock while you humped impossibly deep into his skull.

you couldn't think of anything else except the feeling of his throat tightening around you. damn, he was addictive. you leaned over him further restricting his movements. there's a strangled noise from under you.

'it's almost over', he thought, but 'almost' didn't seem like 'almost' anymore as you began an onslaught more viscous than the last. aizawa found himself fading in and out of consciousness, his vision light and blurring. 

one last snap of your hips and you were buried deep into him. he felt your seed scorching his already-sore throat. you pulled away, absolutely relishing in the mess you made of shota aizawa.

a thick layer of fluids coated his face and dripped down the front of his longsleeve. while he coughed and spluttered for air, you felt oddly endeared to him. you gently massaged your hands through his hair.

"i'll see you later, teach.", you said sweetly.

again, the rustling of clothes followed by that metallic 'zzzip'. your sturdy hands left him and aizawa swallowed thickly. he was sure he looked terrible. he did his best to wipe away the worst of it with his sleeves. the fabric felt like knives dragging across his raw skin. he let out a deep sigh upon hearing your descending footsteps and the door slam shut.

he noted his next class starting in a few hours and grimaced. he'd have to hurry and clean up if he wanted to make it in time. beforehand, though— he looked down at the crotch of his pants that were dark and sticky with cum— he had a situation to deal with.

“shit.”

[ an; hey so let me know if you guys like this facefuck and aizawa mmm yum yum si or no ]

[rainbowskis]

fusing together two hyperfixations to create a third, larger source of serotonin

[rennalaqotfm]

𖤓 DRAGONSPEAR | J.V (PART I)

Pairing: Prince Jacaerys Velaryon x Martell Princess! Reader

Synopsys: Upon discovering Aemond Targaryen's alliance with the Triarchy, the Blacks are pushed to the point of desperation. With the war looming over the horizon, they have no choice but to turn to an unlikely ally: House Martell.

Content Warning: Swearing and a lot of 'fucking politicking,' as King Viserys said.

WC: 3.9k

Series Masterlist

(A/N at the end of the chapter)

The cold castle of Dragonstone stirred back to life in the early evening as the Black Council was hastily reunited after receiving news from an unknown sender, most likely one of Lady Mysaria's informants. The hall was silent as the members of the council cocked their brows in confusion.

"An alliance with the Triarchy?" Rhaenyra Targaryen shook her head in disbelief.

Daemon took the message from her, not believing what she had just said. He tossed the piece of parchment on the table, letting everyone have a look.

"An alliance with the Free Cities is a risk, but a necessary one nonetheless. Their hold on power currently hinges heavily on Vhagar. Aemond knows that the city will be defenceless once Vhagar leaves King's Landing and we could easily overtake it. That is when the Triarchy will come in, to break the blockade of the Gullet," Daemon said, adding a ship figurine to the Table Map.

"We should have enough ships—" Lord Corlys said.

"Forgive me, Lord Corlys, but I do not think they will be enough. The Triarchy can muster a much larger naval power than any house in Westeros, including House Velaryon." 

"Are you underestimating my fleet, my King Consort?" Lord Corlys said through his teeth.

"I am just being realistic. It is not just the Triarchy we might end up encountering," Daemon countered, adding two more ship figurines to the Table Map. "The Greens know that we will solely be relying on the Velaryon fleet, and with enough luck, we would be able to defend ourselves against the Triarchy. Which is why they would also want to send Hightower and Lannister fleets."

"We would be outnumbered," Rhaenyra muttered. 

Daemon shook his head as his eyes scanned the map, realising that the Greens had managed to amass a larger number of allies, from the Crownlands, all the way to the Westerlands. He raised a brow in a particular spot in the South, a place the Targaryens haven't been able to tame after centuries of their rule.  

"Not if we make an alliance with the Dornishmen," he finally said.

After a brief moment of silence, everyone in the Black Council but Daemon erupted in laughter. 

"I don't know which is worse, the Greens making an alliance with the Triarchy or us with those goatfuckers," Ulf laughed. 

"Do we really have no choice?" Rhaenyra muttered, staring at the map. "The Hightower and Lannister navies would need to sail around Dorne before reaching the blockade, after all."

"My Queen, you cannot possibly be considering this," Jacaerys stepped forward. "We cannot make a deal with those barbarians. Our houses have been at each other's throats for generations... What makes you think that they would want to help us? There is a reason why the Greens would rather turn to the Triarchy instead of House Martell."

"The Prince is right, my Queen," Lord Corlys said. "We do not know how those Dornishmen operate, where their loyalties lie. What if they withdraw their support after making a deal, or demand more than we agreed upon? I should not be reminding you of this, my Queen, but the Dornishmen... Well, they are known for being unpredictable. They might even end up switching sides and joining the Greens."

"That will not be happening, Lord Corlys. After all, the Greens are still Targaryens. At present, the Dornishmen have a neutral stance. They do not wish to partake in this war—"

"Because they're just watching everything from afar and placing bets on who's gonna win," Ulf sniggered, earning a glare from Rhaenyra.

"As I was saying, they do not wish to partake in this war," Rhaenyra paused, watching as Daemon picked up another ship figurine and placed it strategically in front of the Hightower and Lannister ships. "But if we manage to convince them to join us, then we could eliminate the Triarchy and block the Summer Sea, preventing the Lannister and Hightower fleets from crossing it."

