#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

[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.

[pedge-page]

i keep imagining dom!reader with piss kink omg 😋

Thirsty!

Joel Miller x Dom F!Reader

Notes: idk if this is what you're looking for but I'm saving my other other dom(ish) reader with PK joel for the big PK4. Also I'm not a fan of piss drinking but I'm testing it here to see If you little freaks like it.

Warnings: piss kink, piss drinking, dom!reader, sub!Joel, pissing pants, watersports, face riding

18+ ONLY

- - - -

You knew Joel had to take a leak the second you two got home from your date.  With only one bathroom, you ran straight to the toilet, pulled your jeans down your ass and sat on the porcelain seat.

"Fuck baby. Seriously?" Joel asks, a little breathless from shaking his leg all the drive home.

You shrug. He practically shivers at the way you smirk, eying him all the way down slowly to the tightness of his crotch. His legs were a little jittery, crossing slightly in an awkward position.

But then he hears the slight hissing and splatter of your urine leaking your body and into the toilet. He moans, gripping his crotch hard. Out of desperation not to go, or trying to contain his errection, maybe both.

"Mmm that's better," you hum, letting him listen and watch you take your time relieving yourself.

"Shit—shit—oh—baby—" he grunts, wanting to tune you out but unwilling to.

You smile wickedly when a quickly growing wet patch spreads like wildfire along his dick print, dampening his jeans and down his legs.

"Ahhhhhhhhhhh," he sighs loudly, a little too sexually. Head thrown back with eyes closed as he urinates his pants. A generous puddle of his own yellowed piss drips from the cuffs of his jeans and on the tile floor.

"Awww Joel, so naughty. Big boys don't pee their pants," you tut. You stand up and flush, but kick your panties off entirely. You approach him, hips swaying and cunt on full display, still a little wet from your earlier tinkle.

"I want to ride your face. Right now."

-

You're practically waterboarding the poor fucker.

You've got him pinned under the weight of your body, thighs suffocating him as you grind down on his delicious little face.

"Are you my little piss thirsty boy?"

He just grunts from between your folds. Each deep inhale is directly from your cunt, makikg him feel dizzy trying to find the little oxygen.

There's just some remnant of your urine from earlier. It's only enough to remind him of the taste of your juices when you occasionally squirt as he gies down on you.

"You want the real thing, don't you?"

He grunts again.

You giggle, the vibration rocking his little skull against the floor. You couldn't really interpret if it's a yes or no, not that you'll give him an opportunity to speak.

He can feel your fingers through his hair, soft and soothing before you're fisting tightly.

"Here we go!"

He opens his jaw wide against your entire slit, and soon you're flooding his mouth with warm piss.

It's bitter and salty, burns in his throat all the way up his nostrils unlike anything else. And he can't spit it up, can't spit it away. It's terrible, blisteringly disgusting on his tongue. You force  it until his cheeks are bulging, and he chokes, body desperately rejecting and spitting before having no choice but to swallow. Every fiber in him is telling him to refuse the bile in his stomach, but fuck.

Fuck.

FUCK.

Another gulp of your sour fluid down his gullet and he's gripping your thighs tighter, and burrying his tongue deeper, chugging and swallowing what he can.

"Ha! You really were thirsty! You're so greedy, Joel."

It spills down his chin as his esophagus rejects the salty taste but he forces it down anyway like forbidden hunger.

You get up briefly, and he sputters up the hot liquid, choking over and gasping. He licks his lips of the ammonia.

"Do you like it, baby?" You ask.

He rolls you over to your back, his hunking shoulders spreading your legs wide. You feel his hot tongue lap at your folds, rolling over your clit like a masseuse with little mlem sounds. He humps the floor, still wet and cooling in his pee-ruined pants while his tongue lazily dips in to your hole.

He opens his mouth wide, tongue out. You part your folds with two fingers in a V. "Oooo good boy good boy!" You praise. You clench your lower tummy and squirt out some more liquid gold, shooting messily on to his tongue. It drips down his chin and onto the floor.

