#char's already kind of a dragon

[nebquerna]

21.12-

[nebulaafterdark]

The Succession

Summary: After the battle of Rook’s Rest, Queen Y/N is forced to rule alongside Prince Regent Aemond, in an attempt to keep her children safe and eventually seat her mother, Rhaenyra, on the throne. While attending her husband, on what appears to be his deathbed, she begins to unravel the dark truth of his near passing.

Aegon Targaryen x Velaryon(Strong)!Reader

“Behold, the traitor dragon, Meleys. Slain by King Aegon.”

Cole might’ve bellowed anything before the mention of Y/N’s husband and she would not have heard it. Breaching the castle doors, out onto the streets, where the smallfolk stare in wonder. The Queen has scarcely been seen in the days following her husband’s accession, leaving many to wonder if she still lives.

Here she stands, in the flesh, walking about them like a commoner. “Where is Aegon?” She finds Ser Criston, keeping pace beside his horse.

“You mustn’t be about, your grace. It is not safe.”

“Where is my husband?”

Ser Gwayne looks back toward his fallen nephew, now carried by men.

“No,” Y/N shakes her head, falling in line with the oversized box one might mistake for a casket. She can’t see much of anything through the slats.

“You must return to the castle, my Queen.” Cole circles back for her. “His Grace will need you at his side.”

“He’s alive?” Y/N breathes.

“When last I checked.”

She nods, remaining beside her husband as he is carted into the castle, up the stairs to his chambers. The maesters await him, peeling away armor and bits of charred flesh with it, to reveal the extent of his injuries.

“Is my son going to die?” Alicent asks.

“He is badly burned.” The maester informs the Queen dowager.

“Men survive burns.” Y/N says, holding a hand to her belly, attempting to quell the churning.

“He has many broken bones.”

“Bones heal.”

The grand maester sighs, “that is our hope, your grace.”

What lies beneath his breastplate is naught but more red, angry skin, or lack there of. Alicent comes round to Y/N, a rare occasion, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Mayhaps it is best you step away.”

“I will stay,” Y/N shakes her head, “if anything happens… I must stay.” Hold his hand as he goes, if it comes to it.

Alicent nods, withdrawing.

Aegon’s breathing is something awful. Men survive burns. Bones heal.

An eternity passes in that room, on bated breath. Eventually the maesters begin clearing out, leaving the King to mutter, incoherently.

“Your grace.” The grand maester turns to Y/N. “It is done.”

“Thank you, Grand Maester. For all you have done, I- I owe you a debt.”

The man takes her hand, “we can only do so much to aid in the king’s healing, I believe it is you he needs. Be his strength.”

Y/N nods, “of course.” She makes herself comfortable upon the mattress beside him as the doors close, giving them a moment alone.

Aegon’s mumblings grow louder, though still impossible to make sense of.

“Shhh,” Y/N hushes him, brushing hair from his face. “There is nothing to fear. You need only…get better for me. I will tend the council shortly, but I shall return.”

He quiets then, as though her gentle reassurance is all he wanted.

“I will not abandon you. Not now, not ever. Rest easy, my love. You are safe now.” She presses a kiss to his forehead, before taking the stairs down to join the small council.

Those sitting around the table are already in deep discussion, gaping at the Queen’s entrance, standing to greet her.

“So kind of you to wait for me, my lords.” Y/N smiles, taking her ball from the center.

“We thought you might be with his grace, the king.” The hand explains. “He will be expecting you when he wakes.”

“I am not sure he will ever wake.” The grand maester cuts in. “His fate lies with the gods now.”

“Give it time.” Y/N sniffs, “it has been mere hours since his return.”

“If Aegon could wake, he would have done so for you.” Alicent decides. “A king cannot rule in his sleep, we must appoint a regent to serve in his absence.”

“I am awake.” Y/N reminds them.

“My Queen,” Tyland Lannister interjects, “if I may be so bold. Your lord husband has been wounded in battle, he will need your tender hand if we hope him to make any sort of recovery.”

“That is very thoughtful of you, Lord Tyland.” Y/N replies, in a measured tone. Should she lose her head before the council, there will be no coming back from it. “Still, I am willing and able to rule.”

“In the event of his grace’s untimely death, we must be prepared to proceed with the succession.”

“Understandably, and we do not lack heirs. My husband and I have four children.” Y/N shifts in her chair. “Assuming, as you have, that the men of the realm will never accept a woman on the throne, we then pass the crown to our first born son.” To charm the snakes, you must behave as a snake.

The council looks to each other. “Prince Laenor is but two years of age, our next ruling king, by law; though too young to presently serve.”

“I will advise him, I am his mother.”

Alicent rises from her seat, “might I humbly suggest myself? I have already done so during my late husband’s long illness-”

“Which was fine then?” Y/N arches a brow, “a wife to rule in her husband’s absence.”

Alicent lowers her gaze. “This is different.”

“Because I am your enemy’s daughter and named heir,” Y/N huffs. “Rules for thee, not for me. Isn’t that right?”

“Mind yourself.”

“Or what?” Y/N lifts a shoulder, “you will usurp my husband, as you did my mother?”

“Viserys changed his mind.” Alicent says, with finality. “I am sorry for what’s happened, but with his dying breath, he wished for Aegon to be king. I pray you do not hear a similar whisper from your husband anytime soon.”

“I love my husband,” Y/N seethes, “let that be known.”

“Of course, my Queen.”

“Whatever the members of this council intend to do now will be spoken plainly, in my presence.” Y/N demands, staring down at her wedding ring.

“I believe it is in our best interest to appoint Prince Aemond as Regent, until our King has been restored.” Ser Criston announces, “as hand, I know the king’s greatest concern is the safety and well being of his wife and children. We must honor that, in these unprecedented times.”

Y/N swallows, “very well.”

“My Queen.” Aemond reaches past her for the council ball, abandoned by her husband.

————————————————————————

Y/N goes through the motions, putting their children to bed. All is well, my darlings. Father needs only rest. When they have each found sleep, she returns to Aegon. Speaking to him the same way she always has, as though he can hear.

“The men of the council are restless in your absence. They circle like vultures now,” Y/N chokes out, touching the unmarred skin of his face. “And I am alone in this….I have never been alone.”

If she knew no better, she could swear his fingers twitch against hers. Mayhaps she is gripping them too tightly. She releases his hand, much to Aegon’s dismay, grumbling his discontent.

“Hush now, I am here and you are here. The rest will sort,” Y/N reminds him.

She watches him then, the heaving rise and fall of his chest, wrapped in bandages. Men survive burns. Bones heal.

In time, Alicent joins her at Aegon’s side. “Has there been any change?”

“No,” Y/N shakes her head.

“You are kind to be here, he loves nothing in the world as he loves you. I am sure your presence alone is a comfort to him.”

“That is my hope,” Y/N admits.

“I will leave you to it.” Alicent offers a hint of a smile, making for the door.

“Mummy.”

Y/N hears it, his mother does not. “Alicent,” she calls her back.

Alicent flicks away tears before turning round, “what is it?”

“He’s asking for you.”

“F-for me?”

Y/N nods, giving his hand a squeeze.

Alicent returns to his bedside, passing a hand over the side of his face. “I’m here.”

He draws in a rattling breath, “protect her.” Aegon stumbles over the words. “Please, Mummy.”

Y/N inhales sharply, hushing him.

Alicent locks eyes with her daughter by law. I pray you do not hear a similar whisper from your husband anytime soon. “I will do this, for you, Aegon. You needn’t worry.”

Aegon says nothing else, succumbing to sleep once more.

Alicent excuses herself, with a nod.

Y/N muffles the sound of her cries in the hand which isn’t holding his. She’s only half awake by the time she hears footfall and whispering at the end of her husband’s bed.

“Was it worth the price?” Helaena asks.

“I’ve no idea what you mean, my darling.” Aemond mutters, brushing his lips against her cheek.

Part 2

[redvdress]

TONGUE PIERCING

A/N: i found this prompt everywhere here so i thought about doing my version of it, i have already a few piercings and i’d love getting a tongue one (dabi i’m waiting for you). this is my dabi masterpiece i swear. mention of blood and pain liking

The room was dimly lit, cast in a pale orange glow from a single, flickering lamp. The lampshade itself was cracked, giving off a sickly hue that left the edges of the small apartment in shadow. Dust clung to the air, swirling lazily in the faint light. The walls were stained with the passage of time, watermarks snaking down from the ceiling where the plaster had started to crack. The floor was no better, scuffed linoleum in a faded pattern that hadn’t been recognizable in years.

It reeked of cheap cigarettes and burnt flesh—Dabi’s permanent scent.

He leaned against a rickety table, one arm slung over the back of a chair as he stared at you from across the room, his cigarette dangling between his lips. The cherry of it glowed faintly in the dark as he took a long drag, eyes narrowing slightly.

“You sure about this?” His voice was low, gravelly, the kind of sound that made you wonder if he’d ever spoken softly in his life. Smoke curled around his words, and his eyes—those intense, blue eyes—bore into you with an unnerving stillness.

There was something about the way he looked at you that made your stomach twist, a heady mixture of fear and thrill.

Dabi was dangerous—more dangerous than anyone you’d ever known.

The kind of danger that made your pulse quicken, that pulled you toward him, even though every rational part of you screamed to stay away. But you weren’t here to play it safe.

“Once I stick this metal in you, there’s no backing out, dollface”.

His smirk tugged at the scar tissue around his mouth, the charred, stitched-together skin pulling unnaturally with the motion. The staples in his face caught the light, glinting in the dimness, each one a testament to the pain he’d endured—and the fact that he clearly didn’t care about pain. Not his, not anyone’s.

You swallowed, your mouth suddenly dry as the reality of what you were about to do hit you. The idea of a tongue piercing had come up in a haze of excitement, after too many nights spent watching Dabi’s fingers dance over his own piercings, those rough hands handling metal and flesh like he knew them intimately. He lived with metal embedded in his skin, after all, more a part of him than anything else.

You wanted a piece of that. Wanted to feel what he felt, wanted him to be the one to give it to you.

“I trust you” you said, and though your voice came out softer than you intended, there was an undercurrent of truth in it. Dabi might have been rough, sarcastic, and dangerous, but you trusted him with this. He knew what he was doing. He always did.

Dabi’s lips curled into a snort, smoke billowing from his nostrils like a dragon amused by some foolish human. “You really shouldn’t” he muttered, shaking his head as if the very idea of someone trusting him was a joke.

Maybe it was.

Trust wasn’t something Dabi traded in—pain, though? Pain, he knew.

“But alright, your funeral.”

He shifted, stubbing out his cigarette in a chipped ashtray with an almost lazy flick of his wrist. The glow of the room flickered as he moved, the shadows deepening. His lean figure, clad in that familiar tattered coat, loomed over the small table beside him.

He’d set up everything with a casual sort of carelessness, the kind that came from someone who knew their way around sharp objects but didn’t need to flaunt it.

His hands—gloved, rough, scarred—worked with a certain precision, though.

As he laid out the needle, the barbell, and the alcohol wipes, he moved like this wasn’t the first time he’d done something like this. You’d seen him handle plenty of things with practiced skill—he knew his body, his pain, and his scars. Piercings were no different.

He caught you staring as he picked up the needle, an eyebrow quirking slightly. “You getting cold feet already?” he teased, his voice cutting through the heavy silence. “’Cause if you are, I can think of better ways to kill time than jabbing a needle through your tongue.”

You shook your head, feeling the heat rise in your face. “No,” you insisted, sitting up straighter on the couch. “I want to do it.”

There it was again, that smirk.

The one that made your heart do a weird, uncomfortable flip in your chest.

He set the needle down for a moment, coming over to stand in front of you, looming like a shadow. His presence was overpowering, the heat from his quirk lingering in the air like a barely restrained fire. It made the room feel smaller, suffocating in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

He crouched down, eye-level with you now, his face inches from yours. His gaze raked over you, assessing, maybe even a little amused. “Open up,” he said, voice still rough, like he was talking about anything mundane, not about to drive a piece of metal through your flesh.

You did as he asked, sticking your tongue out as far as you could. It felt awkward, vulnerable, with his gaze on you. He leaned in closer, inspecting your tongue with the kind of scrutiny that had your nerves spiking.

“Tch,” he clicked his tongue against his teeth, fingers grazing your chin as he tilted your head slightly. “Tongue’s kinda thick, huh? Bet you could do some real damage with that.”

The casual vulgarity of the comment caught you off guard, and you nearly pulled back, but his grip on your chin was firm.

He didn’t let you move an inch. You caught a glimpse of his sharp smile, his mismatched eyes gleaming with something dark. His touch lingered for a moment longer before he moved his hand away, leaving you cold in his absence.

He straightened up, reaching for the needle again, you could see the gleam of metal as he rolled it between his fingers, his expression indifferent. “Try not to squirm too much. I don’t wanna fuck up your pretty little mouth.”

The warning sent a shiver through you.

You knew he wasn’t bluffing—he didn’t sugarcoat anything. He wouldn’t hesitate to tell you exactly how bad it would hurt if you screwed this up for yourself. Dabi was a man of few soft words, and the ones he did offer were more like sharp edges.

Dabi’s hands were steady as he pulled your jaw down slightly, guiding you into position. His gloved fingers pressed against the sides of your tongue, holding it in place, and the cool touch of alcohol wiped the surface clean, leaving a sharp, antiseptic taste in your mouth.

The cold press of the needle against your tongue was the first shock. It didn’t hurt, and even if it did, you wouldn’t mind.

You tensed despite yourself, feeling the muscles in your jaw clench.

“Don’t move,” he murmured, his voice dropping an octave. It wasn’t a request—it was a command. “You move, and this shit’ll hurt way worse than it needs to.”

You gave a barely perceptible nod, holding your breath as Dabi aligned the needle with precision. Then, in one swift motion, it pierced through.

The pain was sharp, bright, and immediate.

But it was the kind of pain you liked, because you wanted to feel it.

You tasted blood, metallic and bitter, as Dabi worked quickly, threading the barbell through the new hole. His hands were deft, almost clinical, but there was something intimate about the way he handled you.

He screwed the ball onto the end of the barbell with a final twist, and then it was done. You blinked, dazed from the rush of adrenaline, feeling the weight of the new piercing in your mouth. Dabi pulled back, taking a step away to admire his handiwork, wiping the blood from your chin with his thumb.

“There. All done.” His voice was casual, like he hadn’t just pierced your tongue with a needle. He tossed the bloody cloth onto the table and stepped back, his smirk widening as he took in your expression.

“Told ya I knew what I was doing.”

