#it’s not like cannibalism cannibalism but just a little?

[untilhiseyeheals]

Pretty Performer - Silco x fem!reader one shot

Warning: Smut. Shameless smut.

You opened the heavy wooden door to the bar and stepped cautiously into the warm, dimly lit room, already filled with people and bustling with laughter and the clinking of glasses. Taking in a deep breath you let it fall shut behind you, the sound of the heavy wood hitting the frame drowned out by the constant hum of voices and background music of the bar. You looked around, unsure if to just make yourself at home and prepare for your upcoming performance as this decision was justly taken from you by the grab of two nimble but strong hands that dragged you into the bar. “You came! I’m so excited! I had to beg beg beeeeeeg Silco to invite you to perform, you know, the bar doesn’t usually do live performances but I have been listening to your stuff alllll the time when I am tinkering and I just had to have you play here!”. Two long blue pigtails swung through the air as Jinx dragged you eagerly towards the little prepared stage in one corner of the room. A breath caught itself in your throat as you were well aware of what a dangerous environment you found yourself in, even with this situation being painted by a welcoming atmosphere, you couldn't help but feel a little on edge. “Thank you, Jinx. That really means a lot to me. I’m glad you like it. Hm… Is there any song in particular that you like? I can perform it for you, you know?” you managed a smile, thinking it's probably best to make as good an impression as possible with one of the most dangerous people around. She had already dragged you all the way over to the little makeshift stage as she whirled around to face you, eyes glowing with anticipation. “Animal Cannibal”, she exclaimed without a second thought and you smiled knowingly. Of course, one of the more, well, interesting songs. “Great choice. Will do!” you lifted your hand to your head and gave a joking salute as you turned to prepare the stage for your gig.

When the background music in the bar started to fade out and the lights dimmed, centring at the corner of the room you and Jinx found yourselves in, she jumped up onto the stage and grabbed the mic. “Hello and welcome everyone to The Last Drop’s first-ever live performance! No, we don’t care if you asked for this and we certainly won’t take any requests! Now lean back, lean forward, or to the side. Dance, stand, sit, drink, do whatever you want because you cannot stop what’s about to come! Give it up for (y/n)!” she shouted into the mic, twirling it around and pointing towards certain individuals that apparently had some sort of a reputation in the bar, as they gave a knowing smile and shrug before returning the attention to their glasses. She then jumped off the stage and joined the small crowd that assembled in front of the stage. Not much, by any means, but that only served to soothe your nerves that started to act up quite a bit. You couldn’t help but huff out a breath in disappointment as you let your eyes scan over the people in the crowd, not seeing him anywhere. Of course not! What were you thinking? It’s better he wasn’t here right now, the last thing you needed was the attention of arguably the most powerful and dangerous man of the Undercity on you. You took in a deep breath as the music started playing and decided to just go and get this over with.

So you started to sing. "I bite at the hand that feeds me. Slap at the face that eats me. Some kind of animal cannibal. Animal. Cannibal.” When the music started playing, the strain washed from your nerves and your muscles loosened from their tensed state. Your usual persona was swapped out to your on-stage persona, much more confident and slightly suggestive than your normal self. You can’t help it. You sang the song in a sultry voice, letting your hands roam your hips and down towards your legs as you scanned the room through half-lidded eyes. You didn’t catch him, too engulfed in your performance to notice the set of eyes that were glued to your form as you traced along the hem of your black dress. One eye blue and cold as the deep ocean, the other seemingly opposite a struggle of black and ember, like darkness fighting to engulf the flames of a smouldering fire. And he was watching you. Intently. Eyes never leaving you, he studied your movements, listening to your sultry song that you completely let yourself sink into. “How do I meet the strangest men? They always seem to find me.” How fitting. If only you knew that possibly the strangest man had become totally lost in your performance, in the way you seemed to ignore everything and everyone that existed in the world, becoming one with the song you performed and feeling the lyrics as if they were your own personal story.

That's what you were. A performer. So you opened your eyes, straightened up and let a dark, dangerous gaze skim through the first row of people looking back up at you as you sang the next words. “Who knows how some people turn to strange ones. Is it up to me to make them into dead ones?” a sickly grin spreading over your features as the last words left your tongue, hands raised to your neck, drawing a slow line once across as your tongue skims your teeth and licks over your sharp canines. You were looking dangerous, psychopathic, insane, for only as long as it fit the part of the song you were singing. A perfect performer. It was only between this verse and the upcoming last chorus you let your eyes wander further out, scanning the entirety of the room, eyes having become used to the glare of the lights that were turned onto you as your gaze fell on the man standing at the outer corner of the bar right next to the stairs up to the second story where the offices were located. You moved your head back from the microphone so as not to let the entire audience hear the sharp breath that you took in as you noticed his eyes locked attentively onto you, expression unreadable. He always had a certain look of anger, fury, and general disdain on him that made your skin tingle. As you studied his features a bit longer you noticed that this look was not the only thing you could see in his eyes. They were darker than usual, pupil dilated and fixed upon you, the grip on his glass unnecessarily strong as his knuckles turned white with the pressure he put on the poor object. He seemed like a predator stalking his prey and a set of strong goosebumps washed over your body as you realized with full force that in this scenario, you were the prey. It was a dangerous look that normally would have you avert your gaze and cower into the corner with the sheer force it seemed to emit. But not when you were on stage.

You drew in a final, long breath before it was time to finish the last chorus of the song, stepping closer to the microphone again, your eyes never leaving his. If anything, this drilling gaze of his only spurred you on in your performance. “I bite at the hand that feeds me.” you lift one of your hands from the microphone and bring it up to your mouth, slowly dragging it across your lower lip, opening your mouth and biting down hard as you show your teeth at the bite, letting your fingers slowly graze down your chin, dragging some saliva down your neck. “Slap at the face that eats me” Quickly you lift that hand and bring it swiftly down at your cheek, emitting a beautiful slap that reverberates through the room in the microphone. “Some kind of animal cannibal” Your hands continue their way around your neck and down to your collarbone, head leaned slightly to the side, eyes half-open again. “Animal? Cannibal.” You continue your sinful performance until the last note of the backing track has rung out through the room. Only then do you fully open your eyes and stand up straight again, looking over to the spot at the end of the bar. Empty. You huff in frustration and … disappointment? as you take a step back from the microphone and give the audience a dramatic bow.

Jinx was jumping up and down in excitement, dragging you off the stage the second you stopped your bowing and the light in the bar returned to its normal state, background music resuming more quietly. “That was AMAZING! It was EVEN BETTER than hearing it on my big boom boxes over and over again and that’s honestly saying something!”. You found it hard to keep up with her rambling, smiling courtly and nodding along so as not to infuriate the girl you just made so happy with your performance. Although you wished you had made someone else that happy. Your eyes scan through the bar, desperately looking for the enchanting set of eyes that so drilled through you just minutes ago. You couldn’t find him. Defeated you made your way over to the bar and plopped down on one of the barstools, gesturing to the bartender for a drink. Only it’s not a drink that hit the wood of the counter in front of you, but a similar little envelope to the one that fluttered into your room only days ago. You felt your heart stumble in your chest as your shaking hands picked up the paper, nails slicing through the envelope and trembling fingers unfolded the paper inside of it. You read faster than your eyes can manage, stumbling over the words on the page that turned out to be very few, and very direct. Upstairs. Second door to the right. Now. – S. In any other state, you would have chuckled over the way he signed the note as if it wasn’t painfully obvious who it was from. You knew better than to go into that office, what if was a trap? You dared to lay your eyes on him, lost in your performance, you were … lewd, desperate, horny. While your mind was still listing off the unholy effects his mere gaze had on your poor body, your legs already hit the ground and you made your way up the stairs before you could even realize what you had done, your hands knocked against the wood of the office door. “Come in”. A low, rumbling voice beckoned you inside. You took a deep breath and opened the door, stepping inside the office.

You weren’t prepared for what you would find inside. Your eyes instinctively went to his big desk that stood in front of a beautiful big stained glass window, letting in the faint glow of street lights from outside that tinted the room into a hazy shade of green. However, you were surprised to find the chair in front of the desk to be empty. Confused you furrowed your brows as that dangerous voice made itself heard again. “That was quite the performance you put on there. I can see why Jinx took a liking to your… music.” You traced the origin of the voice to the opposite side of the room and your breath hitched as your eyes fell upon the slim figure of Silco sitting on a low plush chaise lounge, legs spread, cigar in hand and those damned eyes locked straight onto you. You felt like you walked straight into the cave of a bear, deep into the mountains, stupid little bunny hopping straight forward into its demise. You couldn’t help the deep blush that spread across your features at the small compliment. If it was a compliment at all, with him anything sounded like a threat. Just as you opened your mouth to thank him, he cut you off with a simple demand. “Come here.”, his voice was low, eyes never leaving you as you made your way over to where he was sitting, unsure where to start or stop or what to do.

Your mind was hazy, his damn smug grin as you got closer and closer drowning out every strand of thought your brain tried to form. It was to no avail. As you came to a halt in front of the lounge, he sat up and leaned forward to a little couch table with an ashtray and two glasses of liquor, pressing the cigar into the tray and taking up one of the glasses, not bothering to offer you the other as he let himself fall back onto the backrest. His eyes studied you intently, you could feel his gaze wander up and down your form and how the little black dress accentuated each and every one of your curves before it ended, making way for equally black stockings, held up by garters in the shape of a heart. Like a perfect little black dress is supposed to, it showed almost a little too much cleavage to be comfortable, eyes drawn to the necklaces around your neck that almost beckoned the gaze towards your chest. You forced yourself to take deep, steady breaths but your body failed you as he took a swig of his drink and set it back onto the table, hinting with a jerk of his head to come sit next to him. You obliged wordlessly.

