#(watching Dragonslayer)

[sesamenom]

@general-illyrin @tar-thelien @who-needs-words I think you all mentioned being interested in the reverse gondolin au - is anyone interested in helping with wrangling the timelines, especially the second age stuff? Here's the current outline:

(Edit: anyone feel free to help out if you're interested!)

YT 14365 - Birth of Lomion

YT 14373/FA 1 - Death of Argon

FA

2 - Aredhel adopts Lomion

300 - Birth of Idril

316 - Turgon & Idril kidnapped by Eol

400 - Turgon & Idril rescued. Death of Eol

465 - Finrod more-peacefully passes throne to orodreth while on Quest. Everyone except beren still dies

472 - Nirnaeth. Turgon named High King of the Noldor.

476 - Turgon abdicates official title. Aredhel named High King of the Noldor.

496 - Tuor comes to Gondolin

502 - Wedding of Idril and Tuor

503 - Births of Earendil and Elwing. Idril begins to have foresight dreams about the Fall.

506 - Second Kinslaying. C^3 dead, celebrimbor stays in gondolin. Aredhel denounces the oath/kinslaying and disowns C^3

Elwing survives & is found by Oropher & Thranduil // Galadriel & Celeborn. oropher, thranduil, oropher's wife, and thranduil's then-gf // galadriel & celeborn take Elwing to Gondolin as refugees. The Silmaril is left hidden in the woods of melian's domain.

507 - Elwing comes to Gondolin.

509 - Idril captured by Morgoth. Idril reveals the location of Gondolin in exchange for an Oath to not harm her family (Turgon, Tuor, and Earendil). Idril rescued.

510 - Gondolin prepares for war with Morgoth.

513-522 - Siege of Gondolin. Deaths of Duilin and Rog. Gothmog slain by Aredhel the Huntress. First use of the Three Rings by Lomion and Celebrimbor in defense of Gondolin. House of the Hammer of Wrath destroyed.

523 - Maedhros believes a Silmaril is with Elwing at Gondolin.

525 - Earendil weds Elwing. Lomion weds ???. Adoption of Gil-Galad

532 - Births of Elrond and Elros.

538 - Third Kinslaying at Gondolin. Death of Amras. Elrond and Elros kidnapped by Maglor. Deaths of Elwing and Turgon. Second use of the Three Rings by Lomion and Celebrimbor. Deaths of Maedhros and Aredhel. Lomion named King of Gondolin and High King of the Noldor. Deaths of Salgant, Penlod, and Tuor. Earendil named Lord of the House of the Wing.

540-549 - War declared between Gondolin and the Feanorians of Himring over the Third Kinslaying and kidnapping of Princes Elrond and Elros.

549 - Elrond and Elros recovered. Feanorians and Gondolin severely weakened. Celebrimbor // Gil-Galad declared heir to the High Kingship.

552-554 - Second Siege & Fall of Gondolin. Third use of the Three Rings by Lomion and Celebrimbor. Deaths of Ecthelion, Glorfindel, Egalmoth, and Turgon. Idril and Celebrimbor lead survivors through the Secret Way.

555 - Gondolithlim refugees arrive at Sirion.

556 - Idril departs for Valinor.

558 - Earendil searches for Valinor.

560 - Havens of Sirion destroyed by Morgoth. Gondolithlim/Doriathrim survivors scattered. Elrond and Elros rescued (as adults) by Maglor.

572 - Morgoth controls Beleriand. Earendil and reembodied Elwing come to Valinor and rally the Host.

575-617 - War of Wrath

618 - Maglor claims the Silmaril from Eonwe's camp and casts himself into the Sea. Death of Maglor.

620 - End of the First Age.

SA

1 - Founding of the Grey Havens and Lindon under High King Lomion

2 - Elros becomes the first King of Numenor

c. 500 - Sauron returns to Middle-Earth in the East.

650 - Eregion is founded

1000 - Galadriel is given Vilya; Lomion wields Nenya

1170 - Annatar comes to Lindon and Lomion turns him away. Lomion warns Celebrimbor of Eregion of his suspicions.

1200 - Annatar comes to Eregion. Celebrimbor takes him in to monitor.

1250 - Celebrimbor creates the Seven; Lomion creates the Nine.

1410 - Annatar is kicked out of Eregion.

1600 - The One Ring is forged. Sauron remains in hiding.

1610 - Sauron begins to gather and prepare armies in the East.

1673 - War of the Elves and Sauron begins.

1675 - Sauron invades Eriador.

1677 - Fall of Ost-in-Edhil. Celebrimbor and Lomion remain at the House of the Mirdain. Death of Celebrimbor in battle // Fourth use of the Three in battle. Sauron does not learn of the Seven. Founding of Imladris.

1678 - Sauron defeated by the Numenoreans and the Elves of Lindon.

1679 - Sauron flees to Mordor. First White Council held.

3147 - Civil war in Numenor.

3225 - Ar-Pharazon seizes the Sceptre.

3228 - Elrond claims the Sceptre. Ar-Pharazon disowned. Tar-Miriel named Ruling Queen.

3232 - Sauron taken to Numenor as a prisoner.

3274 - Elrond kicks Sauron out of Numenor and outlaws the morgoth cult.

3310 - Morgoth cult publicly reappears.

3319 - Downfall of Numenor. Tar-Miriel leads a greater force of the Faithful away.

(green // blue means two main options, red means i need to think about it more)

The main details I'm figuring out right now are

does Celebrimbor still die at Eregion - I don't think he's getting captured/tortured, but he could still die in the battle. On the other hand, he could probably survive by using Narya & Lomion using Nenya, but that would definitely have repercussions further down the line

how does Idril's deal work - I'm currently thinking of Idril exchanging the location of Gondolin for her family's guaranteed safety, because it seems in character for Reverse Idril? But on the other hand, even if I limit it to immediate family at the time of the oath (tuor, turgon, earendil) then idk where turgon dies? Maybe Maglor can kill him but that seems kind of random

where and how does Turgon die

how does Prince Elrond's character even work

how does Numenor still fall when factoring in Prince Elrond - I'm thinking that the morgoth death cult gained enough traction during the time sauron was there that even after Elrond kicks him out, the cult still sticks around and reemerges later? The Fall still happens, but they never go to attack valinor and there's a good deal more Faithful (maybe 40-60%?)

[swan2swan]

My one major criticism of this movie is that the blacksmith's daughter and the princess should have gotten together.

[gaylittleguys]

a protagonist so awful it makes you say “actually, I hate this dude” and shut the movie off

[dreamerkitty]

Light and Shadow Dragonslayers part 2

You can read part one here~

Please enjoy!

[kuromi-hoemie]

fictional or not, dragon lore is always so interesting.

[honestly-why-am-i-bothering]

Natsu is so babygirl

[purlturtle]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💗

Thank you!! ♥️♥️♥️

Okay, so I've been thinking about how the Advent Calendar Ice Cream fic is one that I really really like, because it's - dare I say - screwball and I think I pulled it off? The Advent Calendar itself was a really fun project last year, I had a blast writing all of my contributions - and I think of all of them, this instalment is the one I'm happiest with.

Strata and Commutata are two more fics I am very proud of; it all came from the idea "Road Trip but make it Bering and Wells", and that one simple spark helped me create something big and deep and rich. Also, writing a duology with one part being from one person's limited POV and the other from the other person's was a whole lot of fun!

I'm gonna put the other two under a readmore because this is getting long! 😅

Angel, Sinner, Dragonslayer is a medieval AU told in 2nd person (which I know a lot of people dislike), and I'm still really taken with that choice. I wanted two things with it: to write from an internal POV like 1st person or 3rd person limited (ideally 1st, and that's what I started it out with), but I also wanted to show the alienation from herself that the way Myka's father had raised her, had spawned in her. And so her internal monologue is not "I" but "you", and when I started rewriting what I had towards that POV, it felt just so right. Also, it allowed for a fun moment at the story's emotional climax, so watch out for that when you read it! I like this story so much that I had it printed and bound, by the way. So yes, definitely one of my favorites!

And last but never least, I have to put And Now You here. It is the longest single story I've ever written (only my Kathryn Janeway love story comes close, and that's two series!), and I - god, I had so much fun writing it. It also helped me endure the early days and months of the pandemic, as my little world in which I could escape to rather than occupy my thoughts with how the world was a dumpster fire, so it'll always have a special spot in my heart for that. It's a High School AU - again something that not a lot of people like. And it encompasses teenage pregnancy, which probably turned even more people away (and hey, no worry about that: reading fic is about enjoying the ride, and if you (general you) know that teenagers or teenage pregnancy doesn't do that for you, then that's fair!). But I wanted to write a story in which these teenagers have an overall positive experience, with their relationship, with the pregnancy and all that comes with that, with school and their friends and (found) family. I think I did well with that!

Thank you for asking, and giving me the opportunity to talk about these stories! ♥️♥️♥️

[novaursa]

The Last Dragonslayer (2/2)

- Summary: The conclusion of a journey, for you, one of the many.