You ran your tongue against the cool metal, testing it, wincing at the soreness. The sensation was foreign and strange, but not unbearable. Still, the dull throb was a constant reminder of what had just happened, and more importantly, who had done it.

Dabi’s eyes flicked down to your mouth, then back up to your eyes, his smirk growing wider, more self-satisfied.

He tapped a finger against the fresh piercing, making you flinch.

“Looks good on you,” he muttered, his voice low and husky, dripping with that dangerous, teasing edge. “Might even be worth the trouble.”

His touch, though brief, lingered like the burn of his quirk. Even in something as mundane as a piercing, he had control over you, and he knew it.

“You say that like you didn’t enjoy it,” you teased, your voice muffled around your swollen tongue. It wasn’t your best comeback, but your nerves were still on edge from the piercing, and it was hard to think clearly when Dabi was staring at you like that.

Dabi chuckled, the sound low and dark, as he flicked his cigarette into the ashtray.

He leaned in close, his breath hot against your ear. “Oh, I enjoyed it, alright,” he murmured, his voice sending a shiver down your spine.

“But don’t think I’m gonna go easy on you just because I stuck a piece of metal in your mouth. You’re still mine, and that tongue of yours better be ready to put in some work.”

The way his voice dropped at the end, laced with dangerous intent, sent a shockwave of heat through your body. You couldn’t help but feel the tension between you tighten like a wire ready to snap.

He pulled away just as quickly as he’d closed the distance, leaving you breathless. He stretched, arms above his head, like he hadn’t just spent the last few minutes working a needle through your flesh. His movements were casual, careless, but there was something in the way he glanced at you, over his shoulder, that told you he knew exactly what he was doing.

“Clean it, don’t be an idiot, and maybe it won’t get infected,” he said, voice flippant. “Or don’t. Not my problem if you can’t handle it.”

"Still think it's a good idea?" he asked, his voice low, gravelly. "Bet it hurts like a bitch."

It did hurt, the sting radiating through your tongue as the pressure of the piercing settled in, but you weren't about to admit that. Not to him. You gave a slow nod, your breath catching as his fingers tightened just slightly around your jaw, his touch sending a shiver through you.

Dabi's smirk widened, his eyes glinting with something dark and dangerous.

"Yeah?" he drawled, leaning in closer until his breath ghosted over your lips, smelling of smoke and heat.

"Let's see how tough you really are, doll."

Before you could respond, his mouth crashed against yours.

The kiss was rough, nothing gentle or patient about it. His lips pressed hard against yours, his hand holding your jaw in place as he deepened the kiss without hesitation. The sudden pressure made your tongue throb, the fresh wound pulsing painfully, but you didn't care. If anything, the pain only heightened the intensity of the moment, your senses overwhelmed by the sharp contrast between the sting of the piercing and the heat of Dabi's mouth.

Your body tensed, instinctively bracing against the pain, but Dabi's hold on you kept you grounded. His other hand slipped around the back of your neck, pulling you even closer, refusing to let you pull away.

He was testing you, pushing your limits, daring you to flinch or complain.

But you didn't.

Instead, you leaned into the kiss, the burn in your tongue fading into the background as the taste of him filled your mouth. His lips were hot, demanding, and you responded in kind, letting the pain mix with the pleasure until they were indistinguishable. The cold metal of the new barbell rubbed against your teeth, and every movement of your tongue sent a fresh jolt of pain through your nerves, but you welcomed it, savoring the intensity.

Dabi chuckled darkly against your mouth, the sound vibrating through you as he pulled back slightly, just enough to let his mismatched eyes meet yours.

"Didn't think you'd like it that much," he murmured, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. His thumb brushed over your lips, tracing where his kiss had just been, smirking at the way your breath hitched under his touch.

"You like the pain, huh?"

You bit your lip, wincing slightly as the motion aggravated the fresh piercing, but you didn't pull away. Instead, you gave him a defiant look, your heart pounding as you whispered, "Maybe I like it when it's from you”.

That made his eyes gleam with something darker, something primal. He leaned back in, brushing his lips over yours again-this time slower, teasing, his breath hot and full of purpose.

"Is that so?" he murmured, his voice rough with amusement. "You're full of surprises."

He pressed his lips to yours again, but this time, the kiss was different. It was still rough, still full of that dangerous intensity, but there was something more to it-an edge of control, of dominance, like he was claiming you all over again. His tongue slipped past your lips, brushing against the metal barbell, and the pain flared up again, sharper this time, but you welcomed it, leaning into him as the heat between you spiked.

His hand tightened at the back of your neck, pulling you impossibly closer, his breath hot and ragged against your skin.

The kiss deepened, growing more feverish, and your mind buzzed with the sharp mix of pleasure and pain. The barbell clicked against your teeth as his tongue moved against yours, the cold metal a stark contrast to the burning heat of his mouth.

When he finally pulled away, you were breathless, your heart hammering in your chest. The pain in your tongue was a dull throb now, but it was overshadowed by the heat coursing through your veins. Dabi's eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he studied your face, watching the way your chest rose and fell with every ragged breath.

"Not bad," he muttered, wiping the corner of your mouth with his thumb, smirking as he glanced at the faint streak of blood that had appeared from the fresh wound.

"Told you it'd hurt. But you didn't back down. Gotta give you credit for that."

You smirked, your tongue pressing against the new piercing, wincing at the ache but not regretting a thing. "I can handle it," you murmured, your voice soft but steady, even as your heart raced in your chest.

Dabi chuckled, his hand slipping away from your neck as he straightened up, that self-satisfied smirk still playing on his lips. "You better" he muttered, his voice dark and teasing.

[thatlotuscookie]

Hi Hypno. I'd love a Natsu x Reader (Female) where he’s being overprotective and kind of clueless about why it’s embarrassing her in front of the guild, but it turns into this cute confession in the end and they start dating

✧･ﾟ: a/n : hihi! I hope you enjoyed this super cute and protective Natsu! I wanted to capture that fiery energy of his, but with a dash of sweet fluff. I'm also not too familiar with Fairy Tail, so apologies in advance. Thank you for the request<3

✧ Title: ✧ Overprotective Flames ✧ ✧ Characters: Natsu Dragneel x Fem!Reader ✧ Genre: Fluff, Romance, Humor ✧ Rating: T ✧ Summary: You asked Natsu to walk you to the guild hall, and what you got was an overprotective dragon slayer scaring everyone off. You didn't expect his actions to lead to a heartfelt confession, but maybe there’s more behind his behavior than you thought. ✧ Content/Tags: Overprotective Natsu, Fluff, Confession, Mutual Pining, Slight Embarrassment, Best Friends to Lovers, Guild Dynamics ✧ WC: 987 words // 5.5k chars

You were starting to regret asking Natsu to walk with you to the guild hall today.

What had started as a normal day had quickly turned into a public display of just how protective your best friend could be. The moment you two had stepped into the guild, Natsu had stuck to you like glue—literally hovering over your shoulder, making comments whenever anyone so much as glanced your way.

“Oi, Gajeel! What do you think you’re lookin’ at?” Natsu growled when the Iron Dragon Slayer walked by, offering you nothing more than a passing nod of acknowledgment.

“Relax, Flame Brain,” Gajeel grumbled, not even bothering to look back as he made his way to the bar. “Ain’t nobody interested in your girl.”

Your cheeks flamed at that. Your girl? Gajeel’s words stuck with you, even though you knew that wasn’t how Natsu saw you. At least, you thought he didn’t. He was just being… well, Natsu—fiercely protective over his friends. You knew that much about him.

Still, today felt different. Like maybe he was going a little overboard.

“U-Um, Natsu, it’s okay,” you whispered, trying to wave off his aggression with a nervous smile. “Gajeel wasn’t even—”

“Wasn’t what?” Natsu interrupted, turning to you with a serious expression. “He was lookin’ at you funny. You think I’m gonna let that slide?”

You sighed, feeling the familiar weight of eyes from across the guild hall. You could practically hear the others whispering amongst themselves, and it only made your face heat up more. Why was Natsu acting like this in front of everyone?

You loved him—liked him, you corrected yourself quickly—but this was just embarrassing. The last thing you needed was for the whole guild to think you were helpless and needed a dragon slayer to fight your battles for you.

“Lucy, help me out here,” you pleaded under your breath, shooting a desperate glance at the celestial mage sitting nearby. Lucy gave you a sympathetic smile, but she clearly wasn’t going to interfere. She probably thought it was cute.

Well, you didn’t.

“Oi, Gray, keep your shirt on and your eyes off her,” Natsu barked, his eyes flashing as Gray walked in your direction, hands in his pockets.

“I wasn’t even—” Gray began, but Natsu cut him off with a huff, stepping between the two of you.

“Yeah, well, you better not be,” Natsu snapped, crossing his arms over his chest.

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Natsu, please,” you whispered, “you’re embarrassing me.”

Natsu blinked at you, his sharp gaze softening slightly. “What? Why?”

“Because…” you trailed off, biting your lip. How were you supposed to explain that everyone was staring, that your crush on him was already making it hard to breathe, and now he was drawing even more attention to the both of you?

Natsu frowned, his expression genuinely confused. “I’m just lookin’ out for you, (Y/N). You know I don’t want anyone messin’ with you.”

“I know that,” you mumbled, staring at the floor. “But you don’t have to scare off everyone. They’re just our friends.”

He scratched his head, looking utterly clueless. “But I don’t want any of ‘em getting ideas. You’re too important to me for that.”

Your heart did a little flip at his words, and you glanced up at him, eyes wide. “I… I am?”

“‘Course you are,” Natsu said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. His gaze softened again, a warm grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Why else d’you think I’d be so protective? You’re… special.”

Your breath caught in your throat. There it was again—another hint that maybe he didn’t just see you as a friend. Maybe all this overprotectiveness wasn’t just about keeping you safe; maybe it was because he cared about you in a different way.

But you still weren’t sure, and the uncertainty gnawed at you. “Natsu,” you began cautiously, “are you being overprotective because… you like me?”

He stared at you for a moment, and you could almost see the gears turning in his head as he processed the question. Then, a slow, sheepish grin spread across his face. “I… yeah, I guess I am.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “R-Really?”

“Yeah,” he repeated, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I didn’t realize it at first, but I think… I’ve always liked you, (Y/N). I just didn’t know how to say it.”

You blinked at him in disbelief. Natsu Dragneel, the guy you had been crushing on for ages, liked you back?

Before you could respond, Natsu took a step closer, his expression serious but warm. “I don’t want anyone else even thinkin’ about you that way, y’know? You’re mine.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you felt your face heat up all over again. “I… I’ve liked you for a while too, Natsu,” you admitted shyly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Natsu’s eyes lit up, and his grin widened. “You do?”

You nodded, feeling a smile tug at your lips despite your embarrassment. “Yeah.”

Natsu’s expression softened, and before you could react, he wrapped his arms around you in a tight, warm hug, pulling you against his chest. “That’s awesome, (Y/N),” he murmured into your hair. “I’m so glad.”

You laughed softly, your heart swelling with happiness as you hugged him back. “Me too.”

“Guess that means we’re dating now, huh?” Natsu said, pulling back just enough to look you in the eyes, his grin as wide as ever.

You blushed, but nodded. “I guess it does.”

Natsu’s smile turned even softer, and he leaned in, pressing a quick, warm kiss to your forehead. “Good. ‘Cause I’m not letting anyone else get close to you from now on.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, feeling lighter than you had in days. “You’re still overprotective.”

“Damn right I am,” Natsu said proudly. “But now I’ve got a reason.”

[novaursa]

The Dragon's Right (13)

- Summary: It was by grace of the gods that firstborn child of Viserys I and Aemma was born a boy and he lived. And all of the rest, scholars will later say, is by power of something more malevolent in kind.

- Paring: male!reader/Rhaenyra Targaryen

- Note: Expect daily updates until the story is done.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: 12

- Next part: 14

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The Dragonpit is alive with the unmistakable roars and calls of dragons, the air thick with the scent of charred flesh and the earthy smell of caves below. You, the Prince of Dragonstone, circle high above on Silverwing, your gaze fixed on the large domed structure below. As you descend, the faint shapes of your sons and their half-uncles grow clearer.

Jacaerys and Lucerys are near Vermax and Arrax, offering the young dragons chunks of meat. The boys’ laughter echoes through the pit, a rare sound of joy in these troubled times. Nearby, Aegon, the eldest of Viserys and Alicent’s children, watches his dragon, Sunfyre, with a detached interest, his eyes more on his nephews than his beast.

Aemond stands apart from them all, a loneliness clinging to him like a shadow. His eyes flick between the dragons and the older boys, a longing so stark it almost cuts through the distance. It is a sight that tightens something in your chest, but before you can give it more thought, a movement from your sons catches your eye.

Jace and Luke exchange glances, their faces lit with mischief. A few whispered words later, a stable boy wheels out a wooden cart. Perched on it, adorned with crude, makeshift wings, is a pig—a mockery, a cruel jest. The "Pink Dread," they call it.

“Here you go, Aemond,” Jace announces with a grin. “Your very own dragon.”

Aemond’s face turns scarlet, a mix of shame and fury. “You think this is funny?” he spits, his small hands curling into fists. The other boys snicker, even Aegon’s mouth twitches into a half-smile.

“You don’t have a dragon because you’re not a true Targaryen,” Jace continues, his voice taking on a mocking lilt. “Our father is a dragon, our mother a dragon, but you? What are you?”

The words hang in the air like a poised dagger, and in that moment, you see Aemond snap. He launches himself at Jace, fists flailing, the smaller boy’s speed taking your son by surprise. They tumble to the ground, a blur of limbs and angry shouts. Lucerys tries to pull Aemond off his brother, but Aemond’s rage is wild, untamed, and he shoves Luke away, his eyes burning with a desperate fury.

Aegon stands back, arms crossed, watching the scuffle with a mix of amusement and boredom. It’s only when he sees Lucerys getting pushed that he steps forward, his smirk dropping. “Enough, Aemond,” he says, voice sharp, but it’s too late—the fight has already spiraled out of control.

It’s then that you make your entrance. Silverwing’s massive form swoops down over the pit, her shadow casting a dark blanket over the scene. She lands with a thunderous impact, the ground trembling beneath her weight, and the boys scatter like leaves before a storm.

You dismount, your boots hitting the ground with a solid thud, and your eyes, dark with disapproval, sweep over them. “What is this madness?” Your voice, though not raised, carries the full weight of your authority, and the boys freeze.

You move toward Jace and Aemond, still tangled on the ground. With a swift motion, you pull Aemond away, lifting him to his feet with a firm grip on his shoulder. Jace scrambles up, wiping a trickle of blood from his lip, his eyes wary as he meets your gaze.