That’s when you realised you hadn’t even spoken a single word since you entered his office, the air thick with tension which you hoped was sexual nature and he wasn’t going to end your life right here. Hell, not before making it worth it. He seemed to have picked up on your dilemma, offering you a smug grin as he finally broke the agonising silence. “What happened? Swallowed your tongue?”, his eyes skimmed over your face, taking in the effect that his voice had on you, “Pity. Your performance almost made you seem interesting.” Bastard, you thought before you took up all the courage that was left in you, riding the high that was left from your performance and the reminder of how his eyes practically ate you up. In one quick, swift motion you turned towards him, throwing one leg over his and placing yourself over him, knees to the left and right of his, straddling his lap. That earned you a low, dangerous chuckle, as his eyes started at your necklaces dangling in front of him, skimmed over your chest, you swore they lingered there for a quick second, before coming to rest once again on your face. Heterochome eyes locked with yours, and there it was again, this undiscernible look that only hinted at the fire festering behind those eyes. He kept a cool and collected front, always, if he wasn’t seething in anger and exploding like a volcano he was just quiet and very laid back. That was a front. Dangerous one. You, however, were determined to weasel your way through the cracks that you saw forming in his foundation and he let you.

You carefully lifted your hands from your sides and skimmed the collar of his vest, toying with his tie and carefully loosening it a bit. A low rumble came from his chest as his arm was quick to catch yours and pin them down in your lap, holding your hands by their wrists with only one hand and a very, very strong grip. “Tsk tsk tsk…” he scolded as he used the leverage he had over you to push yourself off him to the side, never letting go of your wrists. “Seems like my eyes didn’t deceive me then. You’re a feisty one. I can appreciate that.” Well, it was fun while it lasted, you thought as he pushed you off him and took that as a sign that this night was not going to go your way. “What I cannot appreciate, however,” he continued, voice low and scolding as he used his second hand to fully undo the tie you so carelessly loosened before and bring it over to your wrists. “is someone acting so incredibly unduly in front of all of Zaun.” With that, he quickly wrapped the string of the undone tie around your wrists and tied them together in a strong knot, not being gentle and making sure it was tight. “Looks like someone needs to be taught a lesson on how to behave.” he finished, letting go of your tied arms and letting them drop into your lap again.

“Lean back.”, he ordered and you were in no position to disobey, leaning back on the plush velvet of the lounge, resting your back against the backrest. With a small, approving nod he slid off the lounge from beside you and stood up, bending down towards you. He seemed to be taking in the sight of you, breathing already shallow and ragged from anticipation, anxiously biting your lip, hands tied together by his tie, looking up at him with big eyes that gave no hint of opposition. Just how he liked it. “There. I had a feeling you’d be a quick learner.” he cooed as his bent-down form started to come closer to you until his head was right next to yours, breath warm and tickling your ear. “So pretty and willing, all tied up and submissive it’s almost a shame having to ruin you.” he whispered in your ear, voice low and gravelly, lips just barely grazing your ear. You couldn’t stop the desperate whine that left your mouth, which made his eyes flick towards yours as he slowly leaned back away from you. “Patience.” was all he said, as his long fingers found the soft flesh of your thighs, tracing a line up and down and along the heart-shaped garters. You sucked in a breath, skin tingling at the touch you waited so long for. His hands made their way, slow, oh so painfully slow, up your thighs under your dress, skimming the band of your cotton panties that had a little lace rim on top which his fingers quickly found. You could tell he thoroughly enjoyed feeling up every inch of you, making you wait forever and ever, each touch feeling so painfully slow that you wished you could just grab his hand and drag it directly to your aching clit. He was revelling in your desperation, eyes closely on yours as he observed each subtle change of your facial features as his hands roamed your body. Then he pulled back his hand from under your dress, making you wince at the sudden loss of contact. He smirked a devilish little smirk as he straightened up and sat back down next to you, picking up the glass with liquor as he watched your slumped-down form, already so messy and dishevelled from this little touch. “Stand up.” he ordered, placing the glass at his lips and taking a swig. You rolled your eyes. What was this supposed to be? Did he order you up here only to make you stand up and sit down and turn around like a little puppy? You weren’t having it. With one swift motion, you stood back up on your feet and made a step towards the door of the office.

Suddenly you could feel yourself getting yanked back hard and crashing into his tall frame. He was just sitting there with a glass in his goddamn hand, how did he manage to pull you back so fast? You could only hear a dangerous, low chuckle as you turned your head to look directly into his eyes. Now they really seemed like they were set ablaze. “Thank you, pet. I thought you weren’t gonna put up a fight at all.” his voice was barely a snarl, a sickly grin spreading over his face. Sick bastard. He didn’t want you to silently obey him, he picked you out because you seemed like you had a fire within you, so different from all the mindless idiots he was left to deal with every day. And finally, he got a glimpse of it. Before you knew it, he had lifted your tied hands above his head so that they came back down around his neck, which left you straining with no way to move, your bodies almost pinned together. That’s when his smug grin was instantly washed from his face as you closed the difference and started planting sinful kisses along his jawline, trailing them up towards his ear and down his neck. Your tongue slipped through, you licked your way along his neck, kissing, sucking, tired of this game he wanted to play. You could feel his head snap back as his own arms snaked around your waist and found your ass, cupping your cheeks with his hands and giving them a squeeze. That elicited a husky moan from you, spilling from your lips between the sounds of sucking and kissing the skin of his neck. He maneuvered you back towards the lounge and when you could feel it against the back of your shins he stopped, releasing your ass from his grasp to free your tied hands from behind his neck. Taking a step back which meant you had to stop your assault on his neck, he smirked as he undid the knot around your wrists, tie discarded to the floor in one swift motion. That, however, didn’t mean he allowed you any more control than he wanted to. “Strip.” he ordered, and you were only too happy to oblige.

Your hands found the straps of your dress and slid them down your shoulders, leaving it to pool on the floor. He once again started looking you up and down, although your undergarments were nothing too special since you favoured comfort over looks and, well, you didn’t count on anyone seeing those today. He took a step towards you, piercing gaze never leaving you, as his arms came around your back to unclasp your bra, fingers pushing it off your shoulders to join your dress on the floor. “Magnificent,” he murmured, as he took another step to close the distance between your bodies and started returning the favour of kissing your neck, hands finding your breasts and cupping them. You let out a soft moan, to which he responded with his fingers finding your hardened nipples, flicking and toying with them as his mouth slowly made its way down your neck to your collarbone. Again, he seemed to find special pleasure in making the process painfully slow, dragging out the moment as long as he possibly could, before the warmth of his mouth finally found one of your nipples. His tongue swirled in circles around the hardened bud of your nipple, teeth grazing it ever so gently before he decided he was gentle enough and took it between his teeth. “F-Fuck…” you moaned, hands darting forward to find his perfectly slicked back hair, burying your fingers between its strands, dragging your nails over his scalp. This led to him letting out a grunt against your nipple, sending a jolt through your body that settled right in that ever-tightening coil in your core.

Seemingly feeling this jolt, he let go of your nipple, guiding you to lay down on the lounge, joining you by crawling his way up, pushing your legs apart. You sucked in a breath in anticipation, as his hands found the waistband of your panties, dragging them painfully slowly down your legs and discarding them on the floor next to the lounge. He began kissing his way up the inside of your thighs, getting dangerously close to the wet mess he made of your cunt. Enjoying every second of this juicy anticipation, his mouth made its way all the way up to your upper thigh, directly next to your dripping cunt, nose skimming your folds for just a second, already enough to make you buck your hips involuntarily. He chuckled lowly against the soft flesh of your thigh. “My, my…” he trailed off and suddenly his head turned from the side of your inner thigh and the next thing you felt was his tongue licking slowly up your folds. You bucked your hips again, arms darting back to find his head again, getting a handful of his hair, destroying what was left of its slicked-back state. He ate you out like it was what he was destined to do, tongue swirling in circles around your clit, toying with the willing hole and slurping up all the delicious juices that you had for him. That’s when he felt like that wasn’t enough, and while his eyes flicked up to catch your reaction, two of his fingers joined his tongue. You threw your head back, muttering and moaning a string of words that loosely resembled his name as he slid his fingers into you. They met with no resistance as he pushed them in all the way, curling them up to hit that sweet, sweet spot that almost made you scream his name had you not turned your head and bit your lip. His mouth left your aching clit while his fingers kept relentlessly pumping into you, lifting his head to watch you squirm and hold back noises. “Come on, let me hear you.” he growled, as he once again curled his fingers right where you needed them and thrust them into you. “F-Fuck. Silco. Your fingers feel so good. I’m… I-... S… So close” you muttered against the side of the lounge, breath ragged and speaking made hard by the continuous assault of his fingers that felt like knocking all the air out of your lungs. That only seemed to spur him on more. “Good. Come on my hand for me.”, he ordered and slipped in a third finger, curling them once again, one last thrust sending you over the edge and bringing the knot in your stomach to explode. “Yes… S-Silco!”, you almost chanted his name like a prayer as the feeling of sweet release washed over you, making your vision blurry and your head fuzzy. His hands slowed down their movements, letting you ride it out as you bucked your hips lazily against his hand until he withdrew it.