- Paring: female!reader/Rhaenyra Targaryen

- Note: For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 7 000+

- Previous part: 1

- Bonus part: 3

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

The council chamber is cold, the stone walls adorned with banners of House Targaryen, their crimson and black fabric swaying lightly in the draft. The weight of history presses down upon you, the ancient stones whispering secrets of kings and conquerors. You stand at the edge of the chamber, watching Rhaenyra from beneath the hood of your cloak. The lords seated around the table glance at you uneasily, their gazes lingering too long, discomfort plain in their eyes. You are a foreigner, an anomaly, a reminder of tales and nightmares they would rather forget.

Rhaenyra, the Queen, sits at the head of the table, her presence commanding even as shadows darken the skin beneath her eyes. She’s been restless since Daemon left for Harrenhal, pacing the halls of Dragonstone like a caged beast. Now, she listens as her advisors bicker, her expression tight, her gaze distant. They speak of the war, of the blood that’s already been spilled, and the blood that will flow if they do not act.

Alfred Broome, his voice tinged with frustration, slams his fist on the table. “We cannot continue to sit idle, Your Grace. The Greens gain more ground with each passing day! Aemond’s attack on Storm’s End—”

“—was an act of war,” interrupts Lord Celtigar, his tone measured but firm. “They have already crossed the line.”

“And yet we remain here, waiting!” Broome snaps, glaring at the others. “Waiting for what? A miracle? A sign from the gods? Aemond tried to kill Prince Lucerys, and still, we do nothing.”

You watch as Rhaenyra’s knuckles whiten, her fingers digging into the arms of her chair. Her grief is palpable, a dark cloud that has yet to lift since news of Lucerys’ narrow escape reached her. But she remains silent, her eyes flickering with a storm of emotions she refuses to let loose before these men.

It’s then that you decide to speak, your voice low, cutting through the tension like a blade. “Action without strategy is a fool’s errand, Lord Broome. Perhaps you are eager to throw away lives in a show of haste, but the Queen’s duty is to her people, not to your impatience.”

The lords turn to you, their eyes narrowing, some in suspicion, others in outright disdain. You meet their stares unflinchingly, the cold fire of your homeland reflected in your gaze. Your hand rests on the hilt of your sword—a sword older than any of them, a relic of a time when the world was shaped by fire and blood, but not by dragons alone.

Broome sneers, his lip curling. “And what would a foreigner know of our wars? Of our dragons?”

More than you could ever understand, you think, but do not say aloud. Instead, you take a step forward, the shadow of your Banshee—your mount, your companion, and your weapon—seeming to loom behind you, though it remains far from these walls. The lords shift uncomfortably as if sensing its presence. They fear it, as they should.

“I know,” you say, your voice steady, “that Aemond did more than just attack Storm’s End. He was driven away. Chased off by something he did not expect, and that something was me. You may not trust my motives, but understand this: I have chosen to stand with the Queen, to see balance preserved in Westeros. You would do well to heed her wisdom and not let your fear cloud your judgment.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes meet yours across the table, and for a moment, the storm within her clears. There is gratitude there, and something else—something that has lingered between you since the night you arrived at Dragonstone, the night you saved her son. The pull between you is undeniable, a silent promise that neither of you has yet dared to speak aloud. But in her gaze, you see it as clearly as the flames of a dragon’s breath.

Lord Celtigar clears his throat, cutting through the tension. “The Lady Y/N speaks true. We cannot act rashly. The Greens expect us to strike without thought. We must outmaneuver them, not merely meet them on the field of battle.”

The room falls silent, the lords exchanging glances. Broome’s scowl deepens, but he holds his tongue, his eyes flickering to Rhaenyra, who now seems more resolute.

Rhaenyra straightens in her seat, the weight of the crown evident on her shoulders but her voice strong. “We will act, but we will act wisely. The Greens will not find us easy prey. We will not fall into their traps, nor will we be goaded into hasty decisions. Lord Celtigar, begin preparations for the fleet. We’ll strike where they least expect it. And Lord Broome,” she adds, her gaze hardening, “you will ensure that our forces are ready when the time comes.”

Broome stiffens but nods, his anger barely concealed. “As you command, Your Grace.”

The council continues, the lords discussing strategy, but your attention drifts to Rhaenyra. The tension in her shoulders has eased slightly, but the burden she carries is still heavy. You find yourself stepping closer, a silent offering of support that she acknowledges with a slight nod, a flicker of something warm in her eyes as she turns back to the map spread out before her.

Later, when the council disperses, and the lords retreat to their chambers, you linger. The chamber is quiet now, the echo of the lords' voices fading into the stone. Rhaenyra stands by the hearth, staring into the flames, her thoughts far away. You approach her, the weight of your sword still at your side, a constant reminder of who you are and what you represent.

“You were right to keep a level head,” you say softly, your voice breaking the silence. “They do not understand the full scope of what we face.”

She turns to you, the firelight casting her features in a warm glow. For a moment, she looks younger, almost fragile, but then her eyes meet yours, and the steel within her is evident once more. “It is difficult,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper. “To know when to strike, and when to hold back. But with Daemon gone, I must be even more cautious. I cannot afford to lose another child… or more allies.”

“You won’t,” you reply, your voice firm. “Not while I’m here.”

A small, wry smile tugs at her lips. “I am grateful for that, Y/N. More than you know.”

The air between you shifts, charged with the unspoken words that neither of you dare to voice, not here, not now. But the promise remains, woven into the fabric of your alliance, and something deeper, something personal.

You reach out, your hand brushing against hers—a fleeting touch that sends a jolt through you both. Rhaenyra doesn’t pull away, her fingers curling slightly, as if to hold onto the warmth you offer. For a brief moment, the weight of the crown, the war, the bloodshed all fades, leaving just the two of you standing by the fire, bound by something stronger than duty.

“Stay with me,” she murmurs, her voice soft, vulnerable in a way you’ve never heard before. “Just a little longer.”

You nod, your hand gently clasping hers, the two of you standing side by side as the fire crackles softly in the hearth, the flames a quiet witness to the bond growing between you.

The wind howls through the trees, rustling the leaves and sending a shiver down your spine. The forest is dense, the shadows long as dusk begins to settle over the land. You stand alone in a clearing, your cloak billowing around you like a dark shadow, the hilt of your ancient sword gleaming faintly in the dim light. The ground beneath your feet is soft, the earth freshly disturbed by the recent passage of men and horses—Ser Criston Cole’s forces, on their way to seize Duskendale for the Greens.

The quiet of the forest is broken by the distant sound of hooves, growing louder with each passing moment. You remain still, your gaze fixed on the treeline as they emerge—riders clad in armor, their banners snapping in the wind. At their head rides Ser Criston Cole himself, his face set in a stern mask, followed closely by Ser Gwayne Hightower and several dozen men-at-arms. They slow as they approach, their horses snorting and stamping as they take in your solitary figure.

The men spread out in a semicircle, surrounding you, their weapons at the ready. Ser Criston rides closer, his eyes narrowing as he takes in your appearance. The tales of your deeds have reached his ears, no doubt—whispers of a foreigner with an ancient sword, a beast that haunts the skies, and the power to make even dragons flee. But it’s clear he does not yet understand the full measure of what stands before him.

“Who are you to stand in our path?” Criston’s voice is hard, commanding, as if the answer to his question will determine whether you live or die.

You don’t flinch under his scrutiny, your voice calm as you reply, “I am Y/N. I have come to give you a chance, Ser Criston. Turn back now, and you may yet live to see another day.”

A murmur ripples through the men, some of them exchanging uneasy glances. They’ve heard the tales too, and the sight of you standing alone, unafraid, seems to unsettle them. But Criston is unmoved, his expression hardening as he spurs his horse closer, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword.

“You expect me to turn tail at the sight of a woman?” He sneers, his tone dripping with disdain. “You may have frightened Aemond, but I am no craven boy. I am the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, sworn to protect the true king. Step aside, or I will cut you down where you stand.”

His men shift in their saddles, emboldened by their commander’s bravado. Ser Gwayne smirks, drawing his sword, the blade catching the dying light of the sun. “It would be wise to heed the Commander’s words, foreigner. You are far from home and outnumbered.”

You remain still, your expression unreadable, the forest around you eerily silent. The air grows colder, the breeze carrying the scent of earth and leaves. You speak again, your voice carrying an edge of steel. “This is your final warning, Ser Criston. I am not here to play games, nor am I here to waste lives. Turn back, or face the consequences.”

Criston’s eyes narrow, his patience clearly worn thin. He raises his sword, the motion sharp and decisive. “Enough of this. Men, bring me her head.”

The order is given, and the men begin to close in around you, their horses snorting, the sound of metal clinking as they draw their weapons. You don’t move, your hand resting lightly on the hilt of your sword, the weight of it familiar and comforting.

As the first rider approaches, sword raised high, you draw your blade with a fluid motion, the ancient steel singing as it cuts through the air. The rider barely has time to react before your sword meets his, the force of the blow sending a shockwave up his arm. His eyes widen in surprise, and in that moment of hesitation, you twist your blade, disarming him with a swift, practiced movement.

He falls from his horse with a cry, his weapon clattering to the ground. The other men hesitate, clearly not expecting such a swift and effortless display. But Criston’s voice rings out, cold and commanding. “Press the attack! She’s but one woman!”