“A prince does not behave like a common brawler,” you say, your tone cold. “Nor does he taunt his kin like a street urchin.” Your eyes shift to Jace, your voice softening but still firm. “Words have power, Jacaerys. Do not use them to wound your own blood.”

Jace’s head lowers, his face flushed with shame. “I’m sorry, Father. I didn’t mean—”

“You did,” you interrupt, “but you will think before you speak next time.”

You turn your attention to Aemond, who stands stiffly beside you, his small frame trembling with barely suppressed emotion. His eyes, a mirror of the Targaryen fire, meet yours, and you see the pain and anger there. “Aemond,” you say, your voice gentler now, “having a dragon does not make you a true Targaryen. It is the blood in your veins, the strength in your heart, and the courage to face whatever comes your way.”

Aemond’s lips press into a thin line, his eyes dropping to the ground. “But I don’t have one,” he murmurs, the words almost lost in the vast space of the Dragonpit. “Not like them.”

You crouch down, bringing yourself to his level, your hand resting on his shoulder. “You will,” you assure him, your voice firm. “And when the time comes, your bond with your dragon will be stronger for the wait. Do not let their words make you forget who you are.”

Aemond nods, his jaw still clenched, but there’s a flicker of something like hope in his eyes. You straighten, turning back to the other boys. “And you will all treat each other with respect,” you command, your gaze sweeping over them. “You are family, and you will need each other in the days to come.”

With that, you mount Silverwing once more, her silver scales shimmering in the dim light of the pit. “Return to your mothers,” you tell them, your voice carrying across the distance as you take to the sky. Below, the boys watch as you rise, a reminder of the power and legacy that runs through their veins.

As Silverwing ascends, the wind whipping past you, you glance back down at the shrinking forms of your children and their half-uncles. The weight of what is to come presses heavy on your shoulders, but for now, at least, the skirmish is over, and the fires of their tempers have been tempered—if only for a time.

The door to your chambers swings open with a soft creak as you step inside, the cool air of the Red Keep a welcome contrast to the heated anomasity that still lingers from the Dragonpit. Rhaenyra is seated by the window, bathed in the golden glow of the setting sun. She looks up, her expression shifting from curiosity to concern as she sees your face.

“What’s happened?” she asks, setting aside the book she’s been reading. Her voice is calm, but you can sense the undercurrent of anxiety. It’s a tone you’ve grown used to, living in the shadow of your father’s choices and the precarious balance of your family’s position.

You take a deep breath, crossing the room to stand before her. “There was an incident in the Dragonpit,” you begin, your voice steady but weary. “Our sons and their half-uncles got into a scuffle.”

Her brow furrows, and she rises, her eyes searching yours. “Are they hurt?”

“Nothing serious,” you reassure her, though the memory of the boys’ clash flashes behind your eyes. “Jace and Luke were taunting Aemond. They brought out that pig—‘The Pink Dread’—and made a mockery of him.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes widen, her lips pressing into a thin line. “They did what?” There’s anger there, protective and fierce, but you hold up a hand.

“They’re children, Rhaenyra. Foolish and unthinking,” you say, though your tone carries its own frustration. “But I won’t have them tearing each other apart, especially not now.”

She sighs, her shoulders slumping as she reaches out to touch your arm. “And Aemond?”

“He fought back,” you admit, a trace of admiration for the boy’s spirit despite the situation. “He feels out of place, without a dragon of his own, and Jace’s words struck deep. He thinks it makes him less of a Targaryen.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes soften, and she shakes her head. “It’s not his fault. None of this is his fault.” Her voice drops, a whisper of frustration mingled with sorrow. “It’s Viserys. He should have known this would happen, bringing us all under one roof again. It’s like throwing oil on a fire.”

You nod, your gaze drifting to the flickering candles that cast long shadows across the room. “I don’t like this any more than you do. You know how I feel about his choice for a wife, and her children.” There’s a bitterness in your words that’s hard to swallow. “But Viserys made his decision, and now we have to navigate this storm without letting it drown us.”

Rhaenyra’s fingers tighten around your arm, her eyes searching yours. “And the boys?”

“They must learn to control themselves,” you say firmly. “We cannot afford to have them fighting amongst each other, not with the eyes of the court watching. They need to understand what’s at stake.”

She looks at you, her gaze fierce. “They’re just boys. It’s not fair to put so much weight on their shoulders.”

“It’s not,” you agree, your voice softening. “But fair or not, it’s the reality we live in. They’re Targaryens. They’ll have to grow up faster than others, and they need to be stronger for it. We can’t have them tearing each other apart when the real threats lie beyond these walls.”

Rhaenyra sighs again, her hand slipping down to clasp yours. “I know you’re right, but it doesn’t make it any easier.”

You pull her closer, resting your forehead against hers. “We’ll get through this,” you murmur, your voice a low promise. “But they need to see us united, strong. They need to know that we are their foundation, no matter what happens.”

She nods, her eyes closing for a moment as she takes in your words. When she opens them again, there’s a steely resolve there, a reflection of your own determination. “We’ll talk to them together. Make them understand.”

You press a kiss to her forehead, a brief but tender touch. “Yes.” You step back, your hand still holding hers as you lead her towards the door. “Let’s find them. The sooner we set this right, the better.”

As you leave your chambers, side by side, the weight of your shared responsibility settles between you. 

You and Rhaenyra find Jace and Luke in their shared chamber, their faces drawn and tense. The playful spirit that usually fills the room is absent, replaced by a silence that feels heavy with guilt. The boys stand as you enter, their eyes flicking nervously between you and their mother.

“Sit,” you instruct gently, motioning to the chairs by the hearth. They obey, exchanging uneasy glances. Rhaenyra takes a seat beside you, her expression a careful blend of concern and firmness.

“Do you understand why we’re here?” she begins, her voice calm but edged with disappointment.

Jace nods slowly, his gaze dropping to his hands. “We do, Mother. We… we shouldn’t have done what we did. It was cruel.”

Luke shifts uncomfortably, his voice a soft murmur. “We didn’t mean to hurt Aemond. It was just a joke…”

“A joke?” Your voice is sharper than you intend, and both boys flinch. You take a breath, forcing yourself to soften your tone. “You’re Targaryens. You know the power words hold. Mocking someone, especially your own blood, for something they cannot control—it’s beneath you.”

Jace’s eyes glisten, his voice breaking a little as he speaks. “I’m sorry, Father. Truly. We just… we didn’t think.”

Rhaenyra leans forward, her hand resting gently on his. “I know, my love. But you must start thinking. You are not just boys playing in the yard. You are princes, and with that comes responsibility. People look to you, they judge us all by your actions.”

Luke’s lower lip trembles as he looks up at her. “We won’t do it again, I swear.”

You nod, reaching out to place a hand on Luke’s shoulder. “You need to remember that Aemond is your family. You will need him, and he will need you, in the days to come. Strength lies in unity, not division.”

Jace nods fervently. “We’ll apologize to him. We’ll make it right.”

You’re about to respond when the door creaks open, and a servant enters, his expression tight with urgency. He bows quickly before speaking. “Your Grace, my Prince, the King has requested your presence. He wishes to speak with both of you privately.”

Rhaenyra frowns, a flicker of unease passing over her face. “What is it?”

The servant hesitates, glancing at you both before he answers. “There has been… troubling news from Driftmark. Lady Laena Velaryon has passed away.”

For a moment, silence fills the room, the words hanging like a heavy shroud. You feel Rhaenyra’s hand tighten around yours, her grip almost painful. The boys look between the two of you, confusion and fear mingling in their eyes.

“Laena…” Rhaenyra whispers, her voice trembling. “How?”

The servant bows his head. “I’m not privy to the details, my lady. But the King has asked for you both. He wishes to discuss this matter personally.”

You nod, your throat tight as you glance at Rhaenyra. “We’ll go at once.”

Turning back to Jace and Luke, you force a calm smile, though it feels hollow. “We have to speak with your grandsire. Stay here and reflect on what we’ve spoken about. We’ll return soon.”

The boys nod, subdued and solemn. As you and Rhaenyra leave the room, you feel a heaviness settle over you. Laena’s death—Daemon’s loss—hits harder than you would have expected. She was family, in her own way, and her passing feels like another thread unraveling in the fragile tapestry that binds your House together.

Rhaenyra’s hand slips into yours as you walk, her grip cold and trembling. “Daemon,” she murmurs, her eyes wide with sorrow. “How will he…?”

“We’ll find out soon enough,” you say, though your voice is filled with uncertainty. “We must be strong, for him and for the children.”

She nods, drawing in a shuddering breath as you approach the King’s chambers. The door opens before you, and you step inside, the gravity of what’s to come pressing down on you both like a weight you can barely bear.

The heavy door to the King’s chambers swings open, revealing a somber scene within. King Viserys sits slumped in his chair, his face pale and drawn, a ghost of the man he once was. Alicent stands by his side, her hands clasped in front of her, the very image of dutiful silence, but you catch the brief flicker of her eyes, the smoldering anger beneath her composed exterior. No doubt Aemond has already told her about the incident in the Dragonpit.

Rhaenyra tightens her grip on your hand as you both step inside. You bow your head respectfully, feeling the weight of the room’s tension settle on your shoulders. “Father,” you greet, your voice steady despite the unease coiling within you.

Viserys looks up, his eyes clouded with grief and exhaustion. He waves a trembling hand toward the chairs across from him. “Sit, both of you. There is… there is news from Driftmark.”

You and Rhaenyra exchange a glance, the unspoken worry already taking root between you. You take your seats, your wife’s hand never leaving yours. Alicent’s gaze flickers between the two of you, her lips pressed into a thin line, but she remains silent.

“Laena Velaryon is dead,” Viserys says, his voice cracking. The bluntness of his words cuts through the silence like a knife, and you feel Rhaenyra tense beside you. “She died in childbirth. The labor… it went wrong. She tried to get to Vhagar, but she collapsed on the steps. Daemon was with her, but there was nothing he could do.”

There’s a strangled sound from Rhaenyra, half a gasp, half a sob. You tighten your grip on her hand, your own heart aching at the thought of Daemon, your uncle, watching helplessly as his wife—a woman of such fire and strength—was taken from him in such a brutal way.

“We’ve all been summoned to attend the funeral on Driftmark,” Viserys continues, his gaze distant, as if speaking to himself as much as to you. “It is our duty to pay our respects, to support House Velaryon in their time of mourning.”

There’s a pause, thick with the unspoken implications. You and Rhaenyra share another glance, the memory of your conversations from two months ago flashing between you. Conversations about the Hightowers’ growing influence over Viserys, about the way Alicent’s words seemed to carry more weight in the council chamber than they should. And now, with the eyes of Westeros surely turning to Driftmark, you can almost see the challenges that will rise like shadows at the edges of the funeral.

“Father,” Rhaenyra begins, her voice strained, “what of Daemon? How is he?”

Viserys’s eyes close for a moment, as if gathering himself. “He is… shattered, as you can imagine. They had come to Pentos, seeking a different life, but it was not to be. Now he returns to Driftmark, to bury his wife and face his loss.” He opens his eyes, fixing you both with a weary, almost pleading look. “You will go, won’t you? You will show the realm that our family stands together, despite… everything.”

Despite the divisions, despite the whispers, despite the presence of your father’s new family, his new children. The words remain unspoken, but they hang heavy in the air.

You incline your head. “Of course, Father. We will be there, for Daemon and for Laena. Our families are tied, and we will honor that bond.”

Rhaenyra nods beside you, though her eyes are still shadowed with grief and apprehension. “We will pay our respects, and do what we can to support him.”

Alicent’s gaze sharpens at that, her hands tightening around the hem of her dress. “It is good that you will be there,” she says quietly, her voice steady but tinged with something else—something brittle. “Daemon will need his family, all of them, during this time.”

There’s an edge in her tone, a pointedness that isn’t lost on you. You meet her eyes, seeing the silent fury simmering just beneath the surface. No doubt she’s already heard from Aemond about the cruelty he faced today, about the boys’ taunts and the mockery of the “Pink Dread.” Her eyes seem to dare you to address it, to acknowledge the simmering tensions that threaten to fracture this already fragile unity.

But now is not the time. Not with the shadow of death still hanging over the room. You give her a curt nod, acknowledging her words but not engaging further. There will be time enough to address those grievances, but not now.

Viserys exhales slowly, as if some great weight has been lifted from his shoulders by your assurances. “Thank you,” he murmurs, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Thank you both. I know things have been… difficult. But we must hold together, now more than ever.”

You and Rhaenyra rise together, a unified front, as you bow your heads in respect. “We will be there, Father,” Rhaenyra repeats softly. “You have our word.”

As you turn to leave, you feel Alicent’s gaze burning into your back, a silent promise of words yet unspoken. But for now, you push it aside, focusing on Rhaenyra, on the grief and worry etched into her face.

The corridor outside is quiet, your footsteps echoing softly against the stone walls. 

The door closes behind you and Rhaenyra with a soft thud, leaving Viserys and Alicent alone in the low lit chamber. The silence between them is heavy, almost suffocating. Alicent remains where she is, her knuckles white as she grips the back of a chair, fury barely restrained. Viserys looks at her with weary eyes, as if already exhausted by a conversation they haven’t even had yet.

“Are you truly not going to address it?” Alicent’s voice is low, but the bitterness in it cuts like a blade. “Your grandchildren taunted Aemond, humiliated him, and you say nothing?”

Viserys sighs, the sound carrying the weight of years of burdens. He rubs a hand over his face, the lines of his age more pronounced in the flickering candlelight. “Alicent, they are children. They act thoughtlessly, all of them. Jace and Luke’s actions were cruel, yes, but Aegon was not innocent either. He stood by and let it happen, perhaps even encouraged it.”

“Aegon is a boy, Viserys!” Alicent’s voice rises, her eyes flashing with a fury she can no longer contain. “He’s still learning his place, his responsibilities. But you—” She pauses, her voice trembling with a mixture of anger and desperation. “You always defend them, defend him and Rhaenyra. No matter what they do, you find a way to excuse it.”

Viserys’s face hardens, the tired king giving way to the father who has been pushed too far. “This is not about sides, Alicent. They are all my children, my grandchildren. Aemond needs guidance, not vengeance. As do Jace and Luke.”

Alicent’s eyes narrow, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Guidance? You think that’s all they need? You allow them to humiliate Aemond, to hurt him, and do nothing. Just as you did nothing when he—” She stops, her words catching in her throat, but the venom in her eyes makes it clear what she’s referring to.