You carefully opened your eyes and the knot in your stomach began to churn anew as you took in the sight before you. Silco had straightened up on the lounge, still between your thighs, vest slightly agape for a lack of tie, hair dishevelled with strands falling into his face. His face, gods, his face. It was flushed from the heat, his sweat mixing with your juices that coated his nose and mouth and that bastard was grinning as he took the fingers that were just inside you to his mouth, licking them clean of your remnants. You were determined to wipe the grin from his face once again as you tried to use your elbows to prop yourself up and get yourself into a halfway seated position resting on your palms. Well, you made it halfway from the elbow stance to the palms as your arms remembered they felt like jelly and gave up on you, leaving you plopping back onto the velvet cushions of the lounge with the back of your head. Silco watched this and chuckled. “Dear, don’t overestimate your strength. Give yourself a moment.” You didn’t want a moment. As you set to try your endeavours a second time, he suddenly bent back down over you, his arms resting on either side of your chest, face flush to yours. “I said, give it a moment,” he warned, voice low and dangerous again, a glint shimmering through his eyes. You shook your head and decided that if your arms could not support you to steady yourself, you might as well use them to pull him in.

Easier said than done, you lifted your arms and dropped them behind his neck, hands gripping the fabric of his vest on the shoulders. He let out another chuckle and shakes his head. “You won’t let go, hm?”, he cooed as he brought his face closer to yours. He hasn’t kissed you yet. You hadn’t dared to- this didn’t seem like a situation… You couldn’t finish your thought before his lips found yours, hungry, devouring you, tongue pushing its way into your mouth. He didn’t need to ask permission or wait, be gentle, or anything. And he knew. You moaned into the kiss as you felt his tongue twirling with yours, pushing hungrily into your mouth, determined to explore it in its entirety. Even though the kiss was drenched in desire and want, it almost felt a tinge gentle. You were sure you imagined that part. The knot in your stomach tightened at the feeling, itching to be released anew. “S-Silco… Please….”, was all you managed to pathetically wince out between kisses. He broke the kiss and leaned back a bit. There it was again, this grin. “What is it? Use your words, dear.” he spoke, voice dripping with sarcasm. You looked back up at him with the most longing and pathetic look you had in you and said “Please… Fuck me.”

That was all he needed, hands quick to unbutton his pants and sliding them down just enough to free the length of his hard cock that surely was similarly aching to be freed like the knot in your stomach. He was already dripping precum which made you a little proud of yourself, seeing that all this mess hadn’t just affected you. He was human after all. You didn't have a lot of time to revel in that thought though, as he quickly came back down towards you, tip of his cock hitting your aching clit. You winced and at this point, you didn’t care how you sounded anymore. “Please, please Silco”, all you could do was whimper his name in pleas to end your suffering and finally fuck you. He seemed to enjoy that most as he took his sweet time, dragging his tip through your folds, playing with your clit, lining himself up only to let it glide upwards between you again. You had enough. Determined you bucked your hips against him as he toyed with you once again, pulling him in just enough so his head was entering you.

He hissed, seemingly pissed off for just a second before the feeling of your cunt around him soothed all his anger and he couldn’t help but fully push himself inside you. You gasped, and let out an unholy animalistic noise as your hands tried to grasp onto the velvet of the lounge in support. That did it, the last part of resolve he had in him was crumbling at that unruly noise you just let out. He was relentless, quick-paced thrusts deep into you, losing himself in the way your walls clenched around him. Your hands, not finding any support with the lounge, latched onto his shoulders and dragged down his back, nails leaving marks in their wake. The noises he made were impossible to describe and even more impossible to endure. Your own were similarly unruly, you simply didn’t care anymore. There was no way you were withstanding this long, as you could feel your release inching closer and closer. He could feel it too, your walls clenching around him as he bottomed out into you, thrust after thrust, again and again. “S..Silco.. I’m.. I’m gonna..”, you tried your best to form any semblance of words as you felt yourself approaching the edge. One of his hands found your clit, fingers circling over it as he kept fucking you at a relentless pace. That did it and you felt yourself being thrown over the edge as the knot in your stomach exploded again making you clench uncontrollably around his cock. His breathing grew more ragged, thrusts sloppy and losing their rhythm as he fucked you through your high and chased his own. Just as he started to twitch he pulled out and spilt himself all over your stomach, panting heavily, letting out more of these groans and sounds that you would for sure hear in your head for days to come.

He remained hovering over you for a second, lazily stroking himself before getting up and grabbing a box of tissues off the nearby table. You thought he would take a few and toss you the box or something, but he cleaned himself up at the table, discarding the used tissues and heading back over to you with the rest. He sat down on the lounge in front of you, taking one tissue after the other, gently wiping his cum from your stomach and discarding the used tissues… well, into the general direction of the waste bin. You studied his face as he did so, usually furrowed brows relaxed and eyes steadily fixed on his task at hand. For how relentlessly he fucks, kills and acts otherwise he was being… gentle?

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Cannibals [Chapter 4: Foxes and Sailfish]

Series summary: You are his sister, his lover, his betrothed despite everyone else’s protests; you have always belonged to Aemond and believe you always will. But on the night he returns from Storm’s End with horrifying news, the trajectories of your lives are irrevocably changed. Will the war of succession make your bond permanent, or destroy the twisted and fanatical love you share?

Chapter warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), awkward interactions on a boat, making friends in the Vale, references to war-related violence, Aemond flashbacks haunt the narrative, Red and Jace share an exciting new experience!

Word count: 5.8k

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The fireplace crackles, there’s smoke in the air. The shards of seashells take shape on the board as you affix them with paste made of boiled bones, unloved bodies you’ve scavenged: rabbits, foxes, deer, weasels, squirrels, snakes, turtles, birds. Sometimes Criston will find you searching for carcasses in the garden or the Godswood—a basket full of skulls and ribs, hands covered with dirt—and beg you to go back to Maegor’s Holdfast where you belong. He says: Please, princess, let me do that for you. I’ll bring you all the bones you need. This is too grisly a task for young ladies. And then, when you try to refuse him: Red, it hurts your mother when you’re like this. And so you accept his offer and surrender your basket, knowing that being the daughter Mother wishes you were will always require pretending.

Aemond is in bed, freshly rid of his left eye and floating in a silent, pearlescent lake of milk of the poppy. He is unconscious for now, but he can only have a dose every six hours, and when it begins to wear off he becomes feverish and fearful. You can’t leave him. Aemond is a year older than you, always just a little bit wiser, always quicker and steadier on his feet; you have never known a world without him in it. But now he is the one who needs you. This is a strange feeling.

Mother, Criston, Helaena, and Maester Orwyle are always gliding in and out of the room—whispering, grim-faced ghosts—but at the moment you are alone with Aemond. A shadow appears in the doorway. It’s Aegon, and his face is marred too: there’s a bruise on his cheekbone from where someone hit him, Grandsire or Mother. He is slumped against the doorframe with a goblet of wine in his hand. He takes a slurp and uses his cup to gesture to where Aemond is sleeping. It’s a question.

“He’s alright, Aegon,” you say. “He’s resting. He’s healing.”

He licks his lips and skims his fingerprint around the rim of the goblet, pensive. “I wasn’t there.”

“None of us were.”

“Does he blame me for what happened?”

“He hasn’t said anything.”

“But you would know if he felt it.”

Would I? Sometimes you don’t believe you know Aemond as well as they imagine you do. There have always been things he doesn’t tell you. You didn’t know he was planning to claim Vhagar. He is unpredictable, he is a deep reservoir of secrets; he taunts you, he guards you, he ignores you, he comes rushing back. You say to Aegon: “I don’t think he blames you.”

Aegon exhales, drunken exhausted relief. “Good.”

Beneath blankets that Helaena has embroidered with legends from the Age of Heroes, Aemond stirs. His remaining eye—glazed, drugged, an empty anemic blue—flutters opens and drifts to you. “Now we know why you don’t have a dragon,” he says, weak and raspy. “The price has gone up. They cost an eye each.”

You paint a sliver of a cerulean-colored shell with glue. “I’d pay that if I knew it would work.”

Aemond asks, as if it has been weighing on him: “Do I horrify you?”

You smile softly. “No more than you did before.”

From where he still loiters in the doorway nursing his wine, Aegon snickers. Aemond grins, then winces from the pain it causes him. “What are you making?”

“It’s Symeon Star-Eyes,” you say, tilting up the mosaic so he can see it better. “You read us that story, remember? He was a knight who used a staff with blades at both ends to cut down his enemies. He was blinded in combat, so he replaced his eyes with sapphires.”

“Sapphires,” Aemond mumbles drowsily.

“Yes.”

“Blue.”

“Like you,” you say, thinking of his game piece: the blue wolf, a mournful color, a beast that kills.