"Convince them to join us? How are we going to do that?" Lord Corlys shook his head, growing irritated as Rhaenyra seemed to have decided to carry on with the plan. "This is another reason why Aemond has not even bothered negotiating with those barbarians in the first place. Those Dornishmen—House Martell... they would not easily accept any deal. They are too proud. And in this case, we need them more than they need us. We cannot show our desperation or else they will bleed us out—"

"But we are growing desperate, Lord Corlys, and we are running out of options," Rhaenyra raised her voice, causing everyone in the Council to flinch. "The Velaryon fleet alone does not stand a chance against all of them." 

"This is absolutely—" Lord Corlys burst out, clenching his fists as he tried to hold his ire.

"Making a deal with them would be the hardest part, but I am certain they would be satisfied if we offered them a dragon," Daemon suggested. "Ulf, how do you feel about flying to Sunspear with Silverwing and spending the rest of your days with those... goatfuckers?" 

"I don't really have a choice do I?" He grimaced. "But it wouldn't be all too bad, I s'ppose. I've yet to taste a beautiful Dornishwoman and—"

"Looks like it is sorted," Daemon waved his hand, cutting him off. 

"Send a raven to Sunspear," Rhaenyra ordered Maester Gerardys.

"My Queen, please listen to me," Jacaerys raised his voice, catching everybody's attention. "This risk that we are taking is completely unnecessary. We do not even know whether the Greens would be sending the Hightower and Lannister fleets. If they do not, then we would have wasted our time in trying to reason with those savages. Besides, how would that make us look? To think that you are even considering trading Silverwing for a handful of ships..."

The Black Council grew quiet, letting Jacearys' words hang in the air, and they hummed in agreement.

"Listen, boy," Daemon cut him off. "Aemond just burned Sharp Point out of anger. Do you think he is the type to hold back? He is going to want to strike with everything he has, and House Lannister and Hightower would not want to miss a single chance to appease him."

"But House Martell—?" Jacaerys snapped.

"It will not just be House Martell, Jacaerys. If we somehow manage to convince them, then other Dornish houses will follow. Think about House Allyrion, Blackmont, Dayne..." Rhaenyra tried to reason with her son. "Maester Gerardys, send a raven to Sunspear. Now. We have no time to spare." 

The room was filled with exasperation. Some were nodding their heads, murmuring and pointing at the map, whilst others shook their heads yet kept their mouths shut nonetheless. The maester himself began to hesitate as he began to write the message:

To the Honourable Prince Qoren Martell of Sunspear,

In these dire times, as the fleets of the Triarchy, Hightower, and Lannister press upon us, Her Grace, Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, seeks the aid of House Martell to join forces with our Velaryon allies at sea. In return for your assistance, we offer the protection of our dragon, Silverwing, as a symbol of our alliance and mutual respect. We acknowledge the history between our houses, but now, unity is essential more than ever. We hope to set aside past tensions and forge a partnership that will benefit both our realms.

From Maester Gerardys, in service to Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen.

To Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen,

House Martell has long stood apart from the conflicts of the rest of the realm, and we see no benefit in entangling our house in this war. Our independence is our strength, and we will not risk it, even for the promise of a dragon. Dorne will continue to walk its own path.

Prince Qoren Martell of Sunspear.

Three weeks have already passed, only to receive a cold rejection from the Martells. Their enemies were already making their move, as according to one of Lady Mysaria's informants within the Red Keep, the Green Council had agreed to send Tyland Lannister as an envoy and were soon going to start preparing the ship for the lengthy journey to the Free Cities. 

After reading the message, Rhaenyra scoffed and threw the note in the fireplace, watching as the paper shrivelled into ashes. The Council needn't ask what the Martells had replied since the indignation from the rejection was written all over her face. 

"I told you they were too proud, my Queen. Making a deal with those savages... it was never going to work," Lord Corlys said.

"Do not give up so easily Lord Corlys. That just meant our deal was not good enough," Daemon said.

"You cannot be serious. They have already refused to help, even with the promise of a dragon," Jacaerys snapped. Baela placed her hand on his shoulder, trying to calm him down.

"What else could they possibly want?" Rhaenyra inhaled deeply as she closed her eyes.

Daemon paced back and forth as his eyes wandered on everyone present in the hall. 

"Maester Gerardys, remind us again of the children Prince Qoren has sired,"  Daemon asked.

"Don't name the bastards, though. We'd be stuck 'ere forever," Ulf joked, only to be met by an awkward silence and glares from those in the council.

"His eldest is a daughter of two-and-twenty, Princess Y/n Martell; Prince Elyas Martell, of nine-and-ten; and Prince Farien Martell, of seven, my King Consort," Maester Gerardys said.

"And is Princess Y/n betrothed?" Daemon asked.

"Not that I am aware of, my King Consort."

"It seems that securing an heir is not her main priority," Rhaenyra muttered. "I wonder why she remains unwed..."

"Well, with the number of bastards Prince Qoren has sired, they would never run out of heirs," Lord Corlys muttered under his breath. 

"I do not know, my Queen. I am not entirely familiar with Dornish customs, but I have heard that Prince Qoren has yet to find a suitable match for his daughter," Maester Gerardys said.

"If I may speak, my Queen," Addam bowed his head, waiting for Rhaenyra's nod of approval. "Some of the men who've sailed in Dornish waters have shared stories about why Princess Y/n Martell remains unwed. It's not that Prince Qoren hasn't found a suitable match for his daughter; rather, many of those suitors have met... untimely ends. Their bodies have been discovered in the desert, feasted upon by scorpions. Of course, I can't say how much of this is true and how much is mere sailor's tale."

"Fuckin' hell..." Ulf exclaimed in amusement at Addam's story. "Hopefully that princess was worth dying for."