But you are not just one woman. You are Y/N, the last of the Dragonslayers. And this is not your first battle.They charge at you, swords flashing in the dim light, but you are ready. Your movements are a blur, each strike precise, each parry executed with lethal grace. One by one, the riders fall, unhorsed by the skill of your blade or the sheer power behind your strikes. The clearing becomes a battlefield, the air filled with the clash of steel and the cries of men.

In the chaos, you catch sight of Ser Gwayne, his face twisted in anger as he drives his horse towards you. You meet his charge head-on, your swords clashing with a force that reverberates through your arms. He grits his teeth, pushing against you with all his strength, but you hold firm, the ancient power of your blade surging through you.

“You should have listened,” you say, your voice low, as you twist your sword, breaking his stance and sending him reeling. He barely manages to stay in the saddle, his eyes wide with shock as he realizes just how outmatched he is.

“You’re a demon!” he spits, his voice trembling as he regains his balance, but the fear is evident in his eyes.

“No,” you reply, your voice cold, “I am justice.”

With a final, powerful strike, you knock him from his horse, sending him crashing to the ground. He groans, trying to rise, but you place the tip of your sword against his throat, pinning him in place. The other men halt, unsure whether to continue their attack or flee.

Ser Criston watches the scene unfold, his face a mask of fury and disbelief. He dismounts, striding towards you, his sword at the ready. “You think you can best me?” he snarls, raising his weapon.

You turn to face him, your blade still poised at Gwayne’s throat. “I don’t think, Ser Criston. I know.”

Criston lunges at you, his strikes fast and furious, but you are faster. Your swords clash, the sound ringing through the clearing like a bell. He fights with the ferocity of a man with everything to lose, but you match him blow for blow, your movements fluid, almost effortless. He’s strong, but strength alone is not enough.

The battle drags on, but with each passing moment, Criston’s strikes become more desperate, more reckless. He overextends on a particularly vicious swing, and you seize the opportunity. You parry his strike, stepping inside his guard and slashing across his chest. He stumbles back, blood blooming across his white cloak, staining it red.

He grits his teeth, refusing to fall, but the wound has taken its toll. You don’t give him a chance to recover, pressing the attack with a series of swift, precise strikes. He barely manages to parry, each blow pushing him further back until he’s on the defensive, his movements slowing.

Finally, with a powerful upward swing, you knock his sword from his hand, sending it flying across the clearing. He falls to his knees, clutching his bleeding chest, his face pale, eyes wide with disbelief.

You stand over him, your sword raised, its tip pointed at his throat. “I warned you,” you say softly, your voice carrying the weight of inevitability.

Criston glares up at you, defiance still burning in his eyes, but there is also fear—fear of the unknown, of the force that now stands over him. “Kill me, then,” he spits. “But know this: you will never defeat one true king, Aegon.”

You lower your sword slightly, considering him for a moment. “I do not need to defeat your king, Ser Criston. I only need to preserve the balance.”

With that, you withdraw your sword, stepping back. Criston’s eyes widen in surprise, but you give him no time to react. You whistle sharply, and from the shadows of the forest, your Banshee emerges, its massive form blotting out the last of the daylight. The men around you recoil in terror as the creature lets out a bone-chilling shriek, the sound reverberating through the clearing like the cry of a thousand tortured souls.

Criston stares up at the creature, his face drained of all color, and for the first time, you see true fear in his eyes.

“Tell your king,” you say, your voice calm but carrying an unmistakable edge, “that Duskendale is under my protection. And the next time we meet, I will not be so merciful.”

With that, you turn and mount your Banshee, the creature’s wings unfurling as it prepares to take flight. The men watch in stunned silence as you ascend into the sky, the wind whipping around you as your mount carries you away from the clearing and into the night.

Below, the soldiers of the Greens stand frozen, their leader humbled, their will to fight shattered. The tale of what happened in that clearing will spread, carried on the winds of fear, and it will be known that the last of the Dragonslayers walks the earth once more.

The great hall of Dragonstone is quiet as you enter, the flickering torchlight casting long shadows on the walls. The air is thick with the scent of salt and smoke, the sea and the dragon forges mingling to create an atmosphere that is both heavy and foreboding. Rhaenyra and her council are gathered around the massive oak table at the center of the chamber, the map of Westeros spread out before them. Their faces are drawn, tense with the weight of decisions yet to be made.

You stride forward, the sound of your boots on the stone floor echoing through the chamber. The lords and advisors turn to you, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. You are a mystery to most of them, a shadow in the midst of their struggles, but your presence commands attention.

Rhaenyra looks up from the map, her violet eyes locking onto yours. There is a quiet strength in her gaze, tempered by the grief and burdens she carries. She nods to you, her silent signal for you to speak.

“The Greens will no longer trouble themselves with coastal points, Your Grace,” you begin, your voice steady and clear. “I intercepted Ser Criston Cole’s forces before they could reach Duskendale. They were forced to retreat, and word will spread of their defeat. They will not dare to strike at our shores again, not while I stand with you.”

Murmurs ripple through the council, some lords exchanging glances of relief, others still wary of the enigmatic figure before them. But Rhaenyra’s expression is one of satisfaction, a glimmer of approval in her eyes.

“Well done, Lady Y/N,” she says, her voice carrying the authority of a queen. “You have once again proven your value to our cause.”

You incline your head slightly, acknowledging her words. “It is my duty, Your Grace.”

The council continues for a while longer, discussions of strategy and the next moves in the war filling the chamber. But you notice that Rhaenyra’s attention drifts back to you frequently, her gaze lingering as if she has something more on her mind. Finally, as the meeting draws to a close, she dismisses her advisors with a wave of her hand.

“Lady Y/N,” she calls, her voice softer now, almost hesitant. “A word, if you will.”

You nod, following her as she leads you from the great hall. The corridors of Dragonstone are dimly lit, the stone walls cold and unyielding. Rhaenyra’s pace is slow, measured, as if she is gathering her thoughts. You walk beside her in silence, the only sound the faint echoes of your footsteps.

She leads you to her chambers, a grand room that still manages to feel intimate despite its size. The air is warm here, a stark contrast to the chill of the hallways. A bath is drawn, the steam rising gently from the water, scented with herbs and oils. It’s clear that Rhaenyra sought this moment of respite, a small comfort amidst the storm of war.

She gestures for you to sit by the fire, where a table is set with a decanter of wine and two goblets. “Please, join me,” she says, her voice soft but carrying a hint of something more—curiosity, perhaps, or even a touch of longing.

You take a seat, watching as she pours the wine, the deep red liquid catching the light of the flames. She hands you a goblet, her fingers brushing yours for the briefest of moments. The touch is fleeting, but it lingers in the air between you, unspoken.

“I wanted to speak with you, Y/N,” she begins, taking a sip of her wine as she settles into a chair opposite you. “I realize I know so little about you, despite all you’ve done for me. You’ve proven yourself a loyal ally, but there is much I would like to understand. Who are you, truly?”

You swirl the wine in your goblet, considering her question. There is so much to tell, more than could be shared in one evening, or even in a lifetime. But you see the sincerity in her eyes, the genuine desire to know you, not just as a warrior, but as a person.

“I have seen much, Your Grace,” you say slowly, your voice carrying the weight of centuries. “More than most could ever dream or fear. I have witnessed the rise and fall of empires, the death of loved ones, the shifting tides of history. From the brilliant Yo Ti Empire to the shadowed lands of Asshai, to the great wonders beyond the western seas… I have wandered this world longer than I care to remember.”

Rhaenyra listens intently, her eyes wide, a shiver running down her spine at your words. But it is not fear that grips her—it is something else, something that makes her heart quicken, her breath catch.

“How old are you?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper, as if she is almost afraid to hear the answer.

You smile faintly, the lines of your face softening as you look into the flames. “Too old, Your Grace. Old enough to have seen the world change many times over. To be bound to a Banshee is a terrible purpose.”

Rhaenyra sits back in her chair, the goblet forgotten in her hand as she takes in the enormity of your words. For a moment, the weight of your age and experience presses down upon her, making her feel small and fleeting in comparison. But then, she realizes something—despite all you have seen, all you have endured, you are here, by her side, choosing to stand with her in this tumultuous time.

She reaches out, her hand resting lightly on yours, her touch warm, grounding. “And yet you have chosen to fight for me, for Westeros. Why?”

You look at her, truly look at her, and see not just a queen burdened by war, but a woman who has suffered, who has loved and lost, and who is determined to protect what remains. “Because, Your Grace, you fight for balance. For the hope that the world might find peace, that the fire of the dragons might warm rather than burn. That is something worth fighting for.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes soften, her heart touched by your words. She gives your hand a gentle squeeze, her gaze never leaving yours. “Thank you, Y/N. For your honesty, and for your loyalty. It means more to me than I can express.”

The room seems warmer now, the tension of the day melting away as the two of you continue to talk. You share stories of your past, tales of lands and people she can only imagine, and she in turn shares her own hopes and fears, her dreams for her children, for her realm.

As the night deepens, the conversation grows more intimate, the barriers between you falling away. The flickering fire casts a soft glow on Rhaenyra’s face, highlighting the beauty and strength that have drawn you to her from the beginning. And though the specter of war still looms over you both, for this moment, in this room, there is only warmth, only connection.