“Hm,” he murmurs to himself as he sinks back into sleep; and it’s not until Aemond’s wound has healed that you learn of the idea you’ve given him.

~~~~~~~~~~

Vermax is not an especially imposing dragon, a drab sort of green and smaller than Sunfyre, but he is frightening enough when he bares his teeth. He snarls and snaps at you, unloosed fire roiling up in his throat. You stand perhaps ten paces away from him, flinching away from the heat that refracts the air and puts ripples in it like disturbed water. Jace is attempting to soothe Vermax, a palm pressed to the beast’s scales. Rhaenyra and Daemon are watching, confounded.

“Mother wasn’t exaggerating,” you tell them. You are crestfallen; this is a humiliation. You have silver hair and undisputed parentage, and yet Jace is the one whose egg hatched. So who is the true Targaryen?

“Very, very peculiar,” Daemon muses, scratching his chin. He turns to Rhaenyra. “Make her get closer, let’s see what happens.”

“Daemon,” Rhaenyra says impatiently. In the light of day, you can observe her face more clearly. There are dark semicircles under her eyes, and lines that didn’t exist before Luke was killed. She is ten years closer to the grave than she was the night her father died.

You cannot see the riots from where you’re standing in the castle courtyard, but you can hear them, the ambient rumbling of people rejecting Rhaenyra’s rule. They decry the slaughter of Jaehaerys. They shout demands of proof that the imprisoned Greens are alive and well: Mother, Helaena, Jaehaera, Maelor, you. Fear of Rhaenyra’s soldiers and her dragons may delay their wrath, but you don’t believe she can quell it. High overhead, Sheepstealer sails past the Red Keep, casting a massive shadow. Rhaenyra’s frown deepens. Daemon pretends not to notice.

“Very well,” Rhaenyra sighs, summoning Jace to return to her and abandon his attempts to quiet Vermax. Dutifully—though perhaps not without resentment—he acquiesces. Vermax is still growling at you. You glower back, wishing that Vhagar was here to eat him. “There are other ways to get to Heart’s Home. A ship will take longer, ten days or two weeks depending on the wind. The journey should be safe. The Sea Snake’s blockade controls Blackwater Bay, and the Greens have no navy.” Rhaenyra looks to you. “That’s still correct, isn’t it? The usurper was refused by the Greyjoys?”

“I don’t know,” you lie.

She gives you a disapproving glare and then turns her attention back to Jace. “Alyn of Hull can take you to the Vale in his ship. I’m sure Corlys can manage without him for a matter as important as this. I’ve sent a raven ahead to the Corbrays. They’ll be expecting you, and you’ll be married upon your arrival, with Lord and Lady Corbray serving as witnesses. You have until then to get accustomed to each other.”

Jace begins to mutter a protest, low enough that you can’t hear. Rhaenyra shushes him. Vermax takes flight and soars out towards the ocean. You step closer to the castle wall and listen to the clamor of the crowds, willing them to rise up and free your family, to destroy Rhaenyra’s. Daemon stalks you around the courtyard, unsheathing Dark Sister and whistling so you know how near he is. You refuse to acknowledge him.

Rhaenyra is telling Jace: “When the war is won, the Greens’ surviving loyalists will accept you as my heir if you are married to her and father her children.”

“What about Aegon? What if Aemond and Criston manage to smuggle him into hiding somewhere, and then one day he reappears and—?”

“Aegon won’t live,” Rhaenyra says confidently. “From what we’ve heard, his burns must be dreadful. He will succumb to them, hopefully slowly and with great pain, and in the meantime Aemond and Vhagar will be pinned down in the eastern Crownlands tending to him. And even once Aemond is unincumbered, he will not want to fly into battle against Caraxes and Sheepstealer together. Vhagar is fearsome, but she is old and slow. Aemond is cunning. He knows this.”

“You told Alicent we’d pardon him,” Jace says, and his tone is accusatory. How could you? How dare you?

“I said I’d spare him if he’s still alive when the war is over,” Rhaenyra replies with a sharp glance. “So let’s make sure he isn’t.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Dinner is sailfish, which you’ve never eaten before. All afternoon you saw them zipping through the water as Alyn of Hull’s ship cruised out of King’s Landing and towards the Gullet, their sapphire dorsal fins cutting up through the surf. Then the crew caught some and hauled them up onto the deck—large bulging eyes, toothless mouths agape as they suffocated in open air—and you watched as the fish were gutted and their scales and organs scrubbed from the planks with seawater that turned rosy with blood. Refuse washed back into the ocean: bones, fins, disembodied eyeballs dragging tails of optic nerves.

Alyn is a bastard of Corlys Velaryon, you’ve gathered; he is young to have been entrusted with his own vessel, and the resemblance is undeniable. He is chivalrous but very strict. You are not permitted in the room where several caged ravens are kept in case Alyn has to send a message back to the capital. You are not permitted to stand too close to the ship’s railing. You are not permitted to handle anything that could be used as a weapon. You are not permitted to converse with the crew. In truth, you are allowed to do almost nothing.

Now you are below deck, you and Jace seated at opposite ends of a long wooden table and alone except for two guards posted by the door. Tall white candles flicker, wobbling in their brass stands as the ship rocks. You drink too much wine and pick at your sailfish, pinkish lumps of meat seasoned with garlic and lemon juice. Jace pushes roasted parsnips and green beans around aimlessly on his plate. You can’t stop thinking of the family you’ve left behind: Mother and Helaena in a dungeon, Jaehaera and Maelor taken hostage by Rhaenyra, Daeron at war in the Reach, Aegon horrifically burned, Aemond and Criston battling to save him.

I shouldn’t be safe while they’re suffering. It’s wrong, it’s treasonous. I’m the least worthy of us. I’ve done nothing to help us win this war. I haven’t saved anyone.

You keep hoping for a vision of what Aemond is doing, what he is feeling, but you’ve never had any control over the glimpses you get into his mind. They are random, and brief, and fragmented. You don’t know if Aegon is still alive. You don’t know if Aemond is thinking of you.

“So that’s why you don’t have a dragon,” Jace says suddenly, and you look up at him, startled. He’s staring at you from beneath the dark curls that have fallen over his face, the mark of House Strong. He’s not entirely unappealing, if you don’t judge him as a Valyrian, an enemy combatant, a traitor. You can’t tell if Jace is being smug or sincere; you barely know him. “Because they hate you.”

Mother’s words resurface in your skull like sailfish dredged up from the waves: If you care for Aemond, as I know you do, you will give him a chance if he and Criston cannot win on the battlefield. You will earn Jace’s affection and convince him to spare us.

You aren’t sure how to earn anybody’s affection. With everyone you’ve known before you either had it or you didn’t, and that never seemed like something you could change.

“It’s not for lack of trying,” you say, fidgeting uneasily with your wine cup. “I tried to claim Vermithor when I was a child. He nearly killed me.”

Jace’s dark eyebrows go up. “Did he? On Dragonstone?”

You nod. “Grandsire arranged for us to visit the island while your family was travelling elsewhere. Driftmark, maybe, I don’t remember. I had always wanted Vermithor, and I felt…I knew that if I found him he would bond to me and let me ride him. I followed him all over Dragonstone for days, but he kept moving, and then…when I finally got close enough…” You’d outrun Criston and the other guards, but Aemond had been there to pull you out of the path of Vermithor’s flames; yet you don’t think Jace will want to hear this. It feels impossible to extricate Aemond from your memories. You’ve never known a life he was not intrinsically entwined with. “The Bronze Fury made his discontentment clear.”

Jace narrows his eyes and gives you an ironic smile, as if he’s thinking: Too bad you lived. “So you gave up.”

“Oh no, I tormented the others too. Silverwing, Grey Ghost, Seasmoke, none of them were very welcoming. I don’t recall Sheepstealer being there at the time…maybe he was feeding elsewhere in the Crownlands. I’d know if I’d seen him before, I think.”

“Sheepstealer is very…unique in appearance.”

You smile at the memory of Grandsire calling him hideous, then go somber when you remember he’s dead. “Grey Ghost was sweet, though. He didn’t attempt to burn me, he just flew away.”

“You’ve tried all of those dragons?” Now Jace seems genuinely intrigued. “Just…one after the other?”

You shrug and swig your wine. Jace gives you a disapproving glance; you put the cup down and begin eating instead. “I wanted a beast for myself. Everyone else had theirs, it seemed inevitable that I would find mine if I searched long enough. I even approached the Cannibal.”

“The Cannibal.” Jace shakes his head and forks sailfish into his mouth; it’s the first bite he’s taken tonight. “You were desperate. Or stupid.”

You smirk. “Or both.”

“What color are his flames? Green, like his eyes?”

“No,” you say softly, remembering the massive black dragon covered in spines like the stalagmites of a cave. “No, the Cannibal’s dragonfire is red.”

“Do you think yourself to be…” Jace gestures vaguely with his fork. “Lacking in some way? Less capable than Helaena or your brothers?”

This is a rude question. “It doesn’t matter what I think. I must be inadequate, or I would have a dragon.”

Jace seems to contemplate this as he eats.

“Why do you ask?” you provoke him, before recalling you’re supposed to be winning his affection, if such a thing is possible, and you very much doubt it. “Are you concerned I’ll pass this fault on to my children?”

“Well, it’s an interest of mine,” Jace says. “Locating dragonriders. What makes someone alluring to the beasts, as well as what doesn’t. This war will be won by dragons, I’m sure each side aspires to have more of them.”

You study him, taking nibbles of your sailfish. Recruiting dragonriders outside of the immediate family is not something Aemond would ever consider; he would not trust them, he would view them as supplanters of the natural order. But a bastard himself… “Was it your idea to find someone to ride Sheepstealer?”

Jace grins, cagey and teasing. He spears green beans with his fork. “I’m not going to tell you that.”

Because I can’t be trusted with the Blacks’ strategies. Just with birthing their heirs. “I didn’t know you had ideas.”

“Yes, well, Mother and Daemon try very hard not to notice them.” He points to your braid with his knife. “Do you wear your hair like that because of Visenya?”

You touch it self-consciously. You’re surprised he noticed. “Yes.”

“She married her brother,” Jace says, and this sounds like an accusation.

“She was also fearless, and dangerous, and she had a dragon.”

“Unlike you.”

“Right.”

Jace chuckles to himself. Now he is certainly being smug. Somewhere out in the night, Vermax is trailing the ship and will reunite with Jace once you’ve docked at Heart’s Home. You keep listening for Vhagar, imagining that Aemond will sense it as you sail near where he and Criston are tending to Aegon at Rook’s Rest, and he will fly to you and torch this ship and bring you home like he’s always promised. But perhaps Aemond is forgetting you. Perhaps he resents that you cannot help him win the war; perhaps he is beginning to hate you. Oblivious, Jace eats his sailfish.

“I had a bat named Sailfish,” you say.

Jace is puzzled. “A bat? Like…?” He makes flapping motions with his hands.

You smile and nod. “I kept bats.”

“Why?”

“Because I enjoyed them,” you say, and again you must stop yourself from mentioning Aemond. He cared for them because I did. “They horrified most people, but the children thought they were adorable. I’d teach them how to hold the bats and feed them bugs and fruit, and Jaehaerys couldn’t stop laughing when they licked honey off his fingers…” Then you shudder and go quiet, because you cannot think of Jaehaerys without seeing his hemorrhaging, headless body in Aegon’s arms.

Jace frowns down at the table. The wooden beams of the ship groan; the candlelight flickers. “Just as Mother and Daemon do not often heed my suggestions,” he says carefully after a while. “They do not share many of their plans with me. I knew nothing of what my stepfather arranged to happen that night. And if I had known, I would not have allowed it.”

I don’t believe you can control Daemon at all, you think. But instead you reply hoarsely: “I’m glad you recognize it for the atrocity that it was.”

“I know I’ve spoken harshly in the past. But if you are truly to be my wife, I wish for us to be in harmony as much as possible. I hope you feel the same way.”

“I do.” You don’t have much of a choice. How can you sleep with a man who hates you, who you hate in equal measure? “And Jace…I didn’t know what was going to happen to Luke or Baela. I had no part in either of their deaths.”

“I can’t…” His voice breaks; he swipes at his dark glistening eyes, like flecks of onyx. “I can’t talk about them.”

You are alarmed. “Jace—”

“Goodnight,” he says as he leaves, already halfway across the room.