The image of Silverwing descending upon the sept outside Casterly Rock flashes in her mind. The stones still bear the scars of dragon’s talons, a testament to that day when you stole Rhaenyra from her impending marriage to Jason Lannister. You, the prodigal son who had left for the Dorne border, returned with the ferocity of a storm, claiming what you believed to be yours without a thought to the chaos you left in your wake.

“There were no repercussions for what he did, Viserys,” she continues, her voice trembling with barely restrained emotion. “He defied you, humiliated House Lannister, and shattered a political alliance. And you did nothing. You welcomed him back with open arms.”

Viserys’s gaze drops to his lap, his fingers twitching as if the very memory of it still pains him. “He is my son,” he says quietly. “I did what I thought was best to keep our family whole.”

Alicent’s laugh is sharp, almost hysterical. “Whole? You call this whole? You let him and Rhaenyra do as they please, and now their children are just as wild, as ungoverned. Aemond will grow up believing he’s less than them, that he’s not a true Targaryen, and you’re content to let that happen because it’s easier than admitting you’ve lost control.”

The king’s head snaps up, a flash of anger in his eyes. “And what would you have me do, Alicent? Punish them? For what? For the mistakes of youth? For the passions of their blood?”

“Yes!” she almost shouts, her voice breaking. “Yes, if it would show them there are consequences, that they cannot simply take and destroy as they please. There are scars on that sept, Viserys. Scars left by the dragon, by your son’s defiance, and you—” She swallows hard, her eyes blazing. “You allowed it. Because it was Rhaenyra. Because it was always Rhaenyra.”

A bitter silence falls between them, the air crackling with all the things that have been left unsaid for too long. Alicent’s hands tremble as she grips the chair, her knuckles pale against the dark wood. She forces herself to breathe, to steady her voice.

“You know, I thought… once,” she begins, softer now, almost as if speaking to herself, “that he would see me differently. That when he came back from the border, when he returned from Dorne, I could show him that I was a better choice than her. That I could be what he needed, what he wanted.”

Viserys’s expression softens, a sorrowful understanding in his eyes. “Alicent…”

But she shakes her head, cutting him off. “No. Don’t. I was a fool, Viserys. A fool for thinking I could compete with her, with whatever hold she has over him. She enthralled him, from the moment they were children. And now look at us.” She gestures around, as if the very walls of the chamber bear witness to her frustration. “Look at this family. Torn apart because you cannot say no to them.”

Viserys leans back in his chair, a look of profound weariness on his face. “I know I’ve made mistakes. I know I’ve failed in many ways. But I will not see this family destroyed by bitterness and blame. Not by yours, and not by mine.”

Alicent’s eyes fill with tears, her fury burning out into something raw and painful. “Then what will you do, Viserys? How will you keep us together when we’re already breaking apart?”

He doesn’t answer, and the silence stretches between them, heavy with the weight of a thousand unspoken regrets. For once, the King of the Seven Kingdoms has no words of comfort, no easy solution. He simply closes his eyes, his hand still resting over his face, and lets the silence speak for him.

Jace and Luke make their way through the corridors of the Red Keep, their footsteps echoing softly off the stone walls. They had left their youngest brother, Joffrey, with the servants, trusting them to keep him safe while they faced what felt like an impending storm. Their father’s stern words still ring in their ears as they approach the courtyard where they were told Aemond and Aegon could be found.

They spot their half-uncles by the training yard. Aegon leans casually against a wall, his expression bored as Aemond practices with a wooden sword. The younger boy’s movements are fierce, each strike of the blade carrying a force that belies his small frame. It’s clear he’s still angry, his face flushed and his jaw clenched.

Jace and Luke exchange a glance, a shared determination in their eyes, before they step forward. Jace clears his throat, drawing the attention of the brothers. Aemond stops mid-swing, his eyes narrowing as he sees them.

“We came to apologize,” Jace begins, his voice steady though the words feel strange on his tongue. “What we did in the Dragonpit was wrong. It was cruel.”

Luke nods, looking at Aemond with genuine remorse. “We didn’t mean to hurt you. We’re sorry.”

Aemond’s eyes flicker with something unreadable—perhaps surprise, perhaps something darker. He lowers his sword but doesn’t put it away. “Sorry?” he repeats, his voice dripping with disdain. “You think words can fix this?”

Aegon snorts from his place against the wall, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “They’re just doing what they were told, Aemond. Daddy and Mommy sent them to make nice, didn’t they?”

Jace’s cheeks flush with anger, but he holds his tongue, determined to do what his father asked. “We shouldn’t have treated you like that,” he insists. “We know it’s not easy, being without a dragon, and—”

“You think I care about your pity?” Aemond snaps, his grip tightening on the sword. “Your father, the great Prince of Dragonstone, thinks he can send you to smooth things over, like everything is fine. Like he’s some perfect, noble hero.”

Jace stiffens at the tone, his eyes narrowing. “He defended you, Aemond. He told us we were wrong and that you deserved better. And you dare insult him?”

Aemond sneers, his eyes blazing with a mixture of hurt and fury. “Defended me? Your father’s only ever cared about himself and his precious Rhaenyra. He never cared about us. My mother says—” He stops abruptly, as if realizing he’s said too much.

“Your mother says what?” Jace demands, his voice rising. “What lies has she filled your head with?”

Aemond’s face flushes red, his expression defiant. “She says your father is nothing but a selfish, reckless man who took what he wanted, no matter who he hurt. That he only ever looked out for himself.”

“That’s not true!” Jace barks, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “He’s a better man than you’ll ever know. He was more fair to you than you deserve, especially when you speak like that!”

Aemond’s eyes flash dangerously, and he takes a step forward, his sword still in hand. “You want to say that again?”

Before the situation can escalate further, Ser Criston Cole appears, his eyes sharp as he steps between the boys. “Enough,” he commands, his voice firm and brooking no argument. He places a hand on Aemond’s shoulder, pulling him back gently but firmly. “This is not the time or place for fighting.”

Jace glares at Aemond, his chest heaving with suppressed rage. “You’re right, Cole. It’s not the time.” He turns to Luke, who looks equally shaken and angry. “But this isn’t over.”

Luke steps forward, his voice steady despite the tension in the air. “We’ll settle this on Driftmark. We’ll see who’s truly worthy.”

Aemond’s eyes narrow, but there’s a flicker of something—perhaps apprehension, perhaps excitement—behind the anger. “Anytime, anywhere.”

Ser Criston’s gaze sharpens, and he steps in between them fully, his voice a warning. “You are all princes of the realm. You will act like it, or there will be consequences.”

The boys glare at each other, the air thick with unspoken challenges, before Jace and Luke turn and stalk away. The anger in their bodies is visible, the fire of the argument still burning hot within them.

As they walk, Jace glances at Luke, his expression grim. “This isn’t just about us, or Aemond. It’s about our family, about what’s right.”

Luke nods, his young face set with determination. “We’ll show them on Driftmark. We’ll show everyone.”

And as they leave the courtyard behind, the promise of another confrontation lingers in the air, a storm brewing just beyond the horizon.

[iamyourdailydoseofbi]

Hello dear, "will you pray for me" will have a second part? bc the first is magnificent 😋🫣

WILL YOU PRAY FOR ME? ( House of the Dragon x Reader ) Pt. 2

AUTHOR NOTE! Yes. I need to write more of Aegon so that I can make the perfect mix of TV SHOW and BOOK! Aegon for my fic, 'THE CONQUEROR REBORN'. [ Yes that is me shamelessly promoting it. Check out the link for it in my previous posts. ] <3 pairing: DARK! Aegon ii Targaryen x Fem! Hightower! Reader prompt: Aegon returns back from the Battle of Rook's Rest, seeking comfort from his bride-to-be. Only then does chaos ensure. word count: 1, 298+ words

As soon as he had left the Sept. You prayed, and prayed, and prayed to whoever would listen to your sobs and prayers. It did not matter if it was the Gods of Old, New or the forgotten ones. A twisted part of you praying that Aegon did not survive the battle, that he would be dead. That you would be spared of being his second wife. You did not wish for it. To be married to him nonetheless, not when the glint in his eyes made it clear that it would not be a pleasant marriage. 

When the aching of your knees grew too much from praying for hours on end, you returned to the Red Keep. Hoping that Alicent or even Otto would confirm it was Aegon playing a cruel jest on you. But, when Alicent burst into tears, begging you to forgive her for not protecting you hard enough. It was then that you realized Aegon was being serious. Dead serious.

You would be his bride, his little thing, the thing he would use to warm his bed, to do whatever he wished. Not unless you found a way out of it, one that would keep your reputation still in tack. So lying about being a maiden would not work. Then, it clicked, a betrothal. 

Aegon would not be able to protest if you were already promised to another. The new task came in finding someone to marry you. Someone of decent standing, who would be willing to offer just enough protection from Aegon. That’s where Lord Redwyne came in. From a good House and standing, kind and loyal. A good ally to the Green’s. To lose him would be a costly thing. It was perfect. You were saved. 

Holding the hand of Lord Redwyne, you give him a gentle smile, happy that he was willing to take the burden of protecting you from Aegon. No matter how many times you had said your thanks, it felt like it would not be enough. Not many men would dare to do something like this for a woman, many saw women as things, not people. So for him to do such a thing showed that he either cared, or it was a matter of pride and defending his honor. 

Watching as the carriage slowly pulls into the courtyard, you shift in place, fear bubbling up within you. You did not know how Aegon would react. Would he yell? Would he get violent? Would he demand of you both to be thrown into the Black Cells? Feeling a gentle kiss be placed on your knuckles, you turn your head away, feeling at ease at the caring gaze of Lord Redwyne. Instantly feeling better, you look back, watching a now injured Aegon limp out of the carriage. 

“Rook’s Rest is ours. Now, where is Y/n, I wish to see my bride.” Aegon states, a smug grin tugging at his lips. 

“Aegon, let us speak⎯” Alicent tries to interfere.

“No, Mother. Where is she?” Aegon cuts in, his voice cold. 

Not daring to speak up, you look him over carefully. His left side was wrapped in bandages, with tiny specs of burnt flesh peaking through. His armor was charred only on the left side, leaving you to guess that he had been attacked on the left side on dragonback. Feeling his predatory gaze shift onto you, you resist the urge to cower, using Lord Redwyne as a shield. 

“What is this?” Aegon states an unnerving lack of emotion in his voice. 

“I am betrothed to Lord Redwyne, your grace. I am unable to marry you as my hand is already taken, your grace.” You explain, hoping it would be enough to deter him.

“No.” He states, “No.” 

No? Was he honestly just saying no like it would change anything?

“Ser Cristion, kill Lord Redwyne, dispose of his body how you see fit. Lady Y/n will be coming with me to my chambers.” Aegon states, almost as if he was speaking of weather and not murder. 

Feeling the blood drain from your face at his casual orders, you turn to Ser Cristion, the Hand just as equally shell shocked. He was not serious, was he? He wouldn’t dare to kill Lord Redwyne, an ally of his, someone that he needed to win the war. This could not be happening. Looking between a stone-faced Aegon and Ser Crisiton, nobody moves or says a word. 

It was just palpable tension in the air that brewed in the stillness. Glancing over to Lord Redwyne, he only stares Aegon down, the two clearly size each other up. Surprisingly, Lord Redwyne doesn’t back down, still standing toe-to-toe with Aegon. Which only made the darkness in Aegon’s eyes grow more and more. 

“You can either break the betrothal with Lady Y/n and leave a living man, or I will kill you myself and still take her as my wife.” Aegon states, cutting the silence. 

No. No. No. This could not be happening. This was supposed to be your escape. Your way of getting rid of him.

“I suggest you pick the latter..” Aegon adds, “Before I decide that mercy is below me.”

“Your grace, you cannot be⎯”

“No, no, I am. Now, like I said, leave before I decide that mercy is below me.” Aegon argues, a dead serious look on his face. 

Looking at Lord Redwyne, you prayed that he would not back down, that he would stand up for you and refuse to let you become Aegon’s second wife. Feeling tears tickle up in your eyes, Lord Redwyne pulls your hand up to his lips, pressing a soft kiss on your knuckles. There was a glint, a glint of regret and sorry in his eyes and you just knew. He was going to leave you. 

He mutters a quick, ‘I am sorry, my Lady.’, before swiftly leaving you with Aegon.

“No..” You whisper, your voice so soft that it nearly went unnoticed. 

“Wise choice, Lord Redwyne.” Aegon smirks, the feeling of doom crashing down on you.

“No..” You whisper, a single tear falling down your cheek. 

Holding back the tears that continued to bubble in your eyes, it took everything in you to not start sobbing as realty crashed down on you. No one, not even the most honorable men, would be willing to protect you from Aegon. You would be his bride. It would be happening whether you liked it or not. 

Feeling a bandaged finger brush against your cheek, you are snapped back to reality, remembering who stands next to you. Turning your head to go over and look at him, there is a smug smirk tugging at his lips, the healing burn scar just above his left eyebrow only making him look more sinister. 

“Come, my little bride. I need someone to tend to my wounds.” Aegon orders, dragging you by the wrist. 

----

@lovelykhaleesiii

@fragileheartbeats

@danytar

@nightvers

[teleit]

Plot bunny - Daemyra meets the consequences of passion on the beach

Okay, this isn't my usual yapping about how I desperately want to ask HBO to provide the public with a report on the show's expenses and find out how much they pay those nine monkeys with typewriters and one college student with three other jobs who are posing as the House of the Dragon writing team.

But one thing leads to another, so I'm thinking about how convenient it is for Daemon and Rhaenyra to indulge their fetish for public intercourse, and somehow no one found them at all, even though they were not just simple servants, and they couldn't just disappear for a whole night without someone noticing.

And if someone had found them? Maybe someone like Laenor Velaryon?

Laenor, mad with grief, having almost drowned himself a few hours ago, and unable to sleep, escapes from surveillance and goes wandering around Driftmark and the surrounding area. He can't help but think about how his sister died, the one he hadn't seen in years but loved so much; how scared and desperate she was when she couldn't give birth herself, and how much pain she must have suffered; how she spent her last moments in agony and terror. He lost his sister and the nephew who killed her, and whom he almost hates, but knows Laena would never forgive him for those feelings.

And now he stumbles upon his wife and brother-in-law fucking like wild animals on the sand, hidden from the world by a rotten boat hulk. From the world, but not from Laenor.

A part of Laenor understands what these two feel, and is happy for them. His marriage to Rhaenyra was an arrangement that grew into friendship, but never into love; his true love died on the floor of the feast hall, beaten to death by the hands of Criston Cole. He is happy for her, finding solace in their cold, empty marriage, first in Harvin and now in the man she has desired for decades.