The wine flows, the stories continue, and as the night wears on, the bond between you and the Black Queen deepens, becoming something more than mere alliance, more than duty.

The night deepens as you and Rhaenyra continue to talk, the warmth between you growing with each passing moment. The wine in your goblets has long since dwindled, but neither of you seems to notice, too absorbed in the quiet intimacy of your conversation. The fire crackles softly, casting flickering shadows across the room, but it is the light in Rhaenyra’s eyes that holds your attention.

As the conversation naturally lulls, a silence falls between you—not an awkward one, but rather filled with unspoken words and lingering glances. You notice how Rhaenyra’s gaze occasionally drifts to your lips, how her breath catches slightly when your hands brush. It is a delicate tension, a quiet yearning that neither of you has fully acknowledged until now.

Finally, Rhaenyra breaks the silence, her voice hushed, almost tentative. “Y/N… there is something I have been wanting to do for some time now.”

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued by the shift in her tone. “And what might that be, Your Grace?”

She doesn’t answer immediately, instead leaning in closer, her eyes locked onto yours. The distance between you shrinks until you can feel the warmth of her breath against your skin, your hearts beating in tandem. Then, without another word, she closes the remaining distance, her lips meeting yours in a kiss that is soft yet filled with a deep, unspoken desire.

The kiss is tentative at first, testing, but as you respond, it deepens, becoming more urgent, more passionate. Rhaenyra’s hand finds its way to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, while your own hand rests on her waist, feeling the warmth of her body through the fabric of her dress. The world outside the room fades away, leaving only the two of you, bound together in this moment.

When you finally pull apart, both of you are breathless, your foreheads resting against each other’s as you take in the reality of what just happened. Rhaenyra’s eyes are dark with desire, her voice a mere whisper as she speaks. “Join me… in the bath.”

There is no hesitation in your response, only a quiet nod of agreement. You both rise from your seats, the space between you charged with anticipation. Rhaenyra’s hand slips into yours, leading you toward the bath that still steams softly in the corner of the room. The heat from the water fills the space, creating a cocoon of warmth and intimacy.

Standing beside the bath, you turn to face each other, the moment heavy with significance. Slowly, reverently, you begin to undress one another, your hands moving with a gentle purpose. Rhaenyra’s fingers trace the edges of your cloak, slipping it from your shoulders, while your own hands find the laces of her dress, loosening them with deliberate care. Each piece of clothing falls to the floor with a whisper, leaving you both bared to each other, not just in body, but in soul.

Rhaenyra’s gaze sweeps over you, appreciation and desire evident in her eyes. She reaches out, her hand trembling slightly as she brushes a lock of hair from your face, her touch tender, almost reverent. “You are… beautiful,” she murmurs, her voice thick with emotion.

You smile softly, your own hand coming up to cup her cheek, your thumb brushing against her skin. “As are you, Rhaenyra. You are radiant.”

There is no more need for words as you step into the bath together, the water embracing you both in its warmth. You sink into the water, Rhaenyra following, her body pressing against yours as you both settle into the comfort of the bath. The heat of the water contrasts with the cool air of the room, heightening every sensation.

You share another kiss, this one slower, more languid, as if savoring each moment. Your hands begin to explore one another’s bodies, tracing the curves and lines with a tenderness that belies the passion simmering beneath the surface. You feel the strength in her arms, the softness of her skin, and the way her body trembles under your touch.

Rhaenyra’s breath hitches as your hand moves lower, finding the heat of her womanhood. She mirrors your movement, her fingers slipping between your thighs with a surety that makes you shudder. The contact is electric, sending ripples of pleasure through both of you. The world narrows to the sensation of her touch, the way her breath mingles with yours, the warmth of the water lapping at your bodies.

There is a rhythm to your movements, a dance of desire and affection that grows more intense with each passing second. Rhaenyra’s moans mix with your own, her voice breathy and desperate as she clings to you, her hips moving in time with your hand. The water sloshes gently around you, the only witness to this intimate exchange.

As the pressure builds within you both, the touches grow more urgent, the kisses more fervent. Rhaenyra’s hand tightens on your shoulder, her eyes squeezing shut as she reaches the edge. You follow her soon after, your bodies trembling together as the waves of pleasure crash over you, leaving you both breathless, your hearts pounding in the aftermath.

For a moment, there is only the sound of your breathing, the gentle lap of the water, and the warmth of Rhaenyra’s body pressed against yours. Slowly, the intensity of the moment ebbs away, leaving behind a deep, abiding connection.

Rhaenyra leans her head against your shoulder, her breath warm against your neck. “That was… incredible,” she whispers, her voice still tinged with the aftershocks of pleasure.

You smile, your hand gently stroking her back as you hold her close. “It was,” you agree softly, feeling a profound sense of contentment.

The two of you remain like that for some time, simply holding each other, basking in the warmth of the water and the closeness of your bodies. There is a gentle, unspoken understanding between you now, a bond forged not just by passion but by mutual respect and deepening affection.

As the water begins to cool, Rhaenyra lifts her head, looking into your eyes with a soft smile. “Let’s dry off and rest,” she suggests, her voice gentle. “There is much we still need to talk about… but for now, I just want to be close to you.”

You nod, helping her out of the bath and wrapping yourselves in the towels that were left nearby. As you dry each other off, the touches are more tender, more affectionate, than before. There is no rush, no urgency—only the simple pleasure of being together.

Once dry, you both slip into the bed, the sheets cool against your heated skin. Rhaenyra curls up beside you, her head resting on your chest, her hand lightly tracing patterns on your skin. You hold her close, your own hand gently stroking her hair, the intimacy of the moment filling you both with a deep sense of peace.

“Tell me more about your journeys,” Rhaenyra murmurs, her voice drowsy as sleep begins to tug at her.

“Of course,” you reply softly, your voice soothing as you begin to share more tales of distant lands and ancient times. Rhaenyra listens, her breathing slowing as she drifts off, content in your embrace.

As she falls asleep, you continue to hold her, your own eyes growing heavy with exhaustion. But before you succumb to sleep, you take a moment to appreciate the warmth of her body against yours, the comfort of her presence. 

Together, in the quiet of the night, you both find rest, the bond between you stronger than ever before.

The dawn is just breaking over Dragonstone, casting a pale golden light across the harbor. The sea is calm, the waters reflecting the first light of day like molten glass. The ships are ready, their sails furled and waiting for the wind to carry them across the Narrow Sea. Rhaenyra stands on the dock, her expression stern, though her heart is heavy. The decision to send her children away, to safety in Pentos, has not come easily. Aegon and Viserys cling to her skirts, their young faces filled with confusion and fear, while Lucerys stands beside her, trying to put on a brave face for his younger brothers.

Jacaerys, their eldest, stands a short distance away, his jaw set in determination, though there is a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. He is prepared to escort his brothers, to protect them as best he can, but the weight of responsibility is a heavy burden on such young shoulders.

Rhaenyra kneels to embrace her children, whispering words of comfort and love, even as her heart aches with the knowledge that she may not see them again for a long time—if ever. As she stands and turns to Jace, a shadow passes over the group. She looks up, expecting to see a cloud or a bird, but instead, it is you, descending from the sky on your Banshee, the creature’s leathery wings creating a powerful downdraft as it lands gracefully on the docks.

You dismount with practiced ease, your cloak billowing around you as you stride toward the group. The lords and soldiers present step back instinctively, the stories of your deeds still fresh in their minds. Jacaerys stiffens as you approach, sensing that something is about to change.

“Y/N,” Rhaenyra greets you, her voice laced with surprise but also a trace of relief. “You’ve come to see them off?”

You nod, but your gaze is focused on Jacaerys, who meets your eyes with a mixture of respect and defiance. “No, Your Grace,” you say calmly, “I’ve come to take Prince's place.”

Rhaenyra’s brow furrows in confusion, and Jace steps forward, his voice firm but uncertain. “But Mother has tasked me with escorting my brothers. I can’t leave them to face this journey alone.”

“You won’t be leaving them alone, Jace,” you reply, your tone gentle but unyielding. “But your place is here, by your mother’s side. She needs you now more than ever.”

Jace opens his mouth to protest, but you raise a hand, silencing him. “You won’t make it past the Gullet,” you continue, your eyes narrowing slightly as you speak. “On my last flight, I saw ships from the Free Cities approaching fast, likely in league with the Greens. They will be waiting for you, and you will not have the strength to fight them off. But I can.”

The gravity of your words sinks in, and Rhaenyra’s hand instinctively tightens on Jace’s arm. The boy hesitates, torn between his duty to his brothers and the growing realization that you speak the truth.

Rhaenyra’s gaze shifts from her son to you, her eyes searching yours. There is a deep understanding between you, born of the time you have spent together, the shared battles, and the nights spent in quiet conversation. She knows you too well, and she can sense what you are not saying.

“Y/N,” Rhaenyra begins, her voice low and laden with concern. “You intend to go alone, don’t you?”

You nod slowly, the sadness in your eyes betraying what you cannot bring yourself to say outright. “This is something I must do, Rhaenyra. It is time for me to fulfill my calling, to see this through to the end.”

“No,” Rhaenyra says firmly, shaking her head as she steps closer to you. “You are not just an ally, Y/N. You are more than that. You have become… indispensable to me, to us. I cannot let you go, not like this.”