"You're wasting it," you seeth. "Lick it all up."

You lean up to see him between your legs, refusing to miss how quickly he obeys and licks your warm honey off the tiles.

"You're a filthy fucking slut, Joel Miller. You'd do anything for my piss, wouldn't you?"

He hums into your slit, nodding as his tongue prods your hole again and fucks you, curling upward and suckling your clit, cleaning all the remnants of your filth.

His lidded eyes just begging for more.

- - - -

Permanent taglist:

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[animalstamp]

Seawings Reference

Eyes:

Seawings have the most diverse eye colors and patterns. Even beating out the Rainwings.

Regardless of the appearance the actual pupil will be round. Whites don’t show unless the emotion is extreme.

Fins:

Comes in many shapes, even more than shown.

Fin length is affected by the Seawings time fully submerged. The longer without going to land the longer the fins will become. It’s still kind of fashionable to have long fins but the general populace acknowledges that it is impractical.

Decorating the fins with rings and hooks is cool but more for the younger crowd.

Colors and Patterns:

One of the most colorful tribes, they are only beaten out by Rainwings.

Colors tend to be fairly bright and on the cool side of the color spectrum, but other colors are not uncalled of.

Lightscales:

To add more variation Seawings can also have different light scale patterns.

*Eels pattern can give the Seawings that have it the Aquatic equivalent of a speech impediment. It can be overcome with some “speech therapy”…usually.  

*Scattered patterns tend to give off a very weak light thus making the Seawing that have it hard to understand. They also have a habit of being unable to fully turn off the glow, letting off a constant soft glow.

The Swirls show up more commonly in Seawings of royal heritage but it is still pretty rare.

Horns:

Coral horns are considered very regal but that might be because of the current queen.

Having no horns at all is not unusual.

Extra:

Hands suction much like a remora, assuring that Seawings can get a good grip on things in or out of water.

Around their face are soft scaleless areas that their vibrissa are rooted in. They get really upset if they are yanked out.

Plantigrade feet.

**Seawings also have a less known “breathe” weapon…There's a reason for that and it's because it's unpleasant for the one doing it and the one getting hit with it. The Seawings call it INK but is more of bile that is stored in the gullet. It is thick, sticky, and vile-smelling. Underwater it works like squid ink and confuses opponents. Overground it’s 10 times worse. It’s hard to get off, it’s going to make both dragons gag, but it will usually work at getting the attacker to at least pause.

Fun fact this ink is VERY flammable. The Skywings that came to the discovery…was alight with inspiration. Too bad he never got to tell anybody…

[daenerystemper]

changing alicent's age has started the ultimate butterfly effect that has now trickled down into generations of questionable timelined births including daeron "i am not even mentioned in season one" targtower & maelor "yes i really did start this drama" targtower because what do you mean aegon iii is likely too little to ride his dragon stormcloud to safety during the battle of the gullet

[ronearoundblindly]

No Promises (1)

Lloyd Hansen x rival assassin!Reader

Itsy-Bitsy Teeny-Weeny Deadly Polka Dot Bikini

Summary: Lloyd gets outsmarted.

Warnings for HE'S AN A**HOLE AND I SHOULDN'T NEED TO TELL YOU THAT, illusions to sex/imagined sexual acts, general body-shaming, nasty thoughts, drugging/murder, and the unbelievable thrill of Lloyd getting taken down a few pegs. MINORS DNI. WC ~900

Lloyd impatiently taps his pinky ring on his binoculars, adjusting the lenses.

He hates waiting, but there’s nothing for it. The job is to retrieve something this man stole without evidence that anything was stolen from him.

Oh, and kill the fucker. Obviously.

Man’s a thief.

Well, Lloyd’s a thief, too, in a way, but he doesn’t bother to steal without reason. He gets a payday out of it.

This guy—this grossly-obese, sack of shit chumming it up poolside at a resort—also thinks he’s getting a payday out of it, yeah, but Lloyd is so much better than that. He’d see the reality of his situation. He wouldn’t be this stupid. He wouldn’t be spending the money before the exchange was made.