He is happy for Daemon. They are friends as much as they are family, which is rare in their houses. They fought together in the Stepstones, and Laenor was happy for them and Laena, the kind of man he would have wished for his sister - almost, Daemon had an unfinished gestalt with his niece, so it was not perfect. But Laena was happy, or sounded so in her letters, so Laenor accepted it as it was. True, now Laenor is more inclined to hate Daemon for laughing at the funeral, but Daemon is Daemon, and someday the pain of loss will pass and Laenor will be able to look at him again without disgust.

But this part is small, quiet, and immediately drowned out by the anger, fury and betrayal rising inside like a storm wave. How dare they! At the funeral of Laena! His sister! Who died giving birth to Daemon's son! Died far from home, far from her family! Daemon didn't even bring her body, just charred bones!! The coffin didn't even touch the seabed, and these two had already stuck together with their crotches!!! HOW DARE THEY HOW DARE THEY HOW DARE THEY!!!

And Laenor, in whom a sea of ​​hatred rages, takes up the blade. He doesn't think about anything, doesn't understand what he's doing, but he knows that these two people, half-naked and shuddering with vile pleasure, are his and Laena's traitors. They are monsters, and Laenor doesn't understand how he could have considered these two his friends.

Daemon Targaryen is still a rogue prince even with his pants down, and Laenor was never considered the best swordsman, at best a good one. Rhaenyra screams at them to come to their senses, but it's no use to Laenor. Daemon dodges the sword, disarms Laenor, but it's doesn't help at all - Velaryon does not listen, his eyes are empty and dark with hatred, he rushes at Daemon empty-handed, wanting to hurt him, just as he and Rhaenyra did to him and Laena.

And Daemon makes a mistake - he, a skilled warrior, underestimates Laenor's rage, and when he swings his blade, intended to drive Velaryon away, he pierces him. Laenor does not die quickly enough - he screams in pain and anger, screams so loudly that he attracts the attention of the guards, who were alerted when it became clear that Corlys' son had disappeared and every servant and guard rushed to search for him.

And what a picture the guards find - the heir of Lord Velaryon, husband of the crown princess and the father of her children, future king consort, Laenor Velaryon, agonizing on the dirty sand. Daemon, shirtless and with unbuttoned pants, with a bloody sword in his hands. And Princess Rhaenyra herself, Laenor's wife, looking at what is happening in horror, wrapped in a dress with loose lacing and pulled off her shoulders, disheveled and covered in sand.

The events that followed have not yet come together in my head in any confident way, there are so many possible consequences.

Rhaenyra and Daemon are caught at the crime scene with bloody hands, one of them not even metaphorically. Denying the fact of murder and sexual intimacy is simply stupid.

Rhaenyra has two options:

1) Lie about how she and Daemon were enthusiastically doing a vertical tango on the beach as soon as they had the chance. She will wring her hands, roll her eyes, and start crying about how her evil uncle tried to take advantage of her, and how the noble and fearless Laenor rushed to her rescue. No one will believe her, of course, but the consequences will be mostly laid on Daemon. He won't be executed as a kinslayer, because Viserys is a spineless whiner, but he will be sent to the Wall.

2) Stand with her uncle and go for broke, and if they die together, they will die together. Again, Viserys' spine is a monkey noodle, he will never kill his sweet daughter in his life, and will try to leave her as his heir, because she is the daughter of the woman he once cut up like a pig in a slaughterhouse.

In any case, what will happen for sure in any case is a complete loss of the Velaryon support for Rhaenyra, Luke losing his rights to inherit Driftmark and the Velaryon name in favor, most likely, of Baela, the loss of Daemon's rights to his daughters - this will be one of Corlys' first demands to the crown, he will not allow the only thing left of his daughter and children in general to remain in the hands of the man who killed his son. All of Westeros will discuss and condemn the actions of the Princess of Whores, Uncle's Delight, for many years. It would take a miracle for Viserys to leave her as his heir, but will he succeed, and what kind of reign awaits a woman with such a background?

Anyone want to add anything that I might have missed?

P.S. If someone wants to use my idea and turn it into a fanfic, be my guest, just tag me, and left a link in the comments down below, I REALLY want to read a story with such a plot =)

PPS. English can kiss my ass me in that scary and dark place where I learned it through sheer force

[ellssbellss]

day 1

prompt: cuddling/nightmares

- @allaboutnalu - @thenaluarchive -

-> word count: 3.5k

-> summary: after a long solo mission, natsu collapses onto his hammock, ready for the day to be over. but his body won't let him rest, his mind instinctively drifting to a certain blonde mage. of course, he knew spending the night apart from her would stir up some longing in him, and that it would ignite his insomia into full flames.

but did he really want her with him so much that he conjured her into his living room?

or

natsu is always sneaking into lucy's bedroom, but what happens when the roles are reversed?

.oOo.

restless

Before he even opened his eyes, Natsu was awake. 

Which sucked, because considering he could hear the soft snores of his little buddy in the hammock next to his, he wasn’t supposed to be. Happy had always been the early riser between the two of them, knowing that the best time for fishing was when the sun was just barely dragging over the horizon. 

Still, he couldn’t help it. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the feeling of sudden alertness that had taken over his body. Slitting his eyes open, he stayed in the comfort of his hammock, ratty and worn and his. Having been sleeping on his side, he kept his arms around the pillow he was cuddling while surveying his environment. 

Growing up in the forests of who-knows-where ever since he was little blessed him with the instincts he carries with him today. He knows what it’s like to feel danger when it’s drawing near; a buzzing, hardening rock in the bottom of his stomach. 

This wasn’t that feeling. 

It was more of an excited awareness that had buzzed up to his brainstem. His gut told him something was coming, but he didn’t have to worry. He just needed to be awake when it arrived. Or, if it was already inside this hut he called a home, he needed to notice it. 

Sleepy emerald irises pondered over the rickety, cozy space he had previously labeled his safe haven. The dragon slayer could make out his clothes strewn over the couch and his dining chairs– well, chair– or the charred-over pieces of floorboard that peeked out under a rug that Lucy had picked out for him, saying that it would brighten the place up a bit. Some might disagree with him, considering the shoes on top of his kitchen counter and the pile of dry goods in his closet, but nothing seemed out of place. Not to him, anyway, because he knew where everything was. 

Huffing a breath of smoke, Natsu shrugged. Maybe it was his insomnia, rearing its ugly bed head for the fourth time this past week. It was a battle he never truly won. Being an energetic, sparking fire wizard who practically embodied the concept of carpe diem, sleep wasn’t something that came easy to him. Now, as the war of Alvarez ended with him questioning his own sense of identity and new nightmarish images of a certain celestial mage, it was practically nonexistent. 

The only way he got a goodnight sleep was when he was at Lucy’s apartment. 

Not only was her bed expensive, big, and soft as hell, but it usually came with a sleeping, safe key holder by his side. One that he could bring close to his chest when she was unaware, hearing her heart drum steadily in her chest under the moonlight that cascaded through her french window. Her scent drifted off of her in constant, jasmine waves; twisted with all kinds of perfumes and soaps, of course, but it was still her. 

Even just the thought of her sent his mind into a drowsy, dream-like state, and he stuffed his face into the pillow in his arms, already regretting his rash decision to not walk the rest of the way to her apartment. 

The mission he had gone on was long, sore, and without the blonde Heartfilia. So when he realized that the walk back would take him right to his own little hut that he had abandoned for an apartment building on Strawberry Street, his heavy legs brought him through his own front door. Placing the fur ball that was snoring on his head into well-worn blankets, Natsu took little time to kick off his shoes and fall into the bed of rope string, out like a light as soon as he hit the pillow. 

He, like always, would see Lucy in the morning. 

Closing his eyes, Natsu willed himself to relax. He had slept in this hammock many times, and it had been comfortable to him. Before he met Lucy, he was proud of the way the woven, coarse fabric dug into his skin, even if it itched throughout the night. Now, it simply didn’t feel right. 

He scoffed at the thought, shifting again over the rough strands. Right, before he met Lucy. Because everything about his life had changed after. 

Images of golden blonde raced into his mind, and he flipped onto his back, letting the sway of the hammock rock him back into his dreamless sleep, before that sense of alertness came back full force. 

And it brought a scent with it. 

Opening his eyes with a new surge of what the fuck?, he sniffed the air again, inhaling the faint trails of vanilla, morning dew, and jasmine that swirled into his home. Mavis, had he really been thinking about Lucy so much that he was imagining her smell, too? Had he hit his head too hard during his mission yesterday? 

He made a note to see Wendy tomorrow, see if she could find anything screwed up in his brain. Granted, that wasn’t already there. 

But then he heard a branch crack outside his window. Sensitive ears picked up crunching leaves and rustling dirt, and suddenly he wasn’t scared that he was crazy. 

Watching out of the corner of his eye as his front door creaked open gently, he wondered if Lucy was the crazy one. 

Clearly, she was trying to sneak in. His partner tip-toed in, highly aware of the rotting condition of his home’s structure. A sliver of moonlight followed her tense shoulders as she squirmed her way in, and he swallowed his laugh at the way she winced as the door shut behind her with a soft click. 

Immediately, her wide, doe eyes shot to him, lying on his back with a pillow under his head and arm, and he stayed incredibly still. When she saw he didn’t move, she relaxed against the doorframe, and he realized that she didn’t want to be caught. 

Lucy Heartfilia, proud provider of a Lucy Kick! whenever he so much as thought about sneaking through her window, was inching across his floorboards, her bunny slippers catching on the splintering wood. 

Oh, this was gonna be so good. 

He evened out his breathing, barely fluttering his eyelids so that he could see the shadows of her movement in the darkness. To her, he probably looked serene, totally unaware of the way she avoided the spots in his floor that were weak, practically hopping around in her loose sweatpants and small tank top. 

But little did she know that he was just waiting for the perfect moment. 

He couldn’t wait to see her face when he jumped at her, screaming something like “Gotcha!”...or “Fooled ya!”...or something. Whatever, he’d figure it out in the moment. Point is, it would knock her off her ass, and he’d have teasing material for days. 

The silhouette of the celestial mage continues her hopscotch across his living room, getting closer and closer to the hammock strung in one of the corners. She was coming over to him? Even better! Now he’d be able to see her up close when he pulled his joke. 

But he waited patiently, watching as she made her way over here. Gently hopping over a dip in the wood, she seemed to slip on one of his vests, and the smallest squeal left her lips as she nearly crashed to the ground. 

“Shit.” She breathed, her arms flailing as her body teetered. With incredible balance, she swayed on one foot until she was stable again. Hands over her mouth, she looked at Natsu first, finding he hadn’t moved an inch. Then, her eyes fell on Happy, who truly was out for the count. Nothing but a fish hand delivered by Carla could wake the exhausted Exceed before he chose to be. 

Natsu watched as her shoulders relaxed, long blonde strands brushing against the exposed skin as she made her way to him. He switched his positions casually, going back to laying on his side so that he could see her better, and relished in the mini heart attack it gave her before he settled in. 

Another relieved breath left her lungs, and she whispered into the darkness. “How does he do this every night?” She mumbled, swallowing nervously as she took one big step over a large pot with questionable liquid inside. “And didn’t I just clean this place up?”

The blonde mage uttered angrily once more, and Natsu resisted his smirk as his name was half-heartedly insulted under her breath. Her words meant nothing when she was literally sneaking into his house to be near him. 

Or to tell him something. Or to yell at him? The dragon slayer swallowed softly, resisting a confused glance at his partner when he realized he didn’t know why she was here. 

He had been so excited to see her, and to mess with her, he failed to question it. 

Was she angry at him? No, did she find the underwear that he had accidentally singed in his and Happy’s recent game of ‘Panty Ball’? He thought he hid it well, stuffed between the wall and her dresser where no one could see. It was her fault for coming back so late, leaving him with nothing to do. 

Internally, he groaned, noticing her form was just inches away now. Well, at least he’d have one moment of glory before he was banned from her apartment for life. 

Finally, her slippered feet made their way to the edge of his hammock, and his ears perked up at her sigh of relief. His barely open eyes watched as she ran her fingers gently over the fabric of his bed, so close to his skin but never touching it. 

She did it with so much tenderness that his plan to jump out at her was delayed, his curiosity taking over his chaotic urges. 

Moonlight cascaded through the window, giving a spotlight to her form as she looked down at him, or he assumed, as he could only see her legs from this angle. Was she just gonna stare at him all night? She was so weird. 

Then, she unknowingly answered his question as she carefully knelt beside him. 

Under her weight, the floors detested softly, and her neck came into view through his slitted lens. And his stomach launched into his throat as her hand gently, nervously, placed her delicate fingers over his heart. 

Her touch was soft but sure, and she made sure to only touch her fingertips to his sculpted skin, right where his pulse was the strongest. He watched as his best friend’s throat bobbed with a swallow, her attention on him as she watched his chest rise with each breath. 

Everything about her was so hesitant, so quiet and contained that he felt that alertness again, but this time it wasn’t a peaceful nudge into consciousness. It was a feeling of worry and slight panic. 

Then, through blurry focus, he saw her bottom lip quiver gently as the smell of salt filled the little air between them, and the feeling grew tenfold. 

Silently, Lucy was crying. 

All plans to prank her were thrown to the wind that blew lamely through the air. After a sharp intake of breath, Natsu grabbed her hand that was against his chest, the one that held her guild mark, and opened his eyes wide, sitting up with a jerk. 

“Lucy…” He hissed, crushed at the wetness in her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

Her brown eyes were blown wide, and she ripped her hand from his grasp as she fell back onto her butt, a loud ‘KYAA’ echoing into the forest. 

“Natsu! You scared me!” Following the silence of the midnight air, her voice fell into a hushed nag, and he cocked an eyebrow at her. Her voice started shrill, but then she lowered it as Natsu put a quick finger to his mouth, gesturing to the sleeping cat a few feet away. 

“Really? You sneak into my house, and start accusin’ me?” He lowers his finger, as well as his tone. “Why’re you cryin’, Luce?”

She swallowed wetly, scurrying back onto her feet as she hastily wiped at her eyes. “I’m not! And I didn’t sneak in, the door was unlocked, so…”

“Lucy.” The longer he looked at her, pale skin bathed in moonlight and shadows, the more he saw the redness of the corners of her eyes and the tips of her nose. He hears her hitched breaths, or how she sniffles wetly while tucking a hair behind her ear. It’s not that she’s crying now.

She had been. For who knows how long. 

“Please, I won’t even ask why you’re here. I swear.” He looks up to her as he leans on his elbow. “Just tell me why you’re cryin’.”