You offer her a sad smile, one that speaks of centuries of experience, of knowing when a path must be walked alone. “I have only ever obeyed one master, Rhaenyra,” you say softly, reaching out to gently cup her cheek. “And that is my calling. This is something I must do, for myself, and for those who have gone before me. My time here is coming to an end, and it is time for me to go home.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes glisten with unshed tears, but she blinks them away, her voice breaking as she speaks. “Will I ever see you again?”

You take a deep breath, your gaze lifting to the sky, where the first stars of evening are beginning to twinkle faintly, though the sun has barely risen. “I will be watching over you every night, Rhaenyra,” you reply, your voice tender and filled with an unspoken promise. “Whenever you look up at the stars, know that I am there, looking at you.”

For a moment, there is only silence between you, the weight of the world hanging in the air. Rhaenyra reaches up, placing her hand over yours where it rests against her cheek, holding on to the warmth of your touch as if she could somehow keep you with her.

“Then promise me,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “Promise me you’ll come back.”

You lean in, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, your lips lingering there for a heartbeat longer than necessary. “I promise I will do everything in my power to return,” you say, your voice filled with the sincerity of your oath. But there is something unspoken in your words, a truth that both of you know but do not want to acknowledge—that sometimes, not all promises can be kept.

Rhaenyra steps back reluctantly, releasing your hand, her eyes never leaving yours. She nods, accepting your words even as her heart rebels against them. “Go, then,” she says, her voice filled with the strength of a queen but the sorrow of a woman who knows she may be losing someone dear. “But remember that you have a place here, with us, with me. And if you can… come back to it.”

You bow your head slightly in acknowledgment, your expression one of quiet resolve. “Take care of your family, Rhaenyra,” you say, turning to the children, your eyes lingering on Jacaerys for a moment. “And remember what I’ve taught you.”

With that, you mount your Banshee, the creature’s wings stretching out in preparation for flight. You glance back at Rhaenyra one last time, committing her face to memory—the strength in her eyes, the sadness in her smile—before turning your gaze forward, to the horizon where your destiny awaits.

The Banshee’s powerful wings beat the air as you take off, soaring into the sky above Dragonstone. Below, you see Rhaenyra and her children watching, growing smaller and smaller as you climb higher into the sky. The wind rushes past you, carrying with it the scent of the sea and the distant promise of what is to come.

As the island fades into the distance, you feel a sense of peace settle over you. You have made your choice, and it is the right one. 

And somewhere below, on the shores of Dragonstone, a queen stands alone, her gaze lifted to the heavens, searching the skies for a glimpse of the one she has come to care for more than she ever thought possible. As the stars begin to emerge, she knows that, wherever you are, you are looking at them too, and perhaps, just perhaps, you will find your way back to her, to the home you have both made together.

But for now, all she can do is wait, and hope, and hold on to the memory of your final kiss, a promise that will echo in her heart for as long as she lives.

Years have passed, and the Red Keep stands tall against the night sky, its ancient stones bathed in the soft glow of moonlight. The castle, once a symbol of unyielding strength, now bears the weight of countless battles, of loss and victory, of the bloodshed that shaped the Seven Kingdoms. Yet, despite the passage of time, one constant remains: the stars, ever-present, watching over the realm with a silent, timeless gaze.

Rhaenyra Targaryen, now older and wearier, stands alone on the balcony of her chambers. The years have etched lines of sorrow and wisdom onto her face, and her once fiery spirit has been tempered by the trials she has endured. Her long silver hair, once a brilliant cascade, now carries strands of white, a testament to the time that has passed and the burdens she has carried. She wraps her cloak tightly around her shoulders, shielding herself from the cool night breeze that whispers through the Red Keep.

Her gaze is fixed on the sky, on the stars that glitter like diamonds against the velvety darkness. The constellations are familiar to her, their patterns etched into her memory from countless nights spent searching them for solace, for answers, for a glimpse of the past. The night is clear, the sky vast and endless, and yet Rhaenyra feels a deep, aching loneliness that even the stars cannot fill.

She lifts her chin slightly, her eyes tracing the paths of the stars as they twinkle serenely above. It has become a ritual of sorts, this nightly vigil, a way to connect with something greater than herself, to find comfort in the constancy of the heavens when everything else has changed.

But tonight, the stars seem more distant than ever.

She remembers those who have been lost to the ravages of time and war—her children, her loved ones, and the countless souls who once stood beside her. She remembers the faces of those who are no longer here, their voices now echoes in her memory. And among those memories, one stands out more vividly than the rest.

It has been years since you left her, years since you took flight from Dragonstone, vowing to protect her children, to do what needed to be done. You had promised to look after them, to see them safely to the other side of the Narrow Sea. And you had promised, in your own way, to return—to find your way back to her, to the place you both shared.

But you never did.

Rhaenyra’s heart tightens at the thought, a pang of sorrow so deep it threatens to overwhelm her. She has long since stopped searching the skies for your return, knowing deep down that you had fulfilled your destiny, whatever it may have been, and that she would never see you again. And yet, on nights like this, when the stars are particularly bright, she can’t help but wonder if somewhere, in some distant part of the world, you are still watching over her, as you had promised.

She leans against the cold stone of the balcony, her hands resting on the worn edges, her gaze unfaltering. The years have taken so much from her, but the memory of you remains, as vivid as the night you shared on Dragonstone, as real as the last kiss you gave her before you took to the skies. It is a memory she holds close, a fragment of warmth in a world that has grown increasingly colder.

The wind picks up slightly, rustling the leaves of the trees far below, carrying with it the faintest scent of the sea. It is a reminder of a time long past, of a love that was as fleeting as it was profound. Rhaenyra closes her eyes for a moment, letting the wind brush against her face, imagining it is your touch, soft and comforting, as it once was.

But when she opens her eyes, the night remains as it was, unchanged, the stars twinkling impassively above. She takes a deep breath, the weight of the years pressing down on her, and yet, there is a certain peace that comes with it. She knows that you are out there, somewhere beyond the reach of mortal hands, and that perhaps, in your own way, you are still watching over her.

Rhaenyra lifts her hand, as if to touch the stars, her fingers stretching out toward the endless sky. It is a futile gesture, and she knows it, but it brings her a small measure of comfort nonetheless. She lets her hand fall back to her side, her gaze lingering on the stars for a moment longer before she turns away, retreating into the warmth of her chambers.

As she closes the balcony doors behind her, shutting out the chill of the night, Rhaenyra takes one last look at the sky. The stars continue to shine, distant and unwavering, and she knows that they will be there long after she is gone, just as they were before she was born. They are a reminder of the constancy of the universe, of the passage of time, and of the fleeting nature of life.

And as she steps back into the familiar confines of her room, she carries with her the memory of you—of the love that once was, of the promises made beneath the stars, and of the bittersweet knowledge that some things are not meant to last forever.

But even in that knowledge, there is a certain beauty, a quiet acceptance. For Rhaenyra knows that, in the end, it is not the length of time that matters, but the depth of the moments shared. And though you are gone, the memory of those moments remains, a light in the darkness, a star in the sky, guiding her even now.

And so, she closes her eyes, allowing herself to rest, knowing that, wherever you are, a part of you is still with her, in the stars above, in the memories you left behind, and in the love that will never fade, no matter how many years pass.

[joifee]

Here are both my pieces for the @bdubszine !!!!! Such a great opportunity to run with it and just have fun with detail work.

I am in love with sungod bdubs and very proud of this piece with the improv class^^

Down below is some in depth talk for the first piece with bdubs and all his clocks :D

The one on his chest is a regular minecraft clock - he always carries one in his offhand. In the background his his big tower from his "building with bdubs" series. He is wearing his moss cloak. On his wirst: A clock with a horse: he loves horses. also it actually is inspired by the horse-mountain he build in season 9 of hermitcraft A purple clock with ears: a purple panda clock. He joined one mcc (minecraft championship) and one it first try on the team called purple pandas) A tnt block-clock: Season 7 of hermitcraft he had, alongside impulse and tango, a company called "the boomers" who would explode stuff with tnt for diamonds - bdubs stick was he would die in every blow up they do (there are compilations)

in his jacket: The clock looking like a ring: reference to double life. He was soul-bonded to impulse and they lowkey roleplayed as a married couple and impulse gifted him a clock as a sign or marriage. therefore it looks like a ring. it also has "i" pointers because impulse always puts "i"s on his stuff A regular alarm clock: Basically that - maybe a reference for him always sleeping through the night. The red glasses clock: reference to season 8. He, tango and keralis based together and called themself "big eyes crew" and they all wore red glasses Emerald shaped clock: season 9 as the right hand to king rendog (theres also a crown inside the shape) emeralds because rendog and bdubs wanted to change currency to royal emeralds which started a war on the server and led to rendogs execution. bdubs stayed loyal till the end "hep" clock: Season 7. He plays right hand man to mayor scar. There was a turfwar between two groups - one wanted their main island to be mycelium the other wanted it to be grass. HEP was the group who wanted grassblocks so its a grassblocked shaped clock. they lost the war clock with a snake: 3rd life reference. Inside the clock theres a castle "the crastle" which was his and cleos base in 3rd life. The snake stands for cleo. the heart is part of the logo for the traffic series (same btw count for the heart in the impulse ring) sundial: reference to the hermitcraftxempires smp crossover. bdubs came to empires smp and announced himself as "the sungod" and basically became a god and gem, oli, fwhip and sausage were his followers for the short time. the shape is after a build sausage made in his name the "B" sign: reference to last life. He was part of team B.E.S.T. and they had shields with their initials aka Bdubs, Etho, Skizzlman and Tango. The four hearts are the lifes he was given at the start of the series half tnt clock: reference to ethoslab who is his best friend on hermitcraft and they are just unnormal about each other messed up steam punk clock: reference to the create series he did with keralis, tango, scar and zedaph who unfortunatly was short lived mcc coin: the coin he got for winning mcc broken heart monitor clock: limited life. there's a heart monitor and digital clock. the clock is broken because bdubs didnt uploaded his view for limited life (at the time of drawing this piece) so we never new how much time he had left (we know now) small pocket watch with snake and wings: also limited life. he teamed up with scar (the wings) and cleo (the snake) tree clock: the tree of whimsey. one of his first builds of season 9. he crowned tango as parkour king, cub as royal magican/dragonslayer and ren as king under it

rest of the smaller clocks are filler

[reashot]

Rizz Master Jaune Arc.