~~~~~~~~~~

The first time you’re together—at your vanity, late for dinner—Aemond doesn’t try to put his fingers inside you, and he doesn’t the second time either, or the third, or even the fourth. And this is just fine as far as you’re concerned, because the way Mother has mentioned the duty of a wife implies that there is a great deal of sacrifice involved for the woman, discomfort, pain, even harm, and what you have with Aemond—despite its many peculiarities—has never been painful, and you don’t want to ruin it. You don’t want to find out what other women mean when they talk about boredom and dread and blood.

Then one day you are in the garden, and you and Helaena are trying to teach the children how to play the game with the animal pieces, but they must not be quite old enough because they won’t listen. Jaehaera pokes Jaehaerys with Helaena’s yellow butterfly, Maelor chomps indifferently on Daeron’s purple shadowcat. You and Helaena laugh and give up the attempt as maids swoop in to corral the children.

“We’ll try again in a few months,” you say. “Perhaps they’ll be more tame by then.”

Helaena begins to gather up the game pieces. “We should ask Aegon to carve new animals for the children. Jaehaerys likes seals…” Then her hands go still and she stares at someone who’s standing behind you.

Before you can turn, Aemond leans down to where you’re kneeling on the cobblestones, grabs your braid, and wraps it around his fist. “Follow me,” he whispers into your ear.

“Why? Where?”

“Follow me,” he says again, more forcefully now. “I’m not asking.” Then he releases you with a rough shove and walks away.

You rise from the cobblestones and go after him, weaving through the paths of the garden, fountains trickling and flowers blooming and bees droning in the air. Aemond glances back to make sure you’re in pursuit, then disappears into an arbor grown over with roses, a tunnel of red blossoms and snagging thorns. Aemond sits on a stone bench that is draped in shadows and hidden from view; no one will see you unless they enter the tunnel. You can hear the distant sound of the ocean waves, and gulls and bluejays and the red-tailed hawks the noblemen hunt with. You take a seat beside Aemond, and immediately he lifts your legs so they rest across his lap, reaches beneath the hem of your maroon gown with his right hand, skims his way up the inside of your thigh as you pretend to fight him, all the while smiling and needing him closer, all your blood and muscles screaming for him, your bones aching like fractures that must be set.

“Look at me,” Aemond commands, catching your jaw in his left hand and holding you still, the transparent blue of his eye fixed on your face, where he reads every line and movement like a dead language, like the High Valyrian almost no one left can understand. “I want to know if I’m hurting you.”

Beneath your gown, his fingers are stroking you, waiting for you to be wet and relaxed enough, parting your lips.

“Are you afraid?” Aemond asks.

“No.” Maybe you should be, but you aren’t.

There is an unfamiliar fullness, strange but not unpleasant, and then when Aemond’s fingers begin to move inside you, you moan softly and close your eyes, breaking the spell. He lets go of your jaw and his palm shifts to cradle the side of your face, to bring you in closer, to hold you against him. And now you know that when he finally takes you, as a husband does a wife, it will be painless; and it will never be something you warn your silver-haired children about with dark resignation in your voice.

“What if they won’t let us marry?” you whisper against the warmth of his throat, dreading this more than anything. You don’t know that Targaryens and their dragons will soon be dying. “What if they send me away to wed some lord in the Reach or the Westerlands or the Vale?”

“Then I’ll find you,” Aemond says. “And I’ll burn down his castle, and I’ll bring you home.”