Easy pickings is what this guy is.

All Lloyd has to do is make it look like the middle-aged, fake-tanned Pillsbury Doughboy down there had a heart attack…which might actually happen at the rate his target is shoveling antipasto down his gullet.

Lloyd wipes his own mouth in disgust.

The women have the right idea though, especially the one in the yellow bikini.

His target looks like a desperate and lonely man, whether flashing around wealth or not, so leech away, ladies. Enjoy the free ride while it lasts.

Lloyd frowns and spits over the balcony where he watches. He just imagined the yellow bikini riding that sweaty hippo down there—more to the point, he imagined having to surveil the man while fatso tried to fuck a woman like that—and feels queazy.

Some parts of the job he likes. Some parts he doesn’t. Lloyd gets paid either way.

He leans back for a moment, resting his eyes from the high magnification and the bright sun above. He takes in the mind-numbing, incessant beat of island drums that converges from multiple ‘bands’ across the property into the worst white noise.

Lloyd would rather hear the whimpering, whining screams of torture.

Where the fuck are the waves and relaxing shit?

For effect, a gull screeches at him from the next railing over.

“I will fucking eat you,” Lloyd sharply chuckles back, and then he picks up his slippery, cold Arnold Palmer and smacks his lips.

You know what they say: If you love what you do, you’ll never work a day in your whole life.

That’s true. Lloyd’s proven that. The missing part is that if work isn’t work then vacation isn’t vacation, so one has to make do with thrills where they find them.

Lloyd gently lifts the silencer-tipped gun from his lap and shoots the gull right off its perch. He makes a long whistling noise as the carcass falls and lands with a satisfying thud against some enormous bush leaves.

This is going to be easy, he thinks, sipping his refreshment slowly. Child’s play.

He sets down the glass and the gun, repositioning the binoculars over the possibly-sunburnt bridge of his nose.

Watching this poser of a paunch groping the decent-looking, sunshine girl is making him plan out seeing someone of his own tonight. He’ll be done with the guy early enough; plenty of time to find a self-conscious chubster willing to suck and fuck hard for a few praises. It’s basically charity work, but again, work isn’t really work, is it?

Lloyd has to follow the repetitive grind of yellow-tied hips and watch the front bow bounce between breasts to notice that she’s yanking at the string.

He might be in real luck. Is he about to get a show?

The bikini top doesn’t fall away, however, and it’s suddenly missing the white bead marking the edge of the seam.

Sunshine's hands go up in the air, reaching and swaying with the beat, until she turns and drops something small—like a fucking pill—into the target’s drink, reaching for his face and cooing dirty, little things, it seems, by the distracted burst of the man’s pupils.

Mother fucker.

Lloyd sprints back through the sliding door and out of his room, he vaults the banisters to jump down three flights in the stairwell and only emerges at the poolside to see his target collapsing forward, the bikini bitch groping the body as it falls to sneak a keycard out of his pocket.

She screams bloody murder and everyone fucking buys the act. She scrabbles away, bare palms on the concrete, one holding his goddamn prize, until she slips backward into the pool.

“Son of a…” Lloyd scowls, but there are too many people moving over the walkway to rubberneck.

He sees happy, dotted yellow emerge from the other side of the water, empty-handed, a sympathetic towel thrown over a clearly shocked woman.

From across the courtyard, you, Sunshine, turn in Lloyd’s direction, pulling at the front of your suit bottoms to emphasize a stiff, rectangular shape underneath.

You’re staring right at him when slowly raising a middle finger and winking before wrapping the generic towel tighter.

Onlookers and good samaritans gather, crossing in between you two. He can’t make a scene.

Then you’re gone, folded into the wave of terry cloth that ripples and recedes with passing drama.

He stands there, dumbfounded, ten feet away from a dead seagull.

Did…did Lloyd just fucking lose?

A/N: *evil, unhinged laughter* This shit is gonna be fun....

[Next Part: Don't Be Blue, Bunny Boy]

[Main Masterlist; Lloyd Hansen Masterlist; Ko-Fi]