Lucy’s weight shifted, her left foot behind her and the other one forward, as if she was ready to run away at any moment. She fidgeted with her hands, looking into his eyes for a moment before blinking away her tears and shaking her head. “I…wow, I shouldn’t have come here.” 

Her shoulders shake with her pity laugh, and she runs her fingers through her yellow locks. “I’m sorry for waking you Natsu, I didn’t…I mean, I don’t know why I thought this was a good idea.” 

Before she turns on her heel, Natsu’s hand shoots out, stopping her in her tracks. She doesn’t turn around to look at him, but he still sends her a pleading pout anyway. He throws off his blanket, sitting properly on the swinging hammock underneath him. 

“Luce, stop.” His plea gets a turn of her head, a shudder of breath from his teammate. “C’mon. You know I won’t be able to sleep now, not after seeing you like this.” 

Her brown eyes finally meet his green ones, the hue catching onto the shine of the moon so perfectly because of her tears. There is so much yearning in her gaze that she can’t seem to put into words, so he makes it so she doesn’t have too. 

Pulling on her wrist, he brings her closer, and she doesn’t resist. Trudging towards the small hanging, woven canvas, Natsu helps her sit next to him, her feet dangling off the side. 

“Can we just…sit here for a second?” She asks quietly, looking straight ahead. 

He doesn’t take his eyes off her. “‘Course we can.” 

They fall back then, letting the hammock catch their backs, the force swaying the rope back and forth in a gentle motion. But when he goes to pull his hand away from her wrist, she grabs it. She brings his hand closer to her, her fingers wrapping around his wrist, and her thumb pressing into his pulse point. 

His own touch finds her other hand that’s curled into her side, and they sit there, looking up at the haphazard, but stable, roof overhead. 

Natsu counts about seventeen beats of his pulse against her skin before she takes a breath. 

“You didn’t come over tonight.” She says, barely above a whisper. 

“I got back from a job that kinda wrecked me, and this house was closest on the way back.” He explained, his own voice gravelly from sleep. “Figured I’d spend the night here and find you in the morning.” 

“Sorry I woke you then. Sounds like you need your sleep.” 

“Don’t be.” Natsu shook his head, squeezing her hand. “I couldn’t sleep anyways.” 

He felt her nod sympathetically, her thumb pressing deeper into his wrist. “Me either.” 

The dragon slayer looked back at her, watching as her eyes flitted over the dust particles flying across the moonbeams above. His eyes traced over her cheeks as she worried the inside of them, clearly debating whether or not to say more. 

So he decided to give her a push. “Why not?”

Her head rocked from side to side. “It’s stupid.” 

“Probably,” She shot him a glare only to see his crooked smile. “But give it a try anyway.” 

A long breath blew past her lips, and she looked down at their conjoined hands, watching as Natsu’s thumb absentmindedly ran over the pink symbol tattooed on her skin. 

“I,” She laughed wearily into the night air, seeming to already beat herself up for even saying this out loud. “I had a bad dream, so I didn’t want to be alone.” Lucy’s eyes rolled in their sockets, annoyed. “Like a child.” 

The fire dragon slayer hums next to her, facing the front. He knew what bad dreams were, what they meant to the wizards of his guild. They meant being surrounded by grief and loss; by scary amounts of blood that you just couldn’t stop, no matter how hard you tried. Especially after the war, he walked into the otherwise lively guild hall to see more and more tired faces, his family trying to process the emotional toll that his brother’s actions had taken. 

His jaw coiled as Lucy sniffed wetly. Natsu never wanted Lucy to go through that. If he had the choice, he would take every ounce of her hurt, every iota of fear and suffering so that she wouldn’t have to carry more pain then she already did. 

But he’d accepted long ago that she was a warrior who fought in the same battle he did, on his side no less. Without her, he wouldn’t be alive. He wouldn’t be able to hold her hand like this, swinging in the hammock of his makeshift home, surrounded by her constant irritated glances and unconditional love. Natsu roars through human lungs because of her; he loves through a beating, bloody heart because of what she did for him.  

So, if she had nightmares, or any other obstacle she couldn’t face alone, it didn’t matter what he wanted. He would give her what she needed. A dragonslayer by her side, ready to fight whenever she called. 

Her soft voice brought him out of his thoughts, and he squeezed her hand to let her know he was listening. “But I couldn’t help it. I saw you…you…” 

Lucy breathed a shuddering breath, and Natsu knew there would be tears in her eyes if he looked her way. So he didn’t. “You were gone, and I couldn’t bring you back.” 

“So, I had to come here, to see you and make sure that it wasn’t real. That your heart was beating and you didn’t leave me again.” Her voice dropped off at the end there, and his teeth almost broke with the crack in her voice. 

They swung there for a moment before the fire mage spoke again, his eyes tracing the brick of his roof. 

“You’re right,” The rasp in his tone was more pronounced, rumbling in his chest. “That’s pretty stupid.” 

Before Lucy could whip her head to him so hard her neck would crack, he broke his hand out of her grasp and placed it on her head. He pulled her into his chest, making sure her ear was right over his heart so that his partner could hear how loudly it drummed. 

The pink-haired boy heard her gasp, and he felt the cold of her tears dripping onto his skin, which evaporated almost immediately after. His other arm came around her shoulders, and he leaned back. Natsu adjusted them so they laid long ways in the hammock, pulling his blanket over them as he settled the celestial mage on his chest. 

“I told ya, Luce,” He reminded her, placing his chin on her hair. “We’re gonna be together from now on. So no one’s leavin’, alright?” 

Lucy froze in his hold before melting slightly, kicking off her bunny slippers as she molded herself to her partner’s torso. “Yeah, alright.” 

She snuggled into him more, clearly not in the mood to fight, or yell, or whatever weird thing she did when he brought her this close. Her skin was cold from her trek into the forest, so he pulled her closer, making sure the cheap quilt reached over her shoulders. 

Lucy fit into him with ease, like the shining, perfect key in his tarnished lock. 

His pillow that he was holding earlier in the night also fell to the ground, being replaced with an exhausted star spirit wizard, and he mentally slapped himself in the face for picking his ratty old apartment over the beauty and comfort in his arms. Slowly, they swung, until Natsu chuckled into the darkness. 

“We really gotta work on your sneakin’ skills, Luce.”

She slapped his chest, her voice slurred. “Shut up. Your floor is too crowded, there’s nowhere to step. You live in a pigsty.”

“You gotta be stealthy. Like a ninja.” 

She pulled on his scarf, and his cackle bounced off the poorly-constructed walls. “Shut up and go to sleep, Natsu.” 

Despite her tone, she snuggled into him more, her nose tickling the crook of his neck. “You’re such a pain.” 

He just laughed, letting one of his legs drop out of the hammock, making room as he pulled her even closer. 

When Happy woke up the next morning, with sunkissed colors of pink and gold streaming through the windows, he put his hands over his mouth at the sight, an evil laugh whizzing by his whiskers. 

hope you loved it as much as I love them lol, stay tuned tomorrow!

day two

[bloodstained-porcelain-doll]

The Kneeling Queen, ch 10 - Aemond Targaryen x OC

Read on AO3

Summary: Aemond Targaryen and Maelessa Velaryon were childhood lovers. They were each other’s only comfort in a world full of darkness. When they grew up, their love blossomed until they were the only thing the other cared about. Their lives get increasingly complicated due to the fact that they’re supposed to be on opposite sides of the war. Will their love survive or will it burn to ash as the war ensues?

Chapter warnings: Public humiliation, blood, rough hardcore smut, asphyxiation, anal sex, BDSM, degradation kink, praise kink, blood play

Chapter 10 - The Kneeling Queen

Aemond and Ser Criston intended to make a show of their victory to the small folk of King’s Landing. Cole sent his men to take the head off of Meleys. Maelessa found it sick and perverse, but in the moment she didn’t dare to say anything that would anger Aemond. He leaned down and grabbed her foot.

“What in the seven hells are you doing?” she asked when he yanked off her boot. He tossed it into the forest and pulled the other off as well, then her hose, leaving her feet bare to the rough charred grass.

“Do you remember what else you told me?” he asked, standing straight again. He held his hand out and a soldier tossed him some rope.

“What?” Maelessa asked nervously.

“You said if I wanted to parade you naked through the streets, you would go willingly,” he reminded her, making a loop out of the rope and throwing it around her neck, tightening it.

“And is that what you intend to do?” she wondered. Aemond shook his head.

“Not naked, just barefoot. I’m the only one who gets to look upon you naked. But the people need a show. Who better than my sweet little princess to flaunt as my spoils of war? The pretender’s daughter. I do hope you’ll forgive me for chaining Catlys to Vhagar.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead and tugged at the rope around her neck until he deemed it snug enough.

“All you’ve ever done and all you ever will do, it’s all already forgiven. My king,” Maelessa breathed, receiving another kiss in response. The army then began to march, with Aemond and Criston at the front. Aemond had picked Maelessa up and placed her in front of him on his horse, and so they were off. When the two of them were out of ear’s way from the others, she asked.

“What happened to Aegon?”

A hint of a smirk grazed Aemond’s lips and he looked at her.

“Do you want to know what to tell people or what truly happened?” he asked. Maelessa frowned. She had a feeling the stories would be vastly different.

“Both.”

“You’ll tell people that Aegon and Rhaenys fought with their dragons, and that Aegon fought valiantly, but was overpowered. Meleys burned him, but he managed to slay both dragon and rider before his dragon fell from the sky.” Aemond sounded convincing, but still she doubted the truth of it all.

“And your part in it all?”

“Hm. I had no part in it. Unless of course, you want to know the truth. In that case, It was I who burned Aegon. He wasn’t supposed to show up here like an idiot and spoil it all, so I seized the opportunity to take him out. I would have finished the job too if Cole hadn’t come into the woods. I’m the one who killed Rhaenys and Meleys as well. Aegon is incompetent, he never would have succeeded on his own. I had half a mind to let the fool try, though,” he explained. Maelessa gulped, a wave of sadness washing over her. Rhaenys was kind and fierce, and her dragon Meleys was delightful. Maelessa hated the thought of dragons dying, but it all brought them closer to their goal, so she shrugged off the sadness and looked forward instead. Soon, their time would come.

It was days before they reached King’s Landing. Maelessa leaned back and slept with her head resting against Aemond’s chest. They stopped occasionally to rest and to eat, but in a rush to get back to the capital, the stops were short. Once, Maelessa woke, on horseback, to Aemond sneaking his fingers under her dress to finger her. During one of the stops, he had led her by the make-shift leash into a grove, shoved her dress up to her hips and taken her hard from behind, not caring that a bunch of soldiers saw them. In fact, he said it would do them good to watch him fuck his spoils of war. Something about battle morale and inspiring them. Maelessa had come three times, screaming his name and calling him her Master for all to hear. While they marched, Vhagar flew above them, and chained to her tail was Catlys. Despite the chain, the bat-like dragon only seemed happy flying after her giant friend.

Finally they arrived outside the gates of the capital. Aemond helped Maelessa off the horse and tightened the rope-leash around her neck. After having sat by his side for days, now she was relegated to walking after his horse while he had her leashed. Aemond and Criston rode at the front, with Maelessa behind. After them was the head of Meleys, and in the back a wagon covered in fabric for none to see. Inside lay the grievously wounded Aegon. His dragon had been left behind at Rook’s Rest, presumed dead or dying.

The cobblestone was hot under Maelessa’s feet, making the walk uncomfortable. Whenever she slowed, Aemond would yank at the rope, forcing her forward. The small folk of the city came to watch, covering their mouths at the sight. 

“Behold the traitor dragon, Meleys, slain by king Aegon!” one soldier shouted.

“Behold the bastard daughter of Rhaenyra the Cruel, Maelessa Velaryon! Captured by prince Aemond!” another yelled. Aemond raised the hand holding the leash, making her stumble, and some in the crowd cheered. Embarrassment burned her cheeks at being paraded around like a trophy, made to scrape her bare feet against the stone streets. But she couldn’t deny the growing ache between her legs either. She looked up at Aemond, who looked so strong and regal. Victorious. He would claim her upon their return to the castle, making all of this worth it.

She yelped in pain as she stepped on a bit of glass. Aemond gave her no choice but to keep walking, the leash tightening around her throat when she stopped. The shard of glass cut into her foot and she left bloody footprints in her wake.

The crowd of people laughed at her and cheered for Aemond. One man emboldened by it all threw a pebble at her, and it hit her in the chest making her yelp. At this, Aemond ripped his dagger out of its sheath and gave the commoner a clear warning. It was a warning to them all, as well as a reminder to Maelessa that she was always safe with him, that he looked out for her despite how it may look to others at the moment. It made her feel warm inside and if it wasn’t for the pain in her feet, she would have smiled. No one threw anything else at her, but they continued to mock and laugh. Their voices faded from her head and soon all she could think about were her burning feet. She whined and whimpered when stones and gravel pressed into her skin, the shard of glass went deeper in, and somehow both her feet bled when they finally saw the castle. In this moment she truly felt owned, like Aemond’s property, and despite the pain, it empowered her. She sniffled and wiped her tears, giving the people even more to look at.

Despite the small folk cheering for Aemond, they quieted when they saw the dragon head, surrounded with flies being dragged through the streets. Some called it a black omen, and none seemed to cheer, all seemed horrified by it. Maelessa was as well. If she had felt more confident she would have counselled Aemond against the action. A Targaryen should treat dragons with reverence, not flaunt their heads in the street. Right now, though, all she could do was put one foot in front of the other and march, praying they would arrive at the castle soon. Atop one of the walls she saw Alicent. When the green queen saw her, her eyes widened. She surely didn’t expect to see Maelessa here again unless it was with her mother, coming to sack the city.

When they finally arrived at the gates of the Red Keep, out of sight for all the commoners, Aemond dismounted his horse and took Maelessa in his arms, carrying her all the way up to his chamber. He wiped her tears and washed her feet, picking the shards and slivers of glass out of her skin, shushing her gently when she winced. Then he placed a kiss atop each of her feet and wrapped some bandages around them to keep the cuts from getting dirty.

“You were so good, Maelītsos. So good for me. I’m proud of you,” he said, bringing his hand up to cup her cheek. Maelessa closed her eyes and nuzzled his hand, transfixed by his words. Nothing melted her more than the words “I’m proud of you,” coming from his plush lips, in that soft voice of his. “Take off your clothes,” he ordered. She rose, wincing as she put weight on her feet. She unlaced the black velvet dress and let it fall down to the floor. She did the same to the stays and the shift, rendering her naked before him.

“Good girl. Your obedience pleases me,” Aemond praised, petting her hair gently.