Dragonslayer 🐉

Yang: Hey handsome what's your name?

Jaune: *looks around* Who. Me?

Yang: Of course you, silly. Are there any other handsome guy around here?

Jaune: I'm sorry but I think you are mistaken me for someone else. I'm not really a handsome guy after all. But thank you anyway for telling me that I was.

Yang: Oh don't be so modest.

Jaune: I meant it though. I mean there's no way a girl as beautiful as you would be interested in someone like me.

Yang: *Blush* Damn Blondie I never thought that you're such a player.

Whiteknight❄

*knock, knock*

Weiss: Jaune what are you doing here?

Jaune: Oh Weiss. I wanted to ask you out on a date.

Weiss: I told you I'm not interested.

Jaune: Wait please just listen to my song first. I been working on it all night. Then you can tell me no.

Weiss: Okay Dorkknight. Go ahead. *playing with her phone*

Jaune: *play the most romantic song known to man*

.... And I'm done look I get it. I said my piece and I will be out of your way... *gets pounced*

Knightshade🐱

Jaune: Blake, where are you Blake?

Blake: *curled up in the corner*

Jaune: Well if you won't come out I will not give you your nom-nom. *shakes treats*

Blake: *Perk up and runs in front of her food bowl*

Jaune: Good girl, good girl *scritches*

Blake: *purr*

Lancaster 🌹

Ruby: Hey Jaune what are you doing?... *gasp!*

Jaune: 78, 79, 80...

*doing pull up while naked*

Ruby: *respectfully watching Jaune's glistening butt*

Haahhh.... *drool*

Jaune: 100!... Oh hey Ruby. I didn't even notice you entering. So what do you want to ask me about?

Ruby: Oh nothing... *runs up to her room*

(AHHHHHHH!!!!!!)

[octorockff]

The Sweetest Dream

Summary: If kissing Lucy was all just in his head, he would never want to wake up from this sweetest dream.

---

Igneel had long since taught him to expect the unexpected.

The wilderness was full of danger with ferocious beasts and poisonous plants. One wrong move and his tiny life would be snuffed out like a dying flame.

Although his dragon dad had promised that as long as Natsu stuck closely by his side, no harm would dare befall on his one and only son.

But that not to say Igneel willingly coddled him, quite the opposite really, as the dragon would literally drop him in front of a giant, angry boar and expected him to bring back dinner, as if he wasn’t a snot-nosed brat who just began to learn the secret art of dragonslayer at the time.

Nevertheless, he did manage to gain them a hearty meal of roasted boar meat, but not without a throbbing bump on the head and a few scraps and bruises in between. Despite his fighting skill and survival instinct did improve by a leap after facing such large beasts, he was still bitter with the whole thing. They called it tough love, he called it bullshit.

Anyways, the dragon made it clear that he would not always be around Natsu’s side all the time (it didn’t even cross his young, naive mind that the declaration was painfully literal until much later), so he had to be prepared and stayed alert at all times.

That’s why he began to develop a habit of immediate awaken from slumber at the smallest sound, or the slightest shift in the air, whenever Igneel went out on a a dangerous hunt on his own (the meat always tastier the larger the beasts), or did his instinctual dragon things like hoarding.

And this habit had more or less affected his health after the disappearance of all dragons. He rarely got a full eight-hours sleep unless he was rendered unconscious by the monstrous moving contraptions called vehicles, or by Erza’s packing punch. Neither option sounded appealing and he was certain that he would die first from either puking his guts out, or from concussions, way before sleep-deprived exhaustion.

It’s also one of the reasons why he chose to build his home, or nesting ground, inside the wood near the outskirt of Magnolia despite its far distance from the guild. The wildlife was all he knew, being one of his core memories, and he found himself most relaxed and lured to sleep easier surrounded by nature.

Having Happy, his trusted companion and best friend nearby, also helped tremendously with his light-sleeping tendency as he trusted the Exceed to watch his back in his most vulnerable state.

But it all changed when Lucy stumbled upon his life. The weirdo with a too kind for her own good heart and key-wielding magic, carried a unique scent that tickled the back of Natsu’s mind of something overly familiar and comforting from a distant time, fogging his brain to want nothing more than to curl up against her and sleep the day away.

But he didn’t think she would appreciate that when they were practically strangers at the time. She might sick one of the Rune Knight, or worse, one of her spirits on him if he was to clomp her and promptly fall asleep.

That’s why, in his rare moments of geniuses, a brilliant plan struck him like lightning: He would bring Lucy to Fairy Tail, and find a way to have her become his partner so she could get more comfortable with him, and the idea of them cuddling for sleep. It was such a foolproof plan (or so he thought) that he couldn’t wait to carry it out.

And carried it out he did. Although his plan didn’t involve them being chased by a horde of angry Rune Knights for destroying the port, or how they nearly died saving Macao from Mt. Hakobe, or even discovering a life changing secret from a dead but renowned author to his son by disregarding the mission objective.

But he could honestly say he definitely preferred this more chaotic version of his initial simple plan, as he hadn’t experienced this much fun in his wizarding career, all thanks to his mood-swing, weird but super awesome blonde partner.

Despite his initial goal was to have Lucy allowing him to cuddle with her platonically and get the much needed sleep, his path started straying away from the blurred goal the longer he got to know the celestial wizard.

Lucy was beautiful, a fact as obvious as the sky was blue or how fire would always beat ice. Her whole appearance screamed femininity, from the top of her silky golden hair, to the scraps she considered outfits clinging to her generous figure, to finally the tips of her manicured and painted toe nails. Like an alluring flame drawing moths, his partner attracted attention from left to right, both from the male and some female populations, with just a batter of her thick eyelashes and a swing of her curvy hips. Her outwardly innocent appearance subconsciously aroused others’ desire to protect a seemingly dainty and gorgeous female.

But she was anything but dainty and weak, far from it. Natsu would gladly sit back and cackle maniacally in glee at the unfortunate souls, who dared to claim otherwise, being subjected to his partner’s hellish whips and righteous fury. He watched that girl take on opponents twice her size and magic with an unwavering determination and battle will, unleashing the wrath of starry heaven on foes who dared threaten any of her family members.

He wondered if this was what Igneel felt when watching him, the immense pride and adoration to the one whom he took under his wings and oversaw their tremendous growth both in strength and character. Watching Lucy grow more confident and assured in her magic and her own self made something purred deeply in satisfaction inside of him.

He wanted to shout out loud to the whole world that that’s his partner. He was the one who brought her to the guild. He chose her to be his partner and have her in his team. He made her believe in their guild’s unwavering familial bonds and help her kickass any losers standing in their paths.

He even won her trust to see Lucy just being Lucy, a weirdo who all grumpy before having her morning cup of coffee, who snorted a little too loud when she found something extremely funny, who would collect all the magazine coupons to pay a discount price for her grocery while literally spending a huge amount of jewels on the tiny fabric strips she called cute clothes.

Around him, she didn’t need to put up the pristine and ladylike image of Lucy Heartfillia, she could be just Lucy. And when she smiled at him, all teeth and eyes squinted shut, with bruises and scrapes littered her porcelain skin and hair tangles unlike birdnest after a tough battle, he found himself free-falling into the pit of uncharted thoughts and feelings.

Long before he knew, he was discontented with being just her friend and was craving for the unknown, and scary feeling of wanting to be something more.

And that made the impact of knowing he would never be Lucy’s type of guy all the more painful.

For all the unsuccessful dates she went on, Lucy always seemed to fall back to those pretty-looking, lanky-built guys who always talked in fancy language and more brain than brawn. Natsu never approved any of them, they all seemed wimpy and boring with all their talking about difficult literature and never about battle tactics or adventure.

But he held his tongue and attitude, despite wanting to punch some reality into those guys who had such rose-coloured view of the wizarding world and being prejudiced of how a lady like Lucy shouldn’t take on a dangerous career (he glad that his partner did slap some sense to those assholes with her sharp tongue), all because Lucy looked happy enough, even only for a brief period.