“You’re a monster,” you purr; but there’s a grin on your lips as he kisses you, something scalding and primordial like magma flowing beneath the earth.

~~~~~~~~~~

Heart’s Home is a small grey castle in a vast grey world, the shadows of mountains filling the horizon, the sky overcast and bleak and the air tasting like metal. The last time you were in the Vale was as a girl, when Aemond pushed you into a frigid stream and you caught a chill that almost killed you, and he never apologized but he slept on your floor like a dog so he could be there to climb into bed and hold you when you shivered, and surely that is a greater sort of repentance than two vanishingly small words that anyone could say and perhaps not even mean.

You and Jace disembark from Alyn of Hull’s ship on the banks of where an inland river meets the saltwater of the Narrow Sea. Outside the castle walls, Heart’s Home has a stable and a sizable field, surely green and fertile in the summer, that is surrounded on three sides by a thick forest of coniferous trees. Cawing ravens perch on the branches; a hunting party emerges from the pines accompanied by braying hounds and carrying corpses of foxes to be skinned. You are greeted warmly by Lord Leowyn Corbray—who is tall and ancient, over seventy years old—and his wife Lady Carolei, around fifty and very round, with dark hair and pale skin that the harsh mountain wind rubs pink. While her husband fawns over Jace—“We were so honored by the queen’s request,” “We will ensure that your every need is attended to, Prince Jacaerys”—Lady Carolei Corbray watches you with an amused little smile, as if there are many questions she is impatient to ask you. Then you and your betrothed are ushered into the castle and served mutton pie full of gravy and vegetables, dark bread slathered with butter, blackberry oatcakes for dessert. You drink too much wine, because you know what will happen next. Jace does not reprove you this time; he’s drinking a good amount of ale himself.

The people of the Vale worship the Seven, and for all you know Jace does too, because there is no mention of a Valyrian wedding with fire and blood. Instead you exchange your vows in a tiny sept with plain glass windows and cold slate stones. A weathered, bony septon presides over the ceremony, and Lord Corbray stands in for your dead father. Even if Viserys was still alive, he wouldn’t feel like much less of a stranger. You are covered with a maiden’s cloak of your house—Lady Corbray announces proudly that it was sewn especially for this occasion—but it’s wrong, because they’ve used the old black and red sigil of House Targaryen rather than Aegon’s banner, a golden dragon on a green background. But you suppose it’s fitting because Jace’s cloak isn’t right either, as it depicts the seahorse of House Velaryon rather than the tri-colored flag of House Strong.

At the septon’s direction, Lord Corbray removes your cloak from your shoulders and Jace covers you with his own. And once you’ve exchanged the requisite words and Jace kisses you—him swift and uneasy, you trying not to flinch away—you realize that this is the first time you can remember him touching you. On the journey northward, Jace would sometimes find you pacing the ship’s deck and ask you silted, shallow questions: What kind of weather do you like best? What are your favorite desserts? Do you prefer swimming or horseback riding? What colors do you favor? Your nightly ritual was trying not to discuss your murdered relatives over dinner.

You are put to bed in a grand chamber at the top of one of the castle’s towers. There is a fireplace where logs snap and hiss, and a rug made of a shadowcat’s pelt; a chandelier of lit candles hangs from the ceiling. Through the window, you can see a silvery full moon obscured by clouds. You and Jace—freshly bathed and wearing loose, cotton nightclothes—wait in the quiet once your hosts have left, the blankets pulled up to your waists. All the bedlinens are white, you realize; you don’t think this is by accident.

They want to know if I’m truly a maiden. They want to know if I bleed.

You have no idea if you will or not. Nothing that Aemond has ever done to you has resulted in blood.

I don’t want it to hurt, you think with abrupt panic. You look around for a jar of oil, olive or rose or peppermint, something to help him enter you. You open the drawers of your nightstand and are disappointed to find them empty.

“What are you doing?” Jace asks.

“Nothing.” You can’t explain without revealing you know more than a virgin should.

Jace turns to you. “You really haven’t done this before?”

Your nervousness must be evident. Surely no whore who had already been defiled by her monstrous brother would be sitting here wringing her trembling hands. “No.”

“Okay.” Jace takes a deep breath. He seems resolved to be brave for both of you; that is a husband’s role, after all. “I haven’t either.”

“But you’ve…I mean, you’re a man, it’s different for you. You have experience of some sort, I assume…?” With Baela? With anyone?

Jace blushes and can’t meet your eyes. “I’m not above temptation. We kissed a few times.”

This is not reassuring. “Do you think you’ll be able to…? With me?” The daughter and sister of enemies?

He nods and smiles faintly. “Oh yeah, I think it’ll all work as it should.” Then he looks at you, dark eyes, dark curls, not ugly but not who you’ve ever imagined you would give yourself to. His gaze settles on your braid. “Here,” he says, and then he gently begins to unravel it.

You aren’t sure what to do. You’re not going to hit Jace, or fight him, or shove him or grab him or scratch him, and so you don’t know where you should put your hands. Once your hair is loose, you sink down to the soft feather mattress until you are lying flat on your back. Jace yanks off his shirt and tosses it to the floor, then he leans towards you, gesturing to your nightgown.

“Is it okay if I…?”

“Sure,” you say, and help him pull it off you. Even beneath the blankets, your bare skin feels the chill of the night air, and with the apprehension and fear there is something else too, a longing, a craving that has gone unsatiated. It’s crude to think, but it’s true: you’re used to being fed, and you haven’t been since Aemond went away.

Unexpectedly, Jace’s eyes don’t go to your breasts or lower; instead, they catch on the scar that cuts down from your left collarbone. He touches it with careful, weightless fingerprints. His voice is tender. “What happened here?”

“An assassin’s blade,” you say. “The night Jaehaerys died.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. Here—in bed, in the firelight—he is not Rhaenyra’s eldest son and someone you are supposed to hate, someone who is a threat to your life, someone who once played a part in Aemond losing his eye. Here Jace is just a man, and you are naked, and beneath the blankets he is taking off his cotton trousers and then positioning himself between your legs. You are a little wet already, you can feel it, but you know you need more, you know he needs to make you ready with his fingers and his mouth, but Jace isn’t aware of this and you can’t tell him.

You gasp as he starts to push himself inside you, overwhelming burning pressure. “Jace, I’m afraid.”

He stops and looks down at you with seeking, sympathetic eyes. His skin is flushed, his breathing quick. If you could read his face, you’d think it says: What do you want me to do? I’ll do anything. “We can stop.”

“No, just…just please go slowly, okay? Please don’t hurt me.” No more than you have to.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmurs, and then—perhaps because he doesn’t know what else to do—he kisses you, and at first it is formal and unnatural like it was in the sept, but then Jace’s lips begin to move with yours and the kiss glows warm like embers. Your fingers go to his hair—not a Targaryen’s, a Strong’s—and tangle in his curls. His hands explore your breasts, grazing and circling your nipples with his fingertips. You wrap your legs around Jace as his tongue darts into your mouth, wanting this, maybe even wanting him.

Jace thrusts into you, and there is a moment of blinding pain that makes you cry out; and for everything that has been said about Aemond—a monster, a murderer, violent and arrogant and wicked—nothing he has ever done to you has hurt like this. Immediately, Jace moves to pull away, but you stop him. “Don’t.”

He shakes his head. “But you’re hurt—”

You hold his face in your hands to make him listen. “I’m alright, I promise. Just wait here, just give me a moment.”

“Okay,” Jace sighs into your throat that’s damp with perspiration. He kisses you there, tasting your salt, fear that has turned to lust. “Okay, okay…”

Already the pain is fading, and your muscles are relaxing, and you are slick with wetness to ease the razored friction. And it’s nothing like the way Aemond knew how to touch you—you are nowhere near a climax—but still, there is something pleasurable about it, there is something nice about being tangled up with a man this way again.

“Go on,” you tell Jace; and he rests his forehead against yours as he thrusts into you, very slowly, and he’s shaking all over, and between breathless kisses he is moaning, in shock that a feeling this good exists, in mindless ecstasy, and then he spills himself inside you and collapses onto your chest, still kissing you, thanking you, asking if you’re alright. Before you can answer, he throws back the blankets and examines the sheets. When you look down, you can see that between your legs is a stain of pale pink, a miniscule amount of blood.

Is that all? you think, relieved. It wasn’t so bad. It wasn’t so good either, but it was tolerable. And it will get better.

“No, no, no,” Jace murmurs, kissing the inside of your thigh. He is distressed, he is repentant. “I wounded you. I’m so sorry.”

“I’ll be alright, Jace,” you say, rather amused.

He crawls back to you and lies down beside you on the bed. He is struggling to keep his eyes open. “You weren’t lying. You’ve never done that before.”

“No.”

“I won’t hurt you again.” He kisses your cheek. “My wife. My princess.” And then he rests his head on his pillow and within a minute he is snoring softly.

“My prince,” you whisper, trying it out. It doesn’t feel right yet, but maybe one day it will. You have to clean yourself off; Jace doesn’t know this about women, but you do. You climb out of bed, and Jace stirs as you leave.

“I love you,” he says, like it’s a reflex he’s repeated a thousand times, like it takes no thought at all. You stare bewildered at him. Jace’s eyes are still closed. And you think of Aemond—suddenly, with great clarity, as Jace sleeps in your shared bed—and you will yourself to be able to see where is and what he’s thinking. But there is nothing: only silence and firelight and the full moon hovering in the overcast, indigo sky outside.

Is he thinking of me? Does he feel lost too?

You have the maids draw a hot bath and you wash it all away, the sweat and the blood and the wetness and Jace’s seed that might give you a child with the unruly dark hair of the Strongs, and still you cannot stop thinking of Aemond.

Did he love me then? Does he love me now?

Back in your bedchamber, you gaze into the flames of the fireplace and try to remember the sound of Aemond’s voice, but you can’t. It keeps bleeding into the words of other people: Aegon, Daeron, Maelor, Jace.

[leonawriter]

DCMK shapeshifter-adjacent AU where everyone has animal traits of some kind. There's no "family of [cat/dog/etc]" but the kind of animal someone is gets found out over time as they grow up, or just suddenly when they're a little kid. Sometimes it's a private thing, and sometimes they don't care at all. But overall it's only a tangential thing; people are still more human than they are animal. It might be weird for someone whose soul connects with pigs to eat pork, but it's not cannibalism.

So then we have Saguru, who did a little research on Kaitou Kid before coming to Japan, and who asks all the questions and follows the trails, and based on the profile he has of Kaitou Kid, he becomes convinced that Kid is a fox-spirit. After all, how could a trickster who effectively shapeshifts like that not be a kitsune?

Only then he starts going to school with Kaito, and finds out that Kaito IS Kid, and his worldview shifts because-

Kaito is decidedly not a fox.

It confuses him to no end, but that's the truth. He sees absolutely no sign of fox ears or a fox tail at any time, and no sign of anything else that would suggest it either. And given his own nature, the urge to chase and hunt does come out, but it's purely because he's Kaito, and not the instinct of dog-chase-fox he would have assumed was there.

(Saguru is a golden retriever. His father did sigh somewhat when they realised, wishing that he could have been a little more presentable, but his mother adores them both and he'd never intended to ingratiate himself into high society anyway.)

He finds out what Kaito is during the summer.

Aoko - a blue-eyed cat herself - had been brushing out Kaito's unruly hair since it had somehow gained enough adornments of twigs and leaves to look like he was trying to be a bird's nest, and Kaito was happy to simply sit and let it happen, although grumbling and complaining whenever she pulled on a tangle.

Saguru had watched, amused, while he'd been eating his lunch. Halfway through, Aoko had finished and Kaito moved from where he was to flop next to Saguru himself, leaving him nonplussed.