“Pleasing you is all I want,” she whispered.

“I know,” he spoke softly, sliding his hand down her cheek, stroking it with his thumb before tracing it over her lips. She parted them and allowed him to push his thumb inside. She closed her lips and sucked it, eliciting a pleased hum from Aemond.

“Kneel, kēlītsos,” he ordered. She dropped his thumb from her mouth and knelt, placing her hands at her knees and looking up at him. He unlaced his trousers and pulled out his cock, already hard and leaking. “Do you know how hard it made my cock dragging you through the streets on a leash? Ñuha gevive… Such a good girl, there’s nothing you wouldn’t do for me, is there?”

She shook her head.

“No, Master. I would do anything for you.” Her voice was basically a moan, and Aemond smirked.

“I know. Open your pretty little mouth for me.” 

She licked her lips and obeyed. Aemond took her head and guided his cock into her mouth, letting her get it wet with her tongue before he pushed it deeper. She closed her lips around him and swirled her tongue around tip when he pulled back, then gagged when he thrust back in deeper. Placing her hands on his thighs, she relaxed her throat and allowed him to use her mouth as he pleased. He thrust into her, hard and deep until she choked and gagged, slobbering all over his cock. He pushed in deep again and held her head, forcing her to stay down as deep grunts of pleasure left his lips. Her eyes rolled back in her head, she gagged and coughed around him, struggling to take all of his length. Her breath failed and her survival instincts had her beating at his thighs. Her legs shook beneath her and only then did he release her. She gasped for breath and dug her nails into his legs, tears running down her eyes.

Aemond only gave her seconds to catch her breath before he repeated the action, fucking her throat until it was raw and his cock came out with blood on it.

“The amount of your own blood that you’ve spilled for me is impressive,” he said when he offered her his hand, pulling her up so she was standing.

“And I’ll spill even more if you wish it,” she promised. Aemond grabbed her by her throat and backed her up against the wall, pushing her so hard against it that she balanced on her tip toes. The wicked smile that covered her features sent heat rushing to his cock. He had sorely missed the way she reacted to his violence.

He slapped her face, once, twice, three times, making her gasp and squirm. The way her legs shook revealed to him how wet this was making her. Roughly, he shoved his hand in between her legs and palmed her pussy, pushing two fingers into her dripping hole.

“Fuck you for leaving me alone here,” he growled, leaning down to bite her neck. She moaned and dug her nails into the skin of his shoulders, holding onto him. He slapped her again. “I should punish you…” “That parade wasn’t punishment enough for you?” she asked, gasping as his hand crashed down on her cheek again. By now it was red and beautiful.

“The parade wasn’t punishment, it was for show.” He curled his fingers inside her making her cry out in pleasure just as he choked her again.

“Then… punish me… as you see fit,” she croaked out, and with a wolfish grin on his face, he did just that. He withdrew his fingers from her dripping cunt and wrapped both hands around her throat, squeezing harder and harder until she went blue in the face. She watched him helplessly and beat at his arms until suddenly she couldn’t anymore, and she fell to the floor. He caught her before she went down and tossed her unconscious body onto the bed, hoisting her up to make sure he wasn’t putting weight on her injured feet.

Using the wetness from her pussy as lubricant, he rubbed it on his cock and then pressed it into her other hole. He had never fucked her in the back before, but he supposed now was as good a time as any. He began to move inside her just as she woke up, dazed and confused. The sight made his cock twitch inside her and he could barely think straight as his mind clouded over with lust. He fucked her ass hard and relentless, and as soon as she gained clarity, she cried out. In pain, pleasure or both, he could not be sure. She grasped the sheets and buried her face in the covers, biting her lip as he hammered into her. She deserved no mercy at the moment, and she didn’t beg for it either.

A few thrusts later, her cries began to change, taking the form of moans. Aemond grinned and leaned forward, grabbing a fistful of her hair and pulling her face up toward his.

“Is my little bastard princess enjoying her punishment?” he asked, taunting her. Her eyes rolled back in their head like they always did when he degraded her. Her body seemed to melt and mould into his, shaping itself after him like the owned piece of property it was.

“Yes, Master,” she cried, tears running down her cheeks. He released her hair and slapped her other cheek, over and over until her gasps turned to yelps and her yelps to whimpers.

“What a disgustingly filthy little girl you are… This is what happens when you make bastards into royals. You’re nothing but a depraved little servant, isn’t that right? This little bastard princess doesn’t belong on a throne, she belongs on her knees,” he taunted, making Maelessa nod feverishly, moaning and shaking, her hands clawing at the sheets beneath her as a different type of heat spread through her body. The orgasm threatening to take her felt different than it normally did, deeper somehow.

“Yes…” she whined. “I’m your little bastard princess, Aemond… I’m your servant… born to serve you… My place… is at your feet!” she cried out and buried her face in the sheets as she came undone for him, squeezing his cock and kicking her legs as wave after wave of pleasure seared through her. Aemond growled in pleasure and dug his fingers into her hips, fucking her thorugh her orgasm. Then he tangled his hand in her hair again and shoved her face down into the bed as he released himself inside her, filling her tight hole up with his seed, groaning and growling in her ear, calling her his bastard princess once more.

When he was spent and they both had calmed down and stopped panting, he withdrew from her and cleaned them both up. Then they both crawled up into the bed and entangled themselves in each other’s arms. Maelessa rested her head on Aemond’s chest, looking up at him fondly.

“Am I to be your prisoner again?” she asked, tracing patterns on his chest with her fingers. He laid his hand on top of hers.

“No. Aegon is bedridden and someone will need to rule in his stead. Good chance that’ll be me. When I sit the throne I intend to take you to wife. You’re free to walk the keep and the city as you wish, free to take the bat and fly wherever you wish. As long as you let me know first.”

Maelessa smiled, joy finally returning to her.

Valyrian translations:

Kēlītsos - kitten Ñuha gevive - my beauty

Tag list: @magnificentsapphiresoul @ner-dee @sadgirlxangel

[raayllum]

Hello again! So I think that the Review Fic-Athon is a genius idea (would you care if I held one at some point? Maybe post Season Seven to help give it a boost in the ratings?)

But also, after seeing your post, I made an IMDb and a Rotten Tomatoes account (also convinced a friend to do the same) and started reviewing! I'm planning to review all the seasons on Rotten Tomatoes and all the episodes on IMDb, but that's a lot of fics, so I'm not gonna make you write all those. So I'll just ask this;

I reviewed all the seasons on Rotten Tomatoes (under Bunny T) so wanted to submit an ask for a ficlet with some Soren & Ezran post destruction of Katolis stuff? I'd love to see your take on (spoilers to anyone who wants to know nothing about what they showed at NYCC) post 07x01 with Soren standing by angry King Ezran, but also maybe knowing that this isn't the path Ezran really wants to go down? #let ezran be messy and all. Thx!! (sorry this is so long 😅)

Absolutely feel free to ask for more fics as reviews roll in, 100% tis the point!! And yess feel free to replicate the idea for TDP or even other fandoms - the more fics and reviews the merrier! Your kind words and efforts are already much appreciated <33 + bonus playlist I listen to most of the time when I'm writing Ez

Ezran took his first steps at the foot of King Harrow's throne.

Soren had been there, one of Viren's hands clasped tightly over his shoulder—him and Claudia had been playing loudly outside the doors and instead of dismissing them (Viren's mouth opening raw and angry, eyes understanding only for his sister) King Harrow had invited them in to play with Callum, who was trying to show Ez how to (quietly) stack blocks.

The younger prince had been more interested in trying to get his father's attention, tugging on Harrow's sleeve with the thumb of his other hand stuck in his tiny mouth. Harrow had been wrapped up in discussing matters with Viren, so a determined Ezran had hoisted himself up on the edge of the throne, and then toddled forward on unsteady legs—effectively stealing everyone's intention, drawn in by Callum's excited gasp—and any matters of state had been forgotten for most of the afternoon.

Ezran sits in the charred, ash-ridden throne now, just tall enough his feet can touch the floor... and still so young it makes Soren's heart hurt sometimes.

"What's taking them so long?" Ez mutters. Corvus and Callum had gone to track Sol Regem to the Valley of Graves.

"Sol Regem is blind and got pretty injured," Soren considers. "He might've made it to one of the forests to hide and nurse his wounds."

Ezran's eyes darken like embers losing their warmth. "We'll make sure he doesn't recover from his injuries, then. Use his wounded state to our advantage."

Soren winces. ...a dead dragon all in one day? Everything's coming up Soren. "I know he attacked us, but—isn't killing an archdragon really difficult? Viren—" I've given up dark magic, until he hadn't, both a far cry from the confident, ruthless man he'd been, taking pilgrimages to the border in search of unicorns for most of Soren's youth. "It takes a lot to kill them. Dark magic."

"We'll find a way. He has to be punished for his crimes."

And it's not that Soren disagrees, even. They can't let Sol Regem get away with things. He attacked Katolis, so deciding what to do with him is within their range. But... there's something natural, and twisty, and uncomfortable, about those words coming from Ezran's mouth, an anger Soren has ever seen before on his young friend—young king's face.

"I know, King Ezran," Soren says carefully, a lump in his throat. He breathes and places a hand on his sword. "You just... don't have to be judge, jury, and executioner all at once."

That's what a crownguard (what once a high mage) is for. The last one, at least.

Ezran is a child sitting in the ruins of his home, and he doesn't need blood on his hands, even if he wants it.

(At the Banther Lodge, when Rayla and Callum sneak in to bust out Runaan—he'll be executed in the morning, Ez had decreed, eyes venomous—Soren turns a blind eye.

He swore to do whatever it took to protect the king, and that includes Ezran's good heart from doing things that can't be undone, even if the boy can't see it yet.)

[coldshrugs]

hi Azia! since I'll probably never play FFXIV but want to gobble up everything you've ever written or will write for Io and Estinien, I was wondering if you could kind of summarize or describe the context for their relationship in the canon universe. what do I need to understand about their history in order to better appreciate the way they fit? how do they meet and what brings them together? are there some universal truths for each WoL that heavily contribute to who Io is (kind of like how Hawke in DA2 loses half their family, or every Shepard in Mass Effect is deadish for two years)?

no pressure to answer if you don't have the time/energy or just plain don't want to! ok thanks love you bye 💙

🧍

Hi Ells. I am so sorry....

Understanding Estinio

General World Lore: The story of XIV begins five years after a Calamity (an event of large-scale devastation that leaves the land and people struggling to recover). This is the seventh Calamity over a period of 13,000 years. Other notable world happenings are:

the Dragonsong War: a war between man and dragon that has raged in and around Ishgard for one thousand years

the more recent advancement of the Garlean Empire: Garlemald is a technologically advanced nation seeking to "unite" the world under its rule

Warrior of Light Things: The player character is almost a completely blank slate. Their appearance and combat proclivities are entirely up to the player! Their backstory is not really mentioned, and the only thing we know about them from the start is that they're an Adventurer, which in this setting is someone who wanders here and there, helping with whatever odd jobs they can in hopes of earning a living and maybe some local fame too. A little network of unionized Hometown Heroes. But some things hold true for most WoLs (headcanons notwithstanding):

They have a gift called The Echo. A few other characters have the gift, but it can manifest differently from person to person. The WoL's Echo allows them to visit scenes from the past, sometimes through the eyes of another and sometimes as a kind of bodiless spectator, usually triggered by high emotion from a person or place. It also has a few other functions.

They join the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, an organization that's a bit of an open secret, determined to stop Primal summoning (Primals are replications of gods, the will of a people made manifest, and they are powerful and destructive. If most people venture too close, they become enthralled). Recruited for their prowess in combat (or healing, maybe, if you're not Io) and apparent inability to be tempered by Primals, they, of course, become the team's most powerful asset.

Io Laithe is my WoL, a viera born in the Garlean-occupied region of Dalmasca. When she was 19/20, her home village suffered a violent raid, and her family was lost. She managed to escape and flee far to the west. At the beginning, she's around 29 and an accomplished archer, among other things. Io endures more loss over her story, friends and lovers, and she blames herself over and over. She struggles to lay down her grief and represses her anger for so long that she almost loses herself to it at one point, but she claws her way back with the help of her friends. She's soft-spoken, and reserved, but is also deeply kind and surprisingly funny. (This paragraph is short but I feel like I talk about her so much lmao. Trying not to gush too hard)

Estinien Varlineau was born to a family of sheepherders, in a small farming community outside Ishgard. When he was 12, his village was razed to the ground in a dragon attack. He found the charred remains of his parents outside his home (his dad had tried to shield his mom from the dragon fire). His younger brother was inside, trapped under a collapsed beam but already gone. He was the only survivor, and was taken in by a man named Alberic who held the title of Azure Dragoon (the most powerful lance-wielder in the land, but I'll spare you the specifics. There's dragon-y magic and a literal dragon eye that gives them powers. This was supposed to be quick omfg). Estinien swore to avenge the deaths of his family and trained with Alberic, eventually becoming the next Azure Dragoon. Eventually, he gets his vengeance, but the cost is so much more than he expects. At the end of it, he is begging for his own death, but his friends (the WoL included) refuse to let him go out like that and save him. He's since been on a journey of self-discovery; who is he without the drive to avenge those he lost, without his duty or his post? In personality, Estinien is blunt and abrasive, he cannot read a room (but he would like to leave it). He has a sharp sense of humor and often teases his few friends, he's extremely sentimental, he's very protective of the people he cares for, and can't stop himself from helping a kid in need.

Relationship Summary

They overlook each other at first. Io finds Estinien too harsh and rude. He thinks (since she is seeing Haurchefant at the time, who is... affiliated with a noble house of Ishgard) that Io is another pretty girl grabbing at coattails--surely not the "great warrior" he's heard about. And it takes a journey into dragon country for them to warm up to each other, when he learns she can easily hold her own, and she sees how protective and kind he can be to their traveling companions. They become friends and it's easier than either of them expected. They don't talk about their loss with each other though, not for a long time. Both hear the other's story from someone else, and it endears them to each other, an unspoken, invisible bond in addition to what they've already faced together. Just as Io saved him at the end of the Dragonsong War, Estinien saves her when she faces off against the might of Garlemald and almost dies. It's a long time before she gets to thank him for that, but when she does, it's around the time he agrees to join the Scions too. They spend more time together, and they become almost inseparable. And as the world hangs on the brink of what seems to be another Calamity, they quietly fall in love and almost lose each other again. Neither confesses to the other until things have settled down. But once the confessions are out of the way, they easily fall into warm domesticity. They spend the better part of a year mostly in one place, living together, working together, making the smaller trips they need to but always returning to a home base. Now, there's the itch to travel again. They just pulled a stint of traveling separately but ended up in the same place. He very much wants to continue roaming, and Io does too, but part of her is starting to think about a family. I haven't decided when or if they talk about this lmao. They love each other so much, but both have a strong streak of wanderlust, and both are legendary heroes who belong to the world as much as they belong to each other.