The Council grimaced, their prejudice somehow convincing them that everything they'd just heard was true. Jacaerys was starting to grow uneasy, feeling Daemon's gaze piercing his as Addam of Hull told the story. He didn't like where the conversation was going, and even if he knew what Daemon was going to say, he still wasn't prepared to hear those words.

"We present Jacaerys as a suitor for Prince Qoren's daughter," Daemon declared, silencing the council.

"No. No. Absolutely not," Jacaerys clenched his fists, his voice trembling with anger as he shook his head furiously. "I am to wed Princess Baela," his gaze darted to Rhaenyra, desperation in his eyes. "The Queen would never agree to such a preposterous match," he said, searching his mother's face for reassurance. But Rhaenyra's gaze was cast downward, and fear gripped his heart. "Mother... you would not marry me off to a savage, would you?"

Rhaenyra felt her son's pressing gaze upon her, yet she refused to look him in the eye. She turned away from the table and stared at the fireplace illuminating the room, trying to find answers in the dancing embers. At first, she found Daemon's proposal outrageous, but his unconventional thinking often led to surprisingly effective strategies. The fire seemed to whisper to her, telling her it was the right thing to do. The Martells. Dorne. She slowly began to realise that if they managed to secure the support of House Martell, and most importantly, the hand of Princess Y/n, then the whole realm would be united.

However, as everyone in the Black Council had already warned her, it wouldn't be an easy feat. House Martell despised the Targaryens after the mass destruction Aegon the Conqueror had caused during the First Dornish War in his attempt to bring Dorne under Targaryen rule. Cities were burned to the ground, leaving much of Dorne a barren waste of sand and ashes. But even then, the Dornish resisted. Led by House Martell, Dorne fought fiercely for their independence at the cost of hundreds of thousands of lives. Yet it was all worth it in the end, as they remained free from the binds of Westeros.

Then she thought of her father, Viserys, and his dream of The Song of Ice and Fire, and how he urged her to unite the realm for what was to come. The alliance with Dorne was necessary, and though they were in dire times of war, there was no better time to unite the two realms.

With a heavy heart, she turned to face her son, Prince Jacaerys, whose eyes were full of desperation. As a mother, she had hoped she could've spared the heavy burden of her duties from her beloved son, but it couldn't be helped. He was going to be the Crown, and sooner or later, he was bound to carry the burden one way or another.

Rhaenyra exhaled and slowly nodded her head, mustering the courage to speak her final decision. If there was one thing she could handle, it was the hatred from her enemies and the smallfolk, but being despised by her own son was something she wasn't sure she could bear.

"Maester Gerardys," Rhaenyra spoke, trying to ignore how her son's eyes widened in disbelief at her words. "Send another raven to Sunspear for a marriage proposal between Prince Jacaerys and Princess Y/n."

Jacaerys stormed out of the room, and Baela looked at Rhaenyra for permission to go after him. 

As Rhaenyra looked at the Table Map, she felt a hand momentarily ghost at the small of her back.

"You made the right call, my Queen," Daemon whispered, his lips lightly brushing against her ear, causing a chill to run down her spine.

To the Honourable Prince Qoren Martell of Sunspear,

I write to you once more on behalf of Her Grace, Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, about the proposal concerning an alliance between our houses. While we understand and respect your initial decision, the urgency of our situation compels us to make another appeal. In light of the escalating threat posed by the combined forces of the Greens, we recognise that the need for strong allies has never been more critical. As such, we wish to renew our proposal.

Her Grace is prepared to betroth her son, Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, who eagerly seeks the hand of your daughter, Princess Y/n Martell. We believe that this union will not only strengthen our positions but also signify an enduring alliance between House Targaryen and House Martell.

From Maester Gerardys, in service to Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen.

Rhaenyra's footsteps echoed in the stone hallways of the castle as she made her way to her son's chambers. The night was quiet, nothing but the flickering sounds of the torches and the distant waves crashing against the shore could be heard. A few days had passed since she ordered Maester Gerardys to send the raven to Sunspear, and she decided that it was best to give Jacaerys some space so he could come to terms with his future betrothal to Princess Y/n.

Jacaerys refused to speak to anyone, not even Baela, and Rhaenyra's concern for her son was beginning to keep her awake at night to the point she began to question her decisions. However, the raven had already been set, and there was no turning back.

Rhaenyra knocked on the door, only to get no answer. After the second and third try, she sighed, debating whether she should just give up and leave her son. But she knew how Jacaerys felt, and she couldn't bear to see him so distant, losing himself at the thought of marrying a foreign princess they all knew little to none of. Rhaenyra thought Jacaerys was justified to feel the way he did.

She was pleased the marriage proposal between Jacaerys and Baela was approved by her father Viserys. She thought she could give her son the gift of betrothing someone close to him, someone familiar, someone he could eventually grow to love, just as she had been lucky to have been married to Laenor first, and though they weren't each other's preferences, they managed to come to an agreement.

"Jace, let me in," she said one last time. "We need to talk."

Jacaerys still refused to reply, and she expected as much. Rhaenyra slowly opened the door, only to find her son looking through the windows, watching how the waves violently crashed against the cliffs. She couldn't believe how much her son had grown over those past few years, the babe she used to carry in her arms had turned into a man of eight-and-ten, with sharp, handsome features and dark brown curls framing his face. Her heart was full of pride knowing that the Crown would be in good hands with her son, as not only he excelled in politics and affairs of the realm, but he possessed the kindness and compassion her father Viserys did. 

"Jace..." She slowly approached her son, placing a hand on his broad shoulder.

He flinched at her touch and stepped away, refusing to look at her.

"I wish to be alone, Mother."

Rhaenyra closed her eyes and sighed, leaning forward as she also gazed at how the ocean infinitely stretched before her eyes, not knowing how to address the situation. 