He thinks that if he moves, then Kaito - easily startled at the best of times, even when comfortable and confident - will disappear.

Aoko only rolls her eyes at them both as he tries to finish his meal in an unnerved slowness, and lets her tail whack against Kaito's face when she turns away from them both with a muttered "Dumb rabbit."

(He finds out that he'd been half right on the ball assuming that Kaitou Kid was a fox some months after that enlightening moment. Kaito may not be, but his father on the other hand - the original Kaitou Kid whose reputation had come first - definitely was.)

[f4y3w00d5]

Niyx Raedon

"I'll always be with you, Kitten, for as long as their are stars in the sky" Niyx has been my all time favourite character for 4 years now, ever since I'd first read the Medoran Chronicles. Because of Niyx Raedon, I got Quotev, then Wattpad, then Discord, and now Tumblr.

Basically, he's a super hot immortal, and. Just. fuckin. crazy. He's flirty in a fun way, complete tease, and ive gone back and read all these books over and over just to read him again. He's just like - goddamn. Cos of him, Faye has black hair and purple eyes ^^

Morpheus

“You cry for him yet bled for me. One must wonder which is more powerful. More binding. I suppose we shall one day know.”

Been a while since I read this - altho rereading it now! Morpheus is fun, similarish vibes to Niyx but he aint platonic. Hes described as the 'classic bad boy trickster type' and hes just eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee and pretty!!! and he has a cockney accent lol

Albion

Considering as the person who made this one shall be tagged. this shall be. embarassing. but like ough his writings so goodddd Doesnt rlly do enough dialogue to take a quote but eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

anyways PROPOGANDA FOR HIM

hes a CANNIBAL HES A FUCKIN CANNIBAL ISNT THAT FUCKIN EPIC????????? I LOVE CANNIBALS!!!!!!!! AND HIS ATTITUDE THE WAY HE ACTS EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

definitely the type of character id go read fanfiction abt-

Benedict

pretttttttty sure thats his name? he appears like three times in the book lol hes a vampire and hes so vibeyyyyyyyyyy like MWAH

Ellis Haley

"Dont you ever wish you could go back? To some other time, when things were a little wilder. When the rules were less clear."

Shes lesbian. Shes an author. I cant really say more without spoiling this amazing epic beautiful book-

Like shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit yall. Ellis!!! Shes!!! So!!! Cool!!!! I hate her!!!!!!!!! But also!!!!! Kissing her on the lips!!!!!!!

Alaska

"She smiled with all the delight of a kid on Christmas morning and said, 'Y'all smoke to enjoy it. I smoke to die.'"

Alaska!!!!! What else can I say!!!!!!!!! Alaska!!!!!!!!!!! Fuck did i love that book yall Made me cry in the time where i could barely bring tears

@tams-tism-talks @im-an-anthusiast @irishfry @gobodegoblin

@akronus-the-redeemed @monsterfucker-research-wizard @saphi-everything @ibuildblasters

Blorbo Poll

Rules: make a poll with five of your all-time favourite characters and then tag five people to do the same. See which character is everyone's favourite.

Tagged by @powersuitup. Probably very predictable picks for anyone who knows me but whatevs.

NP tagging @tweetthang96, @coolnerdyrn, @kayliemalinza, @raaorqtpbpdy, and @thephilosophersapprentice.

[parkcivconfess]

hiii.... Cannibalism anon again, i have never even thought about that omg the old man fucked up big time like actually and he never got the fair punishment for his crimes?? He shouldve rotted in parkour hell for his parkour sins

Ok but switching topics to starvation . Do you think that sharing food is a common love language for the noobs. Like theyre willing to not eat for an entire day just to give someone else their portion.

Imagine EMF gave Evbo his golden carrots back when Evbo was still a master and Evbo just started tearing up before remembering he's not at the noob level anymore and the food here is plentiful, EMF has full hunger bar, a few golden carrots is nothing. Because to the masters, dignity and maintaning respect for oneself is more important than survival. EMF is not Evbo, he wouldnt know just how valuable the act of giving food to Evbo means to him

And. He may not feel hunger anymore as a champion or the Parkour God, but he would never turn down food thats personally given to him. Even if eating makes him sick. Even if it never fulfills his hunger. You had him in mind when you're giving this food to him, and honestly? Its more so the thought thats enough for him

omg i believe this too. i think evbo is REALLY big on sharing like even the most personal items he has he will share them with other people he likes. even if they refuse he always offers JUSTTT one more time for good measure. i also think he'd be like. really hyper aware / concerned about how much and when everybody's eating on each level because he really doesn't want them to starve or anything cause he knows what it's like and it fucking SUCKS.

he sometimes brings food over for see'watt even though he HATES him because starving is very unpleasant and it's not like anybody would let see'watt into food establishments after everything he did.

i think that emf is just really. lanky and tall with a high metabolism so evbo often over worries about his health out of love and care (which often comes as annoying to emf until he finds out what noobs in evbos day lived like and realizes that evbo cares for him so much that he'd literally starve for him).

emf makes a cake for his birthday or something and evbo SOBS like a little BABY

[witchthewriter]

𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐛𝐚𝐥 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

From this poll, this series is born!

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

𝑺𝑭𝑾🌿

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

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

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

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

・And you loved him.

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

・Unlike many throughout history; he found you.

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

・The Cannibal sensed that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

・He can be quite funny at times -

・Particularly when he mind-speaks during something important.

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

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

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

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

・Marriage is a difficult subject.

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

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

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

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

・They usually excuse themselves (basically running away)

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

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

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

Undying Loyalty x2

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

𝑹𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒄 𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆

Found Family

Intertwined Destinies

Legacy and Legend

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

Do I Wanna Know by Arctic Monkeys

I Need You by James Newton Howard

Me and the Devil by Soap&Skin

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

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

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

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

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

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

・He felt primal around you.

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

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

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

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

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

"Are you pouting!"

"No."

"You are!"

"No I am not!"

[gaywarcriminals]

Well my reaction to writers block is generally to write qijiu cannibalism, so. Cw child cannibalism.

Child Yue Qi stumbling upon a mushroom of flesh regeneration while he’s foraging for food, mistaking it for something else, and eating it being none the wiser. Later, he finds the half-healed welts on his back have knit themselves back together, and after some experimentation finds that while bruises and illness linger as much as ever, cuts and gashes mend themselves within a shichen— they barely even bleed anymore. 

That winter, when there’s little food to find and others are less willing to part with what they have to help a street urchin, when Xiao Jiu gets gaunt and weaker, his blows unable to keep up with his sharp tongue, Yue Qi has an idea. It’s a monstrous thing to suggest, but Shen Jiu is hungry, and social mores fall away when survival is at stake. When Yue Qi asks Shen Jiu to eat of him, it only takes a few minutes of convincing. 

You’re insane.  Qi-ge is worried about Xiao Jiu.  It’s disgusting.  Yes, but it’s better than starving.  Won’t I get sick?  Qi-ge isn’t sick— surely it’s at least safer than eating diseased livestock.  Won’t it hurt you? It’s better than you starving. …You wouldn’t do this for anyone else?  Just Xiao Jiu. Mn.

They don’t have a proper blade, and building a fire would draw to much attention, provoking questions they can’t answer. Instead, in a dark corner, Yue Qi sits and tugs apart his too-thin shirt to reveal his shoulder. It hurts; Shen Jiu’s teeth are a blunt weapon, crushing more than they cut. He can feel how much effort Shen Jiu is exerting, trying to tear through thick, living flesh with milk teeth and exhausted muscles. Yue Qi bites back any sounds of pain, and the nausea that accompany them: he doesn’t want to discourage Shen Jiu. 

He’s rewarded for his perseverance when Shen Jiu curls up on his lap, his face pressed to Yue Qi’s body like a nursing infant. A giddiness sweeps through him, eclipsing the pain, and everything feels right. 

[lemurianmaster]

Woke up at 4 this morning in a cold sweat thinking about the financial and social terrors of Christmas, so I decided to cheer myself up by thinking about the LaDS penises instead (as you do) and it kinda spiralled. Typed up on my phone, so I can't add any banners or fancy text (not that I know how to because I'm an old noob).

SUGGESTIVE LANGUAGE (so run away children) AND MENTIONS OF FEMALE MC

Zayne I think would be longer than the others, maybe an eye watering 7.5 inches, but his girth wouldn't be as impressive—you could get your hand and mouth around it no problem. He'd taste so sweet, though, from all the macarons and sugar he ingests and you'll have him check your blood sugar levels after you swallow him down. His length may cause you to wonder if a cervix could actually break, but he spends so much time working you up, taking at least an hour on foreplay and pulling numerous orgasms from you before intercourse, that you're already too far gone to care. And those pelvic floor exercises he encouraged you to do every day pay off as you choke the cum out of him. His favourite position would be with you straddling him as he sits on a chair or propped up in bed. 1, so it would be more comfortable for you and to take as much of his long cock as you're comfortable with, and 2, so he can feel all of your body, his mouth and tongue on the pulse point of your neck. With Zayne, his long, dexterous fingers are where the true magic lies.

Xavier would be on the smaller side, at an acceptable and comfortable 5.5 inches, but his girth would be what makes you see stars. Your thumb won't be able to meet your fingers when you wrap a hand around him. He wouldn't taste particularly sweet, more of a literal man gravy taste from all the hotpots he consumes. Think of the protein! Not that you get much of an opportunity to go down on him, because this man lives between your legs. Always has his hands on your thighs no matter what it is you're doing, be it watching a movie, snuggling in bed to go to sleep or hoisting your legs over his shoulders while he laps you up for hours. This man is like a scuba diver and will stay down there until he's taken you to the stratosphere at least 3 times. His favourite position is either lazily spooning you from behind, panting in your ear while he slowly grinds into you, or folding you into a mating press when he feels particularly feral so he can drive as deep into you as he can get and he NEEDS your thighs within touching or biting distance of his seductive face.

Rafayel would be the most "normal" out of the bunch. A manageable 6 inches and reasonable girth, though he's more tapered, making the base of his cock thicker than the tip. He has a very prominent ridge on the underside that adds friction to where you want it the most. Being a fish and a cannibal lol, he would taste a bit funky, so probably best to keep a mint tucked into the inside of your cheek when you go down on him. He's an experimenter; finding any and all ways to see what feels best for you, but will take his time with anything you both try. Loves to watch you come undone so expect his eyes on you at all times, but his favourite position is prone bone because that magical ridge of his hits your clit just right when he's taking you from behind and he swells with pride when he knows you're about to cum, so he doesn't mind not being able to see your face when you do.