Why they compel me:

I don't know if you guys know this about me but I love to think about grief :> It's the shared trauma, the love transformed into anger, and how new bonds can heal someone. I did not plan for Io's backstory to be so similar to Estinien's, and even before I shipped them, their friendship was a highlight for me. I love that they do most of their recovery on their own. I love that they always come back to each other. Big fan of people who might not appear outwardly soft all the time, but are just SO mushy for their partner.

They are both symbols of hope for their people, for better or worse. They understand that about each other, what it's like to have some of your personhood stripped away so you can embody an ideal.

Estinien is impulsive and straightforward, Io is cautious and thoughtful. He pushes her, and she grounds him. They both relish the peace the company of the other brings, and they are more certain of the other's ability and resolve than they are of themselves. They are best friends, they are family, and they admire each other.

Some key reads, chronologically:

close quarters | oh no, she's hot…

oblivious | a mutual friend notices io and estinien seem… different.

what i see in you, i hope you find in me | io realizes she is not in love with zenos

pang | estinien has his own realization

see you in the morning | the night before they depart towards unknown danger, estinien tries to soothe a worried io

in this state | io is unconscious, estinien keeps watch

mustering | estinien tells io about his brother, the first time he's talked about him in decades

take another step off the edge | FIRST KISS!!!!

And then their tag is filled with gposes I've made, art I've commissioned, writing prompt fills, fics from the two AUs I've written for them, and tons of quotes or poems that fit their vibe. I'd share a playlist but I don't have a playlist... there are five now T^T BYE!! 💗

[mjrtaurus]

Following up on that old ask about Zoan children turning feral, I've found a way to combine that with the Seraphim.

Do you recall Hanafuda? The warlord who Ace defeated and was replaced by Kuma. The guy whose hobby is collecting Ancient Zoan Devil Fruits and whose epithet "King of Lizards" implies he has (had?) the T Rex zoan.

Safe to say there's a high likelihood the World Government is still in possession of Hanafuda's DNA , which meant a Seraphim in his likeness was produced as part of the reserve lineup consisting of Nemo and potentially Weevil and Law.

While the locations of S-Weevil and S-Leopard are still unknown, S-Rex was released at the same time as Nemo but was left behind on Egghead after the World Government extracted all the resources from the island post-Buster Call.

Months of roaming alone through this charred futuristic jungle and scrounging off whatever food from the machines and dead sea beasts he could find reduced S-Rex to operating purely on instinct. His puffy hair became matted and dirty, the rest of his body even more so because he hadn't been fitted for clothes like the other Seraphim before being released from his containment tank.

He can't control when he switches back and forth between his zoan and Lunarian form, but even when in the latter he walks with his upper body in a horizonal position and his arms tucked close to his chest like a T Rex. His wings flop uselessly at his side because he has no idea how to control his wing muscles and no clue of how to fly.

S-Rex can only communicate through screaming, growls, and chuffs. His aggression is growing by the day, in large part because he's not eating anything else but meat and he's wracked with digestive issues.

Needless to say, he's not much prone to genetic memories like the other Seraphim. Except when Dragon and Sabo are doing recon of Egghead months after the World Government has dropped their guard, the sight of Sabo's flames fills little S-Rex with rage and fear like nothing has before.

Which brings us to Sabo fighting the dinosaur who's actually a 4-5 year old kid who is probably going to be next on Dragon's adoption list. Although I'm kind of tempted to put him with King since Hanafuda is theorized to have been the broker for the Beast Pirates before Doflamingo and really King needs a Seraphim to care for bc all of the others already have adopted families.

The poor kid…

Dragon’s done well to put restrictions on his bleeding heart over the years. He saves who he can and tries anyway for those he can’t… but he typically doesn’t take them in. Sabo was a special case in the sense that the boy had worse than nothing to go back to, and would have fought tooth and nail against the world with or without the Revs’ support.

And the kid had imprinted on him, and Dragon was- is- still grieving…

And this child that’s been picking through wreckage and ruin, that had no chance to develop properly, had no sense of personality because the fight to survive took all of his effort and left nothing to spare for developing one…

And it just so happens that the Tyrannosaurus Rex - let’s assume it is as closely related to the modern day chicken as current paleoscience theorizes for this hypothetical- imprints like a chick. And this poor boy sees him call Sabo- his nightmare incarnate- off of him. And the fire goes away.

The man stopped the fire.

The man is safe.

And suddenly Dragon has a little winged T-rex chick huddling up to him like he’s looking for warmth. A return trip to the Wind Granma and a zoan transformation later, the little dinosaur is cuddled up against a very broody Amaru.

King might not be getting this one right away.

It takes a long time for him to trust Sabo, but by the time he can communicate well enough, the two talk about pyrophobia. A shared fear the both of them have. Ironic that the Flame Emperor of the Revolutionary Army is afraid of the very element that he is made of…

A side note, too: do you think S-Rex would be terrified of the Lunarian fire on his back? Running from it all the time? It flaring up because he’s scared and making him even more scared?

[kurczeno]

okay a quick question to dragon age fandom

why do we hate jennifer heppler?

i saw this few tumblr posts and everyone was like "but it was jennifer heppler, ew". I'll write my thoughts on her based on WHAT I KNOW and just keep in mind - I was 9 when DA2 came out, I played it but I might simply not know some things about her, some drammas or anything.

like first of all - i know there was a whole drama about her not liking playing games, but i hope we are not true gamers tm, bcs gross.

second of all - i know, she wrote anders in da2 and I hate him (I also like him, I just think hes super inconsistent + an asshole), I really do. He has a terrible char dev arc and is a kind of shitty romance, because no matter what you do, he never trusts you, which really sucks. Also the cannibal thing is weird and kinda makes no sense considering Justice is a spirit, so it's a valid argument. BUT!

a) anders in awakening was written by David. So, while as a writer she should be able to write a character, even if not from scratch, it wasn't the easiest job considering that I'm pretty sure the plan was to make him more tormented and depressed and all that jam. He turned out whiny and just... annoying at times, I'm not going to argue with that, but what I'm trying to say is that it wasn't the easiest job to go from "zevran but even more stupid" (i love daa anders btw) to what they PROBABLY had in mind, especially when you get an already established character. Still, could have been done waaaay better, true.

b) she did write branka, so one of the best characters in origins. The Orzammar plot is truly DA at it's peak, sorry.

c) back to Anders but I don't really think the whole "lack of trust" thing is her fault, because you know. DA2 was super rushed and they worked on tight schedule. So many of the game faults are because the game is barely an RPG tbh (still, a great fucking game though)

d) tbh the cannibalism short story, besides... well cannibalism, that makes a little sense is fine. Like, it's really interesting to see how Anders is slowly loosing his mind. And eating templars. (sorry I will never get over this, I just have all the memes in mind and theyre hilarious)

So is there something I don't know about or is it just "anders sucks, so Jennifer does too"?

sorry if it came out rude, i just wanted to lay down my arguments too and make it "as quick as possible".

[tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors]

!! have you ever written out a description for dragon-y Greta? ive gathered from the main storyline that she has many eyes and is hard to focus on, but i just realised that the way i envision her (giant smokey centipede) is not at all dragon-y.. does she have wings? sharp teeth? a face? sorry if youve already answered this somewhere, i tried to sesrch your blog but you know hoe tumblr is

i picture her as something more like a scandanavian/germanic wyrm-type dragon than a more western kind, low to the ground, almost crocodilian or resembling a komodo. very long/serpent-y, but extra limbs all down the sides, may or may not be symmetrical. the morphology isnt really static, changing constantly, but stays to the same general shape.

most recurrent features

exposed, charred bone

rotting bits

a so very many teeth, mostly of the crocodilean variety

Dripping. what is dripping? yes

a pervasive smell of burning meat and hair

scales

something like SCP-682, or do you remember when AI images were just starting to be a thing before we realized how shitty they were and you could put in a nonsense phrase and get something absolutely abhorrently unnatural looking back? like that

[invarietas]

hey-ho, i'm still alive!

got my brain utterly tangled by quite a few things in rapid succession.

aside from utterly losing faith in humanity as a whole and becoming determined to be kind to my people even more than my usual on nov. 5th, dragon age: the veilguard dropped on halloween; so i've been absorbed in that. quite a bit. not terribly far in but i for one am enjoying it.

aside from that i've become obsessed with netflix's the sandman and dream of the endless (ng can go fuck himself his chars are mine now) and as a result have created a blog for said endless disaster. located at @endlcssdreamiing for anyone curious!

as one may have seen already, i'm adding sherlock here as well, as I miss writing the scrungled moron.

i think that's it so far? you may see me continuing stuff from my previous blogs.

[queenofbaws]

Hacketteers but what if we threw them into dragon riding school? 👀

catch me catching up on some not-quite-six sentence sat(or)sunday!

The day had been overcast from the start, heavy grey clouds obscuring the sun, but as the creature's great wings beat at the air, even nature itself took notice. Thin shafts of light, almost angelic in their radiance, shot down from between the rifts torn in the gathering storm. The world seemed to shake - or maybe just shiver - as it landed on the rocky shore, a mountain made of oil slicks, its scales shining sometimes black, sometimes green, sometimes colors none of them had names for.

Slowly, tentatively, the first of the students held his hand out, feeling an instantaneous bond as the dragon's molten eyes met his. It was in that moment, as though through telepathy, he knew its name:

"Brandomere Asskickeous VII."

***

"Jacob, you said you were going to take this seriously."

Immediately on the defensive, his hands shot up. He cast quick, friendly glances around the picnic table, meeting the other counselors' exasperated eyes with a grin with maybe just a touch too much mischief to come across as earnest. "I am! I am taking this seriously! Look man, you said we got to make our own characters, right? And I wanted to make sure my dragon was the one with the coolest, strongest name - everyone knows that's how this make-it-up crap works."

"Your idea of the coolest, strongest name for a dragon was Brandon Asskickeous?" Dylan set his chin on his hand, narrowing his eyes as he watched Jacob from across the table. "You should be studied, man. In a lab. Like, with a microscope or something."

"First of all," he cut back in, pointing with his pointer finger like some kind of pointy poindexter before someone laughed a little too loud and he decided a different finger was in order. "It was Brandomere Asskickeous the seventh, he's part of a long line of incredibly strong, incredibly powerful dragon wizards - "

From where he'd put his head down on the table, his arms wrapped around himself, Ryan groaned, "That's not a thing."

" - and second of all, I'm not sitting here judging your dragon names, so maybe, uh, what's the word I'm looking for here...oh, right, shut the hell up."

Scooching down lower in her seat, Abi gave Ryan a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. "Um, I'm not saying this to rub it in or anything, but...we did sort of say something like this would happen."

"Hey, are we gonna keep going or not?" Nick asked, his character sheet already a mess of doodles, scribbles, and hash marks. "Don't get me wrong, it's gonna be hard to top Jacob's dragon, but...I think mine might just take the cake."

"It's not a competition!" Rising up from his defeated slouch, Ryan cast an exhausted look out at their little gathering. Why had he thought this was going to be a good idea? Of all the bonding activities he could've come up with, why had a tabletop game been the choice he'd gone with? Genuinely, he couldn't remember. "The point of the game is to, y'know. Explore new worlds. Interact with cool characters. Solve puzzles. No one's dragon gets to automatically be the strongest - no matter what its name is."

Already Jacob and Nick were opening their mouths, no doubt to pick up where they'd left off, but Emma beat them to the punch. "Well I for one can't wait for you guys to meet my dragon, Daisybelle, so all in favor of us getting back to Ryan's masterful storytelling, say aye!"

Much to Jacob's chagrin, the ayes had it.

***

The air filled with a thick, oppressive heat as another dragon joined the first, immediately causing the gathered students to fan themselves as they sweat. Everywhere they looked, there was only the wavering lines of heat mirage, and the warning sizzle of raindrops not allowed to reach the ground.

At first, no one moved - no one thought they could. Such a presence would burn them alive, char them to a crisp if they ventured too close. But then, cautious but determined, a girl stepped forward and the heat dissipated like fever breaking. She set her hand on the dragon's amber snout, and again, its name formed in her mind.

"Trogdor the Burninator."

***

"KAITLYN!" The table erupted into chaos as Ryan threw his arms into the air, and while there were decidedly more groans than laughs, it sure didn't feel like any of them were on his side.

"What?" she asked, assuming the same defensive posture Jacob had before, her hands raised, her shoulders high, her face slack with fake innocence. "I thought it was a solid choice!"

Covering her mouth and nose to hide some of her snort-laughing, Emma fell against Abi's side. "What kind of name is that?!"

"Hey now, I'll have you know Trogdor is pretty much the name when it comes to dragons, okay? It's basically historical."

"Oh really?"

"Yeah, see, I can tell you guys aren't dragon experts like me and Jake, so I'll let you in on the secret." Kaitlyn folded her arms on the table, then leaned in closer, widening her eyes dramatically. "Trogdor was a man. Well, he was a dragon man. ...or you know what? Maybe he was just a dragon. But he was still - "

And then, not just to Ryan's surprise but everyone's, she and Jacob popped up from their seats, whipping out what might've been fairly impressive air-guitar solos had they not been accompanied by them both shouting "TROGDOOOR!" at the top of their lungs.

Ryan put his head back on the table. He tried desperately to continue his narration.

***

Then there came a rumbling from the sea, as though some kind of -

***

"This seems like a bad time to reveal that my whole thing was going to be, like, a super edgelord version of Barney, huh?"

"Dylan. Barney's a dinosaur."

"Uh, okay, Abigail, what do you think dragons are?"

"They're...they're not dinosaurs! I...wait, are they?"

Knowing this was a battle he'd already lost, Ryan propped his head up on his hands. "Anyone else have a super hilarious dragon idea they can't wait to share?"

There was a beat of silence, and then Nick smiled sheepishly. "Uh...Toothless? From...y'know...How to Train Your Dragon?"

After another beat, Abi pulled her sketchbook up from off her lap, turning it around to reveal a startlingly gorgeous sketch of a stylized...

Wait.

"Um...mine's also...Toothless. Actually."

Emma clasped her hands together, leaning that much farther into Abi. "Oh my gosssh, you guys are so in-sync! Imagine that. Huh. You're like, dragon soulmates or something."

***

Once every student had