Despite feeling like someone took a dagger and stabbed repeatedly at his poor heart whenever Lucy gushed and dressed up to the nine for her upcoming dates, he would be her biggest supporter and the shoulder for her to lean on if the dates ended up in an unfavoring note. As long as she kept smiling and being happy, he would bottle up those unrequited feelings of his to be by her side.

That’s why, it threw him the fuck off to feel the lingering pressure on his tingling lips, and a hovering scantily-cladded Lucy all flushed up over his rapidly heated body.

It was midnight when he crawled into her bed through her left opened window as usual. His partner would already be out cold for her much needed beauty sleep, hence, lessen the painful possibilities of him receiving a Lucy-kick to the face and leaving all aching on the floor when he only wanted to fall peacefully asleep for eight-hours straight.

Ever since Lucy came into his life, her comforting scent of pure honey and vanilla had always left a calming effect on his alerted senses, a privilege he long forgotten from when Igneel disappeared. Her presence smelled like home and safety, and the fact that every corner of her apartment drenched in those uniquely-Lucy scent had made his inner dragon yipped happily at the newfound nest.

The revelation of feeling pure energy coursing through his veins, fire magic roaring deep inside his core and his every senses sharpened like never before, when he rediscovered what uninterrupted sleep until the morning light feel like after curiously crashing on Lucy’s bed, had kept him greedily coming back for more.

Luckily for him, his constant sneaking in had somehow miraculously grown on the blonde when she seemingly lessened her violent attempts in kicking him out, and started to leave his side of the bed, next to the window, unoccupied as time went on.

So he did his usual nightly ritual of kicking off his sandals, stripping off his day jacket, and climbing into his spot underneath her pink comforter. The alluring warmth of Lucy’s body heat and her homely scent filled his nostrils, weighing down his eyelids and unwinding the stiff muscles as he slowly succumbed to the sleeping spell.

But something about this night seemed different. His instinct commanded his lethargic mind and foggy senses to stay alert, which puzzled Natsu greatly as he was just in bed with Lucy, and there were no immediate dangers around them because he had scented the air around her apartment previously as part of his routine.

He tried to pinpoint the cause, trusting the instinct which had saved him many times out in the wilderness and battlefields, and surprisingly found out that his blonde partner was still awake, the air around her buzzing with anticipation and nervousness.

If it was anyone else, they wouldn’t have found out anything from the blonde’s still posture and turned back. But he had been (illegally) sleeping next to her for quite some time now, he had long memorized her breathing patterns to know whether she was awake or not (a necessary skill that had saved him from those painful Lucy-kicks from time to time). And with that knowledge, he knew for sure she wasn’t asleep.

It’s odd that Lucy of all people was still awake at this time, her energy was even making him grown nervous, but he didn’t dare to voice out lest he lost his chance of sleeping in her bed for the night. Maybe she ate something funny and her aching tummy was what keeping her awake, or she was just feeling constipated, it happened sometimes, which was something she had drunkenly admitted to him after drinking with the alcoholic Cana.

Nevertheless, he laid still and waited for the weirdo to fall back to sleep for whatever reasons. But life was never easy as he soon felt the celestial wizard shifting her weight, gradually moving closer to his own until her hands planted firmly on each side of his head, the tips of her hair tickling his face.

Natsu was sweating bullets at this point but he was determined to hold strong on a relaxed facade. But Mavis, it was torturous to feel her hot breath fanning across his cheeks, honey vanilla scent with a mix of minty toothpaste overwhelming his senses as he struggled to not open his damn eyes out of curiosity.

And then out of nowhere, the feeling of something pillowy soft pressed against his stilled lips, albeit disappointingly quick, jarring him awake immediately and that’s how he found himself in this shocking and unbelievable circumstance.

Back to the present, Natsu watched his partner’s doe brown eyes growing impossibly large, red spreading like wildfire all over the milky white of her skin to the top of her cleavage, as she sputtered to find words.

However, of all things he expected her to say, he couldn’t understand for the life of him the reason his heart was flooded with overwhelming feeling of disappointment when she stammerly said this was a dream.

It’s shameful to admit that this was not the first time Natsu had such lucid and realistic dreams about his bombshell of a partner. Some of them borderline indecent as his suppressed feelings and desire for his partner seemingly roaring to life within the haven of his mind.

He wondered if his act of crawling into her bedroom in the first place was even real, or if it's just a figment of his hyperactive imagination and habitual routine. Maybe he was still at the guild, being knocked unconscious on the floor by Erza after brawling with Ice Princess, and he would soon wake up from this sweet dream any moment now.

Disappointment turned into frustration as Natsu bemoaned the hellish mental cycle he had masochistically subjected himself to by falling for his blonde celestial princess. If he couldn’t have her in real life, at least he could selfishly experience what they could have been within his mind.

“After all, Lucy will never like me back.” Fuck it.

It seemed he had voiced his thoughts out loud, when her parting lips slipped a confusing squeak, before he pulled her down to crush their lips together, teeth and all.

Dream Lucy was shy and stiff in front of his advancement, soft pillowy lips subjected to his own sucking and massaging as he encouraged her petals to move.

One of his tanned hands cupped the side of her jawline, thumb rubbing circular motion into her sensitive skin, alternately switching to capturing and rubbing her small ear, and her mouth soon fell open to let his wiry tongue eagerly slid in to explore her steaming wet orifice.

If he could forever have her sweet flavor imprinted on his taste buds, feeling her plush body molding every feminine curve to his own hard lines, he would give anything to never wake up from this sweet, indulging dream.

His lungs burned with the need for air from their heated lips lock, forcing Natsu to pull their face apart momentarily but not before giving a teasing suck to her plump bottom lips, a string of saliva stretched erotically between their gaping mouth as they panted hardly, greedily suckled in the much needed oxygen for their foggy minds.

This could easily be the best dream of his partner he had ever had before. Everything was so realistic that it sent euphoric tingles through his shivering heated body, down to the tips of his fingers that were still cupping and tracing Dream Lucy’s soft cheeks fondly.

Dream Lucy’s expression was all dazed and full of confusion as she looked down at him, pearly teeth sinking into her pink petal - a bad habit where she tended to gnaw the flesh to bloodiness when she’s trying to figure something out. It made him all the more filled with feral desire to break the habit with his persuading lips, wanting nothing more than to dove in that wet addicting cavern to pull the cutest mewls and moans from her once more.

“If this is all just a dream, please let me dream a little more” He managed to rasped out his selfish wish to any deities willing to listen, before he pulled her back down to mesh their mouths against one another.

Natsu’s other wandering hand slid from her bicep to follow the sensual curve of her round breast, before cupping a handful of pliant, overflowing flesh between his palm, giving it a hearty squeeze.

That’s when he felt small hands pushing off frantically against his frame, the most alarming phrase he ever heard cut through the still night “Natsu, stop!!”

Never before in any of his dreams did Lucy sound panic and full of confusion during their makeouts, if anything, she was all eager to reciprocate his attention and handsy, which would lead the dreams to a very steamy note and his boxers painfully tight the next morning.

Something was definitely wrong and the revelation had his arms slackened to let the blonde escape from his crushing hold before. Natsu watched as Lucy shuffled off him, hands covering her chest as if shielding her body from him, the action tugged something painfully in his chest as a reminder that the blonde might be uncomfortable with him now.

He was just glad that she still sat at the end of the bed and not running off to put even more distance between them. Biles rose up his throat and all he wanted was to run away from the fucked up situation where he almost jumped his “dream” girl without consent, and potentially burned to the ground any of his chances with the blonde.

After a moment of tense silence, it honestly jolted the fuck out of Natsu to have Lucy grasped his hand, her beautiful face pensive but redden all over like blooming rose as she quietly breathed out “I don’t understand..What make you act like that Natsu?”

He was sure his face was nearly aflame as the girl in front of him, jumbling mind frantically finding ways to wheeze out of this embarrassing situation. He tried tugging his hand out but the blonde had tightened her grip, shy expression now turned defiance and he just knew he wouldn’t find a way out of this until she knew the truth. Damn her stubbornness and his inability to refuse her.

“Geez Lucy..Are you really going to make me say it? Can’t you just figure it out yourself with that brilliant brain of yours?” His last attempt of redirecting the subject was futile as Lucy seemed to regain her confidence, both of her hands now moved to his shoulders, lifting to her knees and staring down at his hunched form “No Natsu. I want to -no, I need to hear you say it.”

Knowing this was already a losing battle from the start, Mavis forbid he would cave faster than the Ice Princess could strip with just a gaze into those molten pool of chocolate, Natsu decided to resign his fate and hoped for the best that this wouldn’t burn their relationship to the ground.

Hands running through his already messed up, he took a deep breath readying for his next words while petulantly turning his head away from the blonde, desperately hoped that it would somehow soften the pain if his dream girl decided to reject “Man, I’m never good with words ya know. But the truth is..I have sorta had feelings for ya for a while now.” And like a dam opened up, words kept spilling out of his mouth unhindered “And it’s not the normal feeling when I’m around others! There’s this sort of weird urge inside me of wanting to be around you all the time, wanna see ya laugh and smile and be happy, wanna..please you in any possible ways..That’s where those dreams came in and I sorta acted out..