"I cannot even imagine how you must feel, Jace. If your grandsire had put me in the same position as you, my feelings would not be any different from yours... Though I still recall how your grandsire had me sit down and meet a never-ending line of suitors," she smiled sadly, feeling the soft breeze of the sea blow gently on her face.

Although Jacaerys remained silent, she still listened to his mother. They rarely had the opportunity to talk so casually about matters he deemed trivial, but he always appreciated those few times they got to talk about anything but war and politics.

"My grandsire already approved of my betrothal with Baela," he mumbled. "I wonder what he would think if he found out you wanted to wed me to a savage."

The sound of the sea seemed to have carried the whispers of her father's wish, as she heard distant voices murmuring The Song of Ice and Fire.

"Your grandsire would be proud," she smiled.

Jacaerys turned to look at her with furrowed brows, wondering if what she had just said was nothing more than a jest. But when his gaze met hers, he could see the love her mother carried for his grandsire Viserys reflected in her eyes.

"Before your grandsire made me heir, he said that I must unite the realm, and this alliance with House Martell is the key to that. This is not just about the ships and this war, Jace. It is beyond that. There are things you will come to understand in time. If this betrothal between you Princess Y/n comes forth, the two of you would finally be uniting the Seven Kingdoms," Rhaenyra said, with a faint glimmer of hope in her eyes, something Jacaerys hadn't seen in a long time.

"I know my duty as the Crown Prince, Mother," Jacaerys said, his voice heavy with resignation. "I understand that there is no undoing the proposal," he sighed. "But it pains me deeply, how you all discussed it as if I were nothing more than a pawn in a game, moved around as you see fit. Baela and I have known each other since childhood; it feels only natural that we should marry. We were just talking about the ceremony we would have once the war is over, imagining weeks of feasting and celebration... only to have it all snatched away from us."

"I am not saying you should, but if worst comes to worst, you could always make an... arrangement with Princess Y/n," Rhaenyra said. 

"An arrangement?" Jacaerys scoffed, shaking his head. "What for? So I can sire more bastards like me?"

Rhaenyra's features hardened as she glared at her son, a flare of anger igniting within her as he brought up those bitter rumours she had buried deeply in her memories.

"Do not speak of yourself that way," Rhaenyra snapped, her voice shaking as she spoke. "You are a true Targaryen, born of fire and blood, and of salt and sea. Let no one, not even yourself, suggest otherwise."

Jacaerys shook his head, growing tired of hearing the same words of denial coming from his mother. 

"I will do what I must for the realm and I will do my best to win the hand of Princess Y/n," Jacaerys muttered in defeat with his gaze cast downwards. "But I will not repeat your mistakes, Mother. I swear I will not sire any bastards, for I will not condemn my future children to face the same humiliation and torment that has haunted me all these years."

To Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen,

How amusing it is, to send a mere bird in place of a prince, when seeking the hand of my beloved daughter. Mayhaps you are unaware of our customs, or mayhaps you believe a Targaryen name is worth more than the effort or courtesy. Here in Dorne, we value actions over titles. The hand of my daughter is not something to be bargained for in letters.

Prince Qoren Martell of Sunspear.

"My Queen, Ser Tyland Lannister has been reported to depart to the Free Cities on the morrow," Lady Mysaria spoke before the council. 

Rhaenyra clenched her jaw in irritation, not taking House Martell's second rejection well. Daemon read the message over her shoulder, amused at the words of Prince Qoren. Jacaerys hoped that his mother would give up the negotiations, but after the discussion they had weeks ago, he knew that she was going to do everything in her power to secure the deal with House Martell. 

"Calling us cravens for sending a raven..." Daemon sneered. "What, were they expecting us to march to Sunspear in person, just to deliver the message?"

"We are running out of time, my Queen. It's only a matter of weeks before Ser Tyland reaches the Free Cities if the winds are in their favour," Lady Mysaria said. 

"That is not all, my Queen," Maester Gerardys intervened, concerned. "Just as the King Consort predicted, we have just received various ravens from our allies reporting that they have sighted an alarming number of fleets departing from Lannisport and Oldtown a fortnight ago."

The Queen breathed in, feeling the pressure to make a decision as the enemy took another step. Reading Qoren Martell's letter one final time, she crumpled the parchment in her fist and turned to her council.

"Value actions over titles..." Rhaenyra muttered at the boldness of his words. "If what he desires are actions, that is what he shall get. Daemon, Jacaerys and I shall depart for Sunspear on the morrow on dragonback."

A/N: Hello, my lovelies! I hope you enjoyed the first part of this series. This chapter was basically the Targaryens and the Martells sending emails at each other lol. I don't wanna spoil anything but this story will kinda go from 0-100 hehe. Chapter 2 is like 90% finished, but still needs a lot of editing. Anyway, would you guys prefer if I have a regular updating schedule (once a week), or if I just upload whenever a chapter is finished (obviously there will be times when I won't be able to update as much but I sometimes get random bursts of energy)? I would love to know what you think.

If you wish to be added to the taglist, please fill out this form for easier management.

Until next time ;)

[gorjee-art]

"The Fisherman"

"I've made a routine of coming down to the bay to come visit my dear friend. Fish is plentiful here and the angler seems to charm the crayfish with the innards of our bounty, truly a master of the trade, to add, even a storyteller. Keeps me company with tall tales of how he once came from the sea itself until he himself fought with a fellow giller. "Put up a good fight, he did! Torn me face, me gullet in two! Damn harpy gave me an offer I couldn't refuse! The plunders of flesh that last forever, scavenger no more, he taught me to be a hunter! Taught me everything, ye see? I was swimming in everlasting bounty!" Hard to say if I believe him however, I wouldn't have believed I if I told the shepherd what I've become. He's generous to feed many mouths, and I cannot thank him enough when he spares a bit of fish for just a measly few coins for the tougher winter days. I almost feel as though...we somewhat understand each other, as farmer and fisher."