Sylus the impaler. It would be like sliding down a tube of pringles. This man is a horse at a scary 9 inches and his girth makes you look like a little hamster with stuffed cheeks when you attempt to take him in your mouth. He loves the way your back teeth scrape against his cock when you do go down on him, but will always keep a presence of mind so he doesn't accidentally thrust into your throat and cause you discomfort. He would taste quite pleasant due to all the fine dining and healthy eating and if you swipe off all his precum on your fingers then suck them like a lollypop, he's fucking gone. He likes to lay back, his hands interlocked behind his head as he watches you slowly and steadily sink down into his monster of a cock. Your expressions morphing from "holy fuck," to "oh my gods, right there" are what slays him. He's used to people trying to take from him, but for you, he gives everything willingly without question as much as you want.

Okay, so I know nothing about Sylus, sorry!

[thehealerhairpin]

shaky voice from the shaky lady with so much fear full in her body -- it was both out of how scary this place she was in and from the strange being -- could she call her a cannibal ? no .. something was odd about him , couldn't put her finger on it but calling them a cannibal were an odd thing . would it be better if .. there was a name -- did she tell her name ? ugh .. from all this fear she may have forgotten -- she does have good memories but she can't fathom to remember in such panic state .

wanting to leave . wanting more than to get out . out of this place alive .

this place feels like a haunted mansion that people put up for decoration on Halloween -- for benefits and entertainment for the people to come and go , coming in with bravery of such face and then coming out with the most scared full chested up faces right after . she came here -- not intending to be here at all , but she came anyways , thinking her friends could be near . although , the only near one is a stranger and danger , none related to each other but much close and similar to one another .

shaky breath meet cold air of the weather of this mansion -- despite being inside it feels so cold like they were in a .. cemetery , a grave , a coffin . scary , but wouldn't put past that it could be worse .. aside from the dead body that she couldn't save -- it wasn't rotting either , so the person must have died freshly . after all and everything she couldn't help but think back upon many things that have happened , after all she felt a weird sense relief -- it feels like this is the end of the nightmare , the end of the line . she cut it short herself .

this mansion was odd to say the very least .

she wants out .

her hands practically pulling on the door - wanting to slam herself against it just to open it up -- scared , so full of fear , she felt like a little lost kid running and scrambling everywhere to find a way to get out of this misery -- to find help .

but as sudden as everything was the creature pulled onto her wrist -- yanking her like a cloth , she got terrified -- has he decided to eat her ? it was an immediate thought -- not out of disrespect but anything could be expected at this point in time of this mansion they're in , how scary , how haunted , how much this will haunts her for a while . but it was nothing as she would expect , as the man pulled her to do nothing but to try and comfort -- face faced against the chest before scooping her up .

surprise is what has taken her by .

they walk to the door , holding onto her and carrying her like a baby . it felt weirdly comforting -- is that weird ? it has been a while since she has been held in such close position and way . she looked to the door before her eyes shut close upon the contact of his feet and the door were made -- splinters and much loud of a noise were made upon that contact of human .. or creature thing and the door . forcing it to open it up . what strength -

outside .

village -- forest -- she felt a relieved -- she felt fresh air coming into her lungs as she breath out her remaining cold breath that felt like she was suffocating herself in -- felt like she was holding all those cold shaky breaths in even though she was much breathing them out wasting all the oxygen available out of desperation and fear --

and here they are , finally out .

she felt her eyes tearing up , her face scrunched up before she -- she fully starts crying . sniffles and tears pouring down her face like she was holding it in since her past life .

" we're out ? we're out -- we're out ! - we're finally out !! "

she said as she started to smile through all her tears wiping her tears off as it still flows down like a river on a mountain . she asked questions but answered with her own self and voice -- is over ? is it really over ? is it ? it is over ! it is ! is so over !

Scared.

With the demon’s mind somewhat cleared and her vision less blurry, Nezuko can now see that the human is definitely scared.

Well, they can't say they're surprised.

Blood painting her entire body, bits and pieces of gore topping the liquid, as well as the corpse being littered across her feet- It’s a common reaction, seeing humans so terrified whenever Nezuko eats one of their kind.

Sometimes, they get so scared they can't move, frozen in place as they're unable to do anything except wait for their impending doom, brought on by the inhuman thing that stands before them.

Other times, they flee, going as fast as their legs can carry them, trying to escape the fate that will be befallen on them.

These reactions are common, yet Nezuko can't help but feel... bad.

He doesn't really know how to explain it. All she knows is that seeing their faces, their reactions, practically begging to be spared... it makes the twisting feeling in her gut worse, as if it's clawing it's way to her entire body and taking control, desiring that she... comfort the person, as if apologizing for something that is only natural for her race.

And they try.

Even if he's covered in gore, even if the human would want nothing to do with him- Nezuko still tries to comfort the person. She wraps her arms around them, bringing the stranger close to her, and just... stays there, trying to calm the person down, trying to let them know that they're safe, that nothing is going to harm them.

The action brings Nezuko a sense of nostalgia, as if they've done this before, yet when they try to remember where, it’s clouded in fog, nothing more than the familiar sensation of small things cuddling up to them discernible.

Without so much as a warning, the demon grabs the human’s wrist, practically yanking her close to him as he scoops up the smaller one into his arms- with one arm underneath her, and the other supporting her back- he holds her as if one would a child, trying to offer the comfort he always does to those who are scared.

And so she walks.

Holding the human tightly to themself, they trudge over to the exit, no longer shambling like a corpse would- yet still shaky, the arm not being enough for Nezuko to consume.

Too much of time passes, and he kicks the door open, wood splintering from the force of his foot.

It’s the outside.

They blink.

Outside of the hallway is the outside. The pathway to which leads from here to the nearby village visible, trees and foliage surrounding the both of them, undisturbed by the events that have happened inside.

[princeisolde]

My yandare af Slytherin MC, Isolde Roman.

They have my pottermore sorting🐍, wand, (Cypress, Phoenix Fether, 12.5” & unrelenting) & Patronus, lion with a huge mane. Pure blood, dead parents, and has a rich aunt that sends them funds. Throwing Isolde into this game was totally cathartic and so much fun. So because no one asked…heres all their facts.

Very classic tropes of a Dark Arts Kid™. They were my first oc for the WW back in 2010-2011 and they’ve grown up with me as my horrible other half. Isolde is always spending their time acting as a teachers pet, stalking Poppy, (she’s so pure and must be corrupted,) enabling Sebastian’s dark side, and constantly fantasizing about convincing Ominis to murder his family and take their estate. (Just a silly lil murder, gosh.)

Isolde favors curses and fire spells, and they simply love Occlumency. Any mind game is their favorite thrill. (They think imperio is kinky.)

They’re terribly sweet to people, but it’s all a face. Anything they want they get, take, or steal without a second thought. Selfish, cunning, pretty, cruel, quiet, curious, the kind to watch with a worried expression as you scream from their curse, stroke your face, smile sweetly, then cast it again. Isolde is really just the worst.

They follow Poppy around to make sure no one bullies her, but really they’re horribly possessive and just want her all to themselves, scaring off anyone trying to flirt with her. Those two boys that harassed her behind the beasts hut found themselves in hospital.

Isolde and Sebastian bring out the worst and each other and love it. Ominis does his best, but he’s wrangling two dumb dogs who won’t shut up or behave whenever they go out.

Teenagers scare the living shit out of me. 7th year, shits already gone down.

Involves: misuse of unforgivables, dark!MCxPoppy, MCxSebxOmi, dark!Ominis. corruption, sadism, smut, angst, elements of cannibalism (I’m sorry.) & blood. V dark stuff but it’s all so much fun.

[xeemaee]

please do yourself a favor and read the labru cannibalism comic. here’s the link. do it. even if you think it won’t be your thing cause of the cannibalism like… no its so good please read it. like is it smut? yes? no? maybe?? is it cannibalism? yeah but no????? are there dungeon meshi spoilers???? yes but also not very obvious ones?????? just…. read it.

[eldritch-ace]

I need more bestie Will and Bev content so I make it myself. They are the only cool people to ever exist in the FBI.

Also the Fred(dies) whom I despise (I love them with my whole heart). They are my favorite AO3 authors.

[valentinos-corner]

OKAY OKAY OKAY OKAY SO

I'm not sure how it started? Cheese would be the person to ask that

But it's basically this fanmade mafia in the Bungou Stray Dogs universe run by this guy named Shark (that isn't his real name, most of the adult characters here use nicknames/code names)

Shark joined specifically because at the time, it was run by the man he loved

...the man he loved is a bitch and ended up cheating on him. They are no longer together, thank god

But Shark is basically just the adopted dad of everyone there

and when I say this is basically just a found family, I mean it

there are multiple children

-A pair of cannibals with crippling abandonment issues (they are dating. Their names are Niku and Taberu (I play Taberu!) and I love them.) They're the oldest kids here I think

-this tiny walking flamethrower that started following one of the older members around and just got adopted kind of

-Maria. I don't know much about her but she's a little girlboss

-Charlie Rowan Barrie! Tiny adorable patchwork baby that escaped from a lab. Be warned they are very body horror flavored

-Angry rebellious girl that throws rocks at people. And also can bloodbend

-An alternate version of an already bitchy 14-year-old that is somehow even more bitchy! Affectionately referred to as feral!Oscar

-Silent Black gets an honorable mention because while he is technically in his twenties, he rarely acts like it and really desperately needs a hug and a cup of hot cocoa

The character masterlist is here!

I love how XY isn't even really a mafia it's just one huge somehow functioning found family that kills people and sells drugs on the side sometimes

@city-of-c0rpses @paintedgrilledcheese @myluckymoon @aredeemantagonist

[shortcakelils]

Rosie Redesign !!

[ceilidho]

Situationship!Ghost hits you with the “no wonder your single nobody wants to deal with psychotic ass” and then turns his notifs off- cut to an hour or two later and he’s got you bent over your kitchen counter sobbing his name while he says some shit like “nobody will ever get you better than me, got it?” (I need him in the worst way)

he needs someone that can handle his crazy ass and give it back tenfold lmaooo. you change your locks and phone number, maybe even move apartments (or go stay at an airbnb or something) without telling him because you had an argument the week before that he wouldn't apologize for and the anger burns in your throat so bad that you decide to just cut him off altogether if he wants to be an asshole about it.

cut to days later when he finally tracks you down, pounding on your door to let him in ("bird, open up the fucking door now or i'm breaking it down"), his voice sounding more desperate and harsher than you've ever heard it before because he's been awake for like 72 hours trying to find you.

[arealtrashact]

If it wasn't for your Tumblr, I never would've watched The 10th (Tenth?) Kingdom. I thank you. 😃

You're welcome.

Now you too can live with the knowledge that we'll never get the planned sequel and, as a result, never see the abomination that these two managed to spawn.

I am haunted by the fact Simon Moore (writer) confirmed that their offspring would be 100% wolf.