Natsu badly wanted to clam up and disappear to wherever the hell his dragon father was, cause he definitely fucked up big time. But the frozen shocked expression and the impossibly widening gaze of Lucy’s doe brown eyes forced him to continue, trying to salvage anything left of their now potentially ruined friendship.

“Fuck..I didn’t mean to spew all of that and make ya uncomfortable Lucy. I..I meant what I said, but you can forget them. No-nothing has to change! We’d still be best friend and-“ He didn’t realize he was short of breath and body heating up out of embarrassment until he felt two cool palms pressed against his cheeks, effectively stopping his rambling.

“Natsu, it’s okay. Calm down and take a breath” Following the blonde’s instruction, he took a deep breath and felt his nerves calmed down significantly from the action. But he couldn’t bring himself to look into her beautiful brown eyes, afraid to see the disappointment and pity welled up in those orbs, so he kept his gaze resolute down his laps.

“Nastu, look at me..” The feel of her soft hands gently nudged his face up and her soft croon had Natsu reluctantly lifted his stare up to her. Instead of a pitiful expression, he was stunned to find Lucy was looking at him tenderly, an adoration-filled smile graced her pretty face, so much that he almost missed her next question “Why would you think I want to forget?”

Swallowing harshly, he contemplated on baring his heart, fearing that she would be chased away after hearing such reasons, but her non judgemental gaze and kind demeanor encouraged him: “It’s just..I would never fit in the type of guys you usually go on dates with. I know how much you like intelligence, gentleman-ty and calmness in your relationships, and I’m none of that. But I’m fine with not being more, as long as I can still be your friend, that’s enough”

He didn’t know what he expected at the end of his long rant, but the feeling of pillowy soft lips pressed momentarily against him was certainly not one. His Lucy came into focus again when they pulled apart, her arms wrapped loosely around his neck and her comfortable warm weight now settled neatly on his crossed legs.

“Oh Natsu, I thought those were what I wanted, but apparently you were what I needed. I..I also have feelings for you too, more than friends to be exact, and I was just late to realize that. So..so I hope you know hearing you say that really make me happy, and I don’t want to forget” The blazing blush adorning Lucy’s bashful face was oh so endearing, along with the rush of oxytocin coursing through his veins from her confession, had had him surging forward to captured her lips, arms tightening around her frame as he pulled them down to lay on her bed.

The kiss was more teeth than lips as they couldn’t fight the wide-stretch grins off their faces from the mutual reciprocated feelings. When the two of them pulled apart, Natsu couldn’t help but stare at the girl in front of him in amazement, head still reeling with the fact that he had just kissed his best friend and they would definitely be doing that repeatedly, and more, now that she’s his girl.

He was certain the dopey grin etched on her face mirroring his perfectly and he gathered her closer in his arms, dropping a chaste peck on the blonde head laying on his bicep and inhaling her wonderful scent deeply just because he could. “Sorry for groping you earlier without permission. I really didn’t mean to and thought it was all a dream” He trailed the back of his unoccupied hand along her cheeks, knuckles slightly rough against smooth skin, a content warmth spreading throughout his chest cavity as he watched Lucy nuzzling into the contact.

“You’re so sweet. And I wasn’t upset earlier, just surprised is all” A lone finger with pink-painted tip absentmindedly dragged down his chest, pulling an involuntary shiver from him from the ticklish sensation, and a dormant carnal desire was stirred awaked in the depth of his belly as Natsu focused on Lucy’s plump pinkesh flesh being bitten in between her teeth. “I..I wouldn’t mind letting you do it again! Just not right now since I’m not ready.”

Her outburst was unexpected and he chuckled heartily at the way she buried her heated cheeks into his chest, feeling adoration and happiness swelled up his heart at her cute display “Damn Lucy, you’re such a cute weirdo. My cute weirdo, and you betcha I’ll hold onto that. You don’t know how long I’ve been wanting to “please” and worship you in every way. Just let me know when you’re ready and say the words.”

He unashamedly admitted, his inner dragon giving an approval growl, obviously took pride in the fact that he managed to make Lucy squirm by his candid words. An unmistakable mouth-watering scent of arousal emitting from her had nearly made him lose control.

But he would be strong and force his insurmountable desire to covet and smother the girl in his arms with love and darkening pleasure. After all, they had all the time in the world to explore now that he finally got the girl of his dream to be his and his only.

[swan2swan]

"But your children were dying!"

"Only a few!"

Dragonslayer rules, everyone watch it.

[wings-of-fire-confessions]

I feel like people don’t really talk about that one scene in Dragonslayer, when Kestrel was revealed to abuse the DoD (and especially Glory) when they were the age of literal 𝗧𝗢𝗗𝗗𝗟𝗘𝗥𝗦.

Within this scene, Kestrel was shown to HIT the DoD and SCREAM at them for *rechecks the book* simply goofing around and playing and being noisy, which is something that ALL toddlers and children (normally) do throughout their lives.

Sky was trembling while he watched Kestrel doing this to the DoD. Sky is 𝗢𝗡𝗘 year older than the DoD - just like Peril is, since he’s her twin.

Which means that Kestrel started physically and verbally abusing the DoD since they were literally 𝗟𝗘𝗦𝗦 𝗧𝗛𝗔𝗡 𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝘆𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘀 𝗼𝗹𝗱-

Which is the (current) age of very young characters like 𝗖𝗹𝗶𝗳𝗳, 𝗔𝘂𝗸𝗹𝗲𝘁 and 𝗕𝘂𝗺𝗯𝗹𝗲𝗯𝗲𝗲.

Also and/or So the fact that there are people out there that are STILL excusing and/or justifying Kestrel’s abuse towards the DoD, despite the fact that the MAJORITY of Kestrel’s character is written to be a awful racist (and ableist) CHILD ABUSER within canon, is just- 🤦🤦🤦

.

[dreamerkitty]

Part one of Light and Shadow Dragonslayers. This is extremely loosely based on the dragon slayer events in puni puni (so you don't need any prior knowledge :P ). I started it during the events main runs so some things are a little out of date with the later events but dont worry about that XD

Please enjoy!

[through-a-blackhole]

Bianco Latte

Hi everyone! Here's a sneak peek of my first Fairy Tail fanfic published on AO3 <3

Read Bianco Latte on AO3 by Marshellows

The guild cheers loudly, and Reedus calls for a commemorative painting.

“How about a family picture, Happy?” The painter asks, brush already poised to create.

“Aye! Natsu, get your butt over here!” The feline yells.

The dragonslayer grins, taking his place behind Happy. Lucy smiles at them affectionately. Both exceed and fire mage look at her expectantly.

“Well?” Happy .demands.

“What?” Lucy asked self-consciously.

“It’s a family picture, Luce,” Natsu reminds her, smile almost too wide, “what are you doing all the way over there?”

The guild stops celebrating abruptly and Lucy would’ve almost been impressed. Instead, she laughs unsteadily, well aware that every eye is on them three.

“Exactly,” she says, “it’s a family picture.” She worries her bottom lip, no doubt self-conscious about how the guild seems to collectively hold their breath. "

It is.” Happy nods. Natsu nods. The two look at each other before staring expectantly at the blonde mage.

“I’m...” Lucy trails off, also aware that one of the pairs of eyes watching her right now belonged to the youngest Strauss sibling. The one who actually hatched Happy and who spent several years together with him.

“I’m not—I don’t,” Lucy stutters, feeling embarrassment seeping in, and Natsu's smile dims for the slightest bit. He knew Lucy hated it whenever she couldn't find the words to express her feelings—she was a writer, and it pains her whenever she had a hard time stringing words together to convey what she meant.

"It’s a family picture, Lucy!” Another voice chimes in.

Everyone turns to look at Lisanna, the short-haired Strauss sibling smiling merrily at the key-holder mage. “Both mom and dad have to be in the picture!”

Lucy bites her lip, hesitantly taking a step forward. At Lisanna’s encouraging nod, Lucy slowly finds herself beside the dragonslayer with him delicately placing Happy around his neck.

--

Read Bianco Latte on AO3

[rukafais]

Next two swords for swordtember! (if you can call these swords i guess...)

Rogue "There is a saying that you can always tell bold rogues and old rogues apart, for the bold wield metal. Worked metal is sacred to wandering spirits, so rumors hold, and each time they bathe in mortal blood, it sends a bright signal to hungry ghosts - that there is food to be had. Daggers made from bone are therefore the tools of the careful rogue, one who wishes not to attract attention of any kind. They often have eyes carved upon them to ward off stray spirits, who are frightened of being watched."

Dragonslayer

"A relic from the ancient days, where the immortal dragons were great kings who viewed their mortal cousins as servants and all others as cattle. The weapon was forged from an immortal dragon of ice, who, having suffered great loss, turned their hatred on other kings and not on mortal creatures. Knowing it could not kill its enemies without being devoured body and soul, it permitted itself to be slain; its soul and rage was immortalized as a lance of ice that would never melt at the touch of a dragon's blood, and would always lead its bearer to the dragon's heart - no matter where it was hid. Once all the dragon-kings were dead and gone, its anger ebbed, and it became dormant. But even now, it sleeps restlessly; it remembers that the reincarnation of royal souls is a great wheel that spins slow, and it awaits its enemies' return."