[teresiel]

Reminds me of this video (and others Brittney covers on the film and other recent Disney)

It's just all.so. drab.

everything about the new l*ttle m*rmaid feels like a set up………why are they doing ms bailey so dirty like this

[cavegirlpoems]

Hello, new follower here! I saw you mentioned you worked on several RPGs, may I ask what those were? I'm always looking to find new cool RPGs!

OK so, off the top of my head: TTRPGs: -Wolfpacks & Winter Snow (osr weird fantasy paleolithic with too much historical research) -Dungeon Bitches (PbtA dyke-punk dungeon-horror full of sex and body horror) -Esoteric Enterprises (osr modern-day occult gangsters/urban exploration) -Haunt/Hearts (romantic lyric game about a lesbian ghost) -The Yellow Curtain (experimental metafiction King In Yellow/RevStar) -Deep Morphean Transmissions (dreamscape conspiricy noir surrealism in a setting kept secret from the players ooc) Modules/Settings/Adventures: The Gardens Of Ynn (whimsical fantasy in a ruined extradimensional garden, procedurally generated osr) The Stygian Library (whimsical fantasy in a haunted extradimensional library, procedurally generated osr) Dead Girls In Sarkash Forest (feminine horror with tragically undead protagonists, mork borg for riot grrls) Wounded Hungry & Forgotten (a mini bestiary for Dungeon Bitches) Black Lung (Dungeon Bitches in the industrial revolution, again with too much historical resarch: out any day now i promise) Wargames: The Dolorous Stroke (experimental detailed skirmish game based on medieval romances with knights going on quests) Black Death Walking (narrative campaign skirmish game set in the 15th century with zombies and satan) Currently In Progress (in various stages of done, titles subject to change, may or may not actually get finished): Black Death Rising (osr religious horror with zombies, fascists and satan all trying to kill you, same setting as Black Death Walking) The Bleeding Gullet (a body-horror OSR setting in a giant mutant-filled chasm that makes you violently ill if you try to leave it) In The Black Cloister (experimental solo wargame where you explore a ruined nunnery/vinyard full of weird monsters) Sunset Seas (nautical osr adventure where you sail around exploring various increasingly weird islands on the edge of the world)

[venusintheblindspots-blog]

Also, this fandom is very weird towards the women in ASOIAF having their own political ambitions, (or ambition in general).

I think that’s why in conversations where I’m defending Elia, I always have to mention that Dorne married her to Rhaegar so she could become the Queen. Whether she was polyamorous or not, it did not matter once she married Rhaegar. Her not being okay with him and Lyanna will always be more plausible to me.

This can apply to Nettles too. She spent her entire life living in the lowest class in Westeros. Her claiming of Sheepstealer isn’t tied to ancient magic or special bloodline abilities. A more likely explanation is Nettles saw an opportunity to get better for herself and took it. Her tears after the Battle of the Gullet is more than likely not about Jace either, but rather the fact that she lost her home.

These characters having ambitions does not remove their humanity or make them any less sympathetic. Allow the women of ASOIAF to be full characters and not accessories to the male characters.

[shotmrmiller]

Toni, I humbly request your head canons/general thoughts on everyone's favorite Austrian giant pls n ty

🙏🏽🤲🏽✨️

i've been sitting on a tourist konig x local reader for a while but just ain't write it yet cuz i'm lazy.

okay sure. he's a red head. period. he's a fictional character so naturally he's got this unnatural hair color (based on an art i saw a loooooong time ago. he was so 🫠)

scarred to shit. ugly. his oma calls him handsome and that's all that matters. you seem more disgusted with his incessant hounding than his looks, so that's a plus.

smells like apples. grew up on a farm, liked to hang in the orchard back when he'd be finished tending to morning chores as a young lad. reader makes one (1) apple pie (for themselves) and he's proposing. (doesn't matter that he forced his presence onto you yesterday. marriage.)

despite his pathetic sniveling when it comes to reader, he doesn't like when people approach what's his (or him). very defensive. he's a hungry dog with a bone and his food aggression is intense. get too close and fingers are gonna go down his gullet.

him and ghost don't mix. nothing particularly personal on either end. konig doesn't care for anything outside the bubble that is his sweetheart who hates him (they'll love him someday, perseverance is key) and ghost doesn't like those that are loyal to currency.

he's obsessive. craves your attention like nothing else. reader's eyes wander and he's quick to eliminate the distraction, ensuring their attention returns to him. (will do whatever it takes to keep their eyes on him, to make sure they see him and only him. any attention is good attention in his soft noodle)

in short, he's obsessed and nothing short of death will keep him off your front porch. and if your eyes widen at the sight of your cranky old man of a cat who hates everyone except you curl around his ankle even though it's the first time he's stepped proper foot in your home, he's just good with cats :)

[missadacackle]

I even feel like Agatha would use it as praise.

I mean- just imagineee,

Agatha *Smirking*: Who's my unsafe little bat?

Geraldine *acting like a toddler that got offered candy*: Me! Me!I'm your unsafe batt!

Agatha: Good unhealthy girll

And then proceeds to stroke her hair and give her a forehead kiss 😭

Health and Safety. but its not Health and Safety.

[dragongirlintestines]

A whole adventuring party finds themselves outmatched in my lair. Really, who wouldn't be.

Unfortunately for them, I tend to be hungry when I wake up, and despite what they might want to believe, adventurers are generally made of meat. Really, an ideal meal for a dragon to wake up to.

(fatal vore, gore, unwilling prey, sexual content, noncon)

I've already circled around them, cutting off their escape route and forcing their healer and mage to beat a hasty retreat, throwing off their casting.

The heavily armored one seems to want me to keep my attention on him, and I'm fine with that. He won't last long, certainly not long enough for the archer to find a spot to shoot from, nor for their spearwoman to find any weak spots in my scales.

I think I'll show that knight what he's up against, just to see the party's reaction. His sword is a decent piece of work, but nothing fantastic, so I have no qualms about catching the blade in my claw and shattering it as he takes his next swing.

Crystalline and pure, the sound of hardened steel shattering like glass rings through the cavern, and I drink in the terror as the ragtag band of adventurers calculates just how in over their heads they are.

While he's recovering from the shock of his blade shattering, I take the time to bat him aside like a bored cat, turning my attention to the spearwoman attempting to circle my flank. She wasn't expecting my gaze to fall upon her so soon, and I can see the terror in her eyes as my jaws descend. I can taste the blood on my tongue, mingled with the iron and oil of her mail. It's a pungent, bitter mix, but not entirely unpleasant, enjoyable as one might find a strong tea. My throat rumbles in delight as toned muscles reflecting years of training slide down my gullet, her thrashing, desperate struggles pleasantly kneading my insides.

The knight has regained his senses by now, but at this point, any combat discipline the group may have had is shattered. They all watched in terror as I devoured their comrade, and they know it's only a matter of time before they meet a similar fate.

My gaze likewise lingers on their figures, picking out my next course. The fighter was a delicious starter, I think, but I could go for something lighter, more delicate. The knight will be the main course, he's far too dense to be anything else, and peeling his armor will be good fun. The healer, well, she looks fatty and sweet and utterly terrified at the prospect of becoming a meal, so I'll save her for dessert.

That leaves the mage and the archer. The mage seems to be taking her sweet time channeling something, so I might just let her keep at it for now. Which means the archer is my next course.

A swift wingbeat staggers the knight again, putting him flat on his back, and propelling me towards the succulent huntress. A hasty shot glances off my scales, before I fall upon her. My claws clasp around her, tearing into her light armor, allowing me to easily tear it away from her form. Blood splatters the nearby wall as my talons strike deep, and the sweet sound is screaming fills the air. My tongue lashes out, wrapping her up in its cruel embrace, and I taste the delicious flavors of blood and oiled leather. She writhes in its grasp, but her struggles are futile as the muscular appendage pulls her to the back of my gaping maw. Her body folds in half as she slides backwards down my throat, and I take the opportunity to stand up on my hind legs and trace her bulge all the way down my gullet, before she settles into my stomach with her ally.

"Now it's time for the main course," I muse aloud. I wrap around on myself, serpentine in my motion, prowling like a cat, before pinning the knight to the ground under one claw. An idea strikes me, cruel and brutal. I gently lift the knight up to my jaws, holding him by the scruff of his neck. Any sense of honor he might have had is long gone, and he thrashes against his fate. But I will not swallow him immediately, not yet.

My jaws close gently, tapping my victim in a cage of wicked teeth. I can feel his feet starting to slide down the back of my gullet, but he is doing his best to avoid slipping. No matter. Deep within me, I feel an organ in my chest compress, and a familiar heat rises in my throat.

The screams of a burning man fill the air, mingling with the scent of roasting muscle and rendering fat. The oily flavor drips down my gullet, and I relish its taste. Leather straps and clothes char to cinder, and the metal plates of the knights armor glow white hot as they are bathed in flame. My tongue flicks into slots between armor plates, peeling them from seared flesh. One by one I spit the still glowing metal pieces to the ground, taking my time enjoying my charred treat.

One final boot drops to the ground with the muted *thud* of hot iron, and I allow the blackened morsel to be gently pulled down the back of my maw into my guts. Upon its entry into my stomach, I am rewarded with several pleasurable kicks from the other occupants.

Lighting crashes from across my lair, dancing through my scales and leaving tingling paths in its wake. It stings, and I look over to see the mage, staff outstretched, staring at me.

"Ah, the little goddess seems to have overestimated herself," I tease, settling into a stalking crouch as I prowl towards the robed woman. I note that her healer companion seems to have slid away while she had my attention drawn, and I realize I've left the exit unguarded.

Not that it matters for long. In the mage's panic, I see her eyes flicker over to something, or someone, and my tail lashes out at where I can see her focusing. Sure enough, I am rewarded with a gasp as my tail encircles my soon to be dessert.

"two tender little mages left..." I purr, stalking towards my next victim. "Oh, I've really spoiled myself now."

The morsel before me can't help but tremble in terror. A muffled scream emanates from my belly, and something lurches, sending pleasurable tingles down my body. This is going to be delicious, I think to myself.

I swipe my claw forwards, tearing through the fragile fabric of the mage's dress. It falls away like tissue, revealing the succulent, tender body underneath. Her scream echoes through my lair, the perfect pitch of terrified prey, simultaneously harmonizing with another shriek from the morsel wrapped in my tail.

"No need for that," I growl, as I stuff the tip of my tail into her mouth, muffling her screams. The healer writhes against my grasp, her impotent moans soaking around the tail stuffed down her throat. "You'll get your turn."

I turn my attention back to the nude mage before me. She's quivering oh so adorably, barely making a move to flee as my tongue wraps around her waist. I take my time drawing her back into my jaws, savoring the deliciously sweet taste of fear. Now that the threats are dealt with, I want to play with my prey. I close my jaws gently around her body, entrapping her fully within a cage of teeth, before I turn to the morsel in my tail.

I withdraw my tail from her mouth, a strand of saliva trailing between them, before, with another swift motion, I toss her to the floor before me. One swift strike, and her robes too fall away like autumn leaves. Her body is soft, well rounded, with plenty of fat padding out her abdomen. Tantalizingly tender. She whimpers and tries to cover herself with her hands. Such a cute instinct, really.

I open my maw, using my tongue to rotate the victim inside so she and the healer can look into each other's eyes, before I lower my head to the floor. The mage reaches, crying out in desperation for the healer to save her. It's adorable, really. Two doomed meals reach towards each other, fingers just grazing, before, with one quick gulp, they are separated again. The cry of despair filling my cavern is heavenly, as is the feeling of the mage's slender form sliding down my gullet. She's in shock, barely struggling as she is escorted to her tomb.

As the mage reaches my stomach, I slide my jaws slowly around my dessert. Such soft flesh deserves to be played with, and I toss her about with my tongue as I lift my head from the ground. Meanwhile, my stomach has begun to surge and clench around the struggling forms in my guts. A wave of pleasure washes over me as the surviving morsels coordinate an assault on my digestive tract. In response, I let out a satisfied growl, shaking the woman in my jaws. Shortly thereafter, I feel something snap as my belly delivers retribution for the assault.

Simultaneously, the morsel still waiting to be swallowed has my tongue's attention. The tip of that muscle plays over her curves, teasing moans and noises of protest from her. The probing tip traces around sensitive nipples, lapping up their oily flavor, before slowly delving between her thighs.

My victim thrashes, but as she does so, I close my jaws, allowing my teeth to pin her arms with a gentle reminder, drawing just enough blood for fear to hold them in place. My tongue laps at her sensitive core, eliciting more moans of protest and pleasure. It's quite cute, really, and soon, despite herself, I find her body pressing into my taste buds.

As her motions and vocalizations reach a fever pitch, I press in deeper with my tongue, while lessening the pressure on her arms. She grinds, hard, desperately trying to reach climax, not realizing that I'm beginning to swallow. She bucks, in a fit of lust, before the realization hits. My throat engulfs her in its fleshy grip, pulling her inexorably down. I can feel her writhing within me, her body wracking with pleasured convulsions a moment before sinking into my belly.

Ahhh.... A whole five course meal, still fighting the inevitable in my guts. I roll onto my back, enjoying the panicked motions of my victims as they try to reorient themselves. I turn my tail on myself, the tip toying open a slit between my thighs, and begin to tease. My belly churns, ravenous, as I feel hands and feet press desperately against my inner walls, coordination giving away to panic as acid begin to sear tender flesh. I relish the sensation of finishing off a filling meal, and plunge my tail deep as I feel several cracks in quick succession, followed by a scream. Another plunge of my tail leaves my body shivering, further helping to massage digestive juices into my screaming, thrashing prey. Something caves, a ribcage or a skull, and one morsel gives up the fight. Another stroke of my tail and my body is wracked with orgasmic convulsions. Two more wet crunches, and the wave resounds through my core, driving my pleasure to new heights. One final clench, and the last morsel is churned to a bloody mess in my guts. Slowly, like waking from a coma, sensation returns to my limbs as pleasure recedes, replaced by the satisfying flow of a meal slowly slipping into my intestines. It's going to be a lovely evening.

[on-a-lucky-tide]

in the mood for angst today but imagine nikprice having to hide their relationship and trying to act 'normal' (as they can be) because what if the news of a british captain and a russian criminal/fugitive gets out and becomes a scandal?

Your wish is my command.

cw: SAS-style shovel talk?

John stood in front of Major General MacMillan's desk and watched the second hand tick by on the clock above the Major's head. Waiting. He knew what this was about. He could feel the nausea roiling in his gut like poison, more full of dread than he had been before Pripyat.

"'M sorry tae have tae ask ye this, John. I wouldnae if it were not a matter of national security," MacMillan said. Mac was a pragmatic man and he had enough spine to look at his protegé when he asked. "Are ye an' Nikolai an item?"

John swallowed the knot in his throat and dropped his gaze to meet the Major General's eye, his fingers tightening on his wrist behind his back. There was no point in lying. MacMillan knew. This was only to hear it from John's mouth before telling him it had to end. The poison felt like it was clawing up John's gullet. He wanted to be sick. "Yes, sir."

MacMillan leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes, his clean shaven jaw, and then looked at the wall on his left. It was covered in photographs, certificates and medals of valour. There was only one image he was looking for. The photograph they took after surviving a bad encounter in the Congo; the relief to be alive was palpable from the look on their faces alone. "Aye, well, tha' complicates things," he said finally.

John said nothing. His eyes fogged over and he swallowed again. Keeping it together through sheer willpower and self discipline forged through twenty-one years of service. He would rather be anywhere else in the world at that moment, including a KorTac detention site.

MacMillan tapped the files on his desk, fingers drumming like the herald of an execution in John's ears. "Ye need tae keep it quiet. Be discreet," MacMillan said. "Ye understandin' me, John?"

John let out a shaky breath, his fingers gripping tighter. "You're not tellin' me it has to end?"

MacMillan snorted. "An' if ah did tha', would it?"

John said nothing.

"Aye, thought not," he said. "This is damage control. He's 'n international arms dealer, a criminal, John. With links tae our feckin' enemy, I--"

"He's not like that." It came out of Price's mouth before he could stop it, and MacMillan levelled him with a disgruntled look. "Nik would never." Price had never felt such faith in something in his entire life. Nikolai would never betray him. Not for anything in this world or the next.

"Love makes us blind," MacMillan said. "'M sure he's an upstandin' fella, but if this gets out, then there will be talka honey traps, of spies, of..." He waved his hand and slumped back in his chair. "Ye stupid bastart, couldnae get yersel' a bonnie northern lad, eh? Had tae be the insane Russian fixer."

Price said nothing. He tried. His mouth opened, but there was a knot in his throat choking the words. Was it relief? He wasn't sure.

"Aye," Mac huffed. "'Course it had tae be. Shouldn' expect 'nythin' else." He stared at the wall again and then shook his head. "'e's good tae yer, by reports."

"Yessir." It didn't surprise John at all that Mac had collected his intel first. He would have spoken to the 141. In fact, Ghost had told him as such only two days ago.

"Good. Ye deserve tha'. Deserve someone tae treat yer right."

John drew in another stuttering breath, trying to read his superior's face. Mac had changed through the years. A desk did that to a soldier; the politics wormed under the skin and injected its venom, and suddenly you were doing and saying things the soldier in the field would have never dreamed of. It was difficult to predict which way he would go, but it seemed some of the old Mac that had fought at John's side was still there.

"This is ye only warnin'. Discreet. Keep all yer emails locked down, everythin'. He has no passwords, no access. No social media, no introducing him to your folks, nothin'. Don't gimme tha' look. This is due diligence."

"Sir."

"If this gets oot, even tae th' wider service, people bigger 'n' me will be lookin' tae broker a more permanent solution," Mac sighed. "Dismissed."

John turned to leave. His eyes stung. As his hand reached the door handle, Mac called over.

"An' John," he murmured, picking up his pen, "if ah get even a sniff tha' he's betrayed us, that he's turnin', 'll put a bullet in him mesel'."

John nodded.

Actually, there were two things in life of which John Price was certain: that Nikolai would never betray him, and that Major General Rory "Baseplate" MacMillan wouldn't even blink when he pulled that trigger.

[mothiir]

Cato in the cuck chair once again. This time he sheds tears.

cw: cato gets cucked, anal sex, gangbang, general debauchery.

—

—

“One moment, my dear son — the angle is a little awkward. Here.”

And before Cato knows quite what is happening he has a warm human dropped in his lap. He barely has a moment to register how he feels about this (bitter, resentful, ecstatic) before you’re crammed forwards against his chest with the force of his gene-father’s thrusts. The chair is built to take the weight of an Astartes, which is the only reason it does not collapse under the sudden influx of weight. Guilliman has one foot propped on the arm — Cato only avoided getting his fingers crushed by whisking them out of danger — and one hand cupping your midsection, pulling you up. His cock sinks further into your arse as you mewl and weep incoherently, totally cock-drunk and making even less sense than usual.

“Lord Primarch, I must protest —“ Cato says, but his objection is lost in the fray. Augustus arrives over his shoulder, kissing you sloppily — forcing you even further against him, so your breasts squash against Cato’s chest — before offering up his cock for you to slurp messily at, your jaw hanging awkwardly open, as though it has been fucked thoroughly enough to damage the joints.

“Hold her head still, please,” Augustus says, and before Cato can say that damn it, he will do no such thing, Guilliman catches his wrist and forces his hand into your hair.

“Like that, brother Cato — that’s a good lad. By the throne, girl, you were made for this, weren’t you?”

Cato cannot defy an order from his Primarch, even as said Primarch continue to bugger you further into insensibility, pausing his eager thrusts only occasionally — leaning down to kiss and nip at your shoulders. The movement causes the length of his cock to almost slide all the way out and you croon — either in distress or pleasure, your sloppy cunt leaving a mess all over Cato’s britches, smearing a vile mix of his brothers spend and your arousal over the fabric.

He’s going to have it burned. Damn it, he is going to have you burned —

The wet, thick sounds of Augustus fucking your throat echo in his ear, and the sub vocal thrum of Augustus’s sheer contentment drives him to even greater heights of violence. He will burn you all living. He will scalp you and feed Augustus the dripping mess of your hair. He will —

“Swallow, swallow it all,” Augustus pants, bucking his hips as he cums down your gullet — only you do not, you cannot, because you are useless and tiny and thus you manage a few mouthfuls at best before coughing the rest of it all over his bare chest.

(Bare chest? What happened to his shirt —)

And you sink down into his lap, eyes glazed with pleasure, lips puffy and pink, cum bubbling down your chin. Guilliman is still practically straddling Cato in his desire to fuck you, and the force knocks Cato back onto the bed —

(Wait — bed? There was not a bed —)

— and your cunt grinds up against his cock, sloppy and wet and just begging for him to slide inside, it would be so easy —

(No, no, no — none of this is right —)

— but before he can even try to angle himself in, to fill up the empty space inside you, to nuzzle his cock against the entrance to your womb, filling you to breaking point — before he can do that, he finds himself sitting once more in the chair, staring across a void of greyish fog as Hadrian slides into you from the front, Guilliman still working on repurposing your guts in the name of Ultramar. He hates you so much in that moment, hates you so much he can taste it, that it brings a tear to his eye, that —

When Cato wakes, it is to a cock fit to burst, and rage choking his lungs. He doesn’t bother to go to the refresher — only yanks his trousers down enough to get his hand around his cock, and once, twice, thrice — and then he’s emptying himself all over his own thighs, still blinking away the enraged tears the dream left him with.

He’s going to kill you. He does not think he has much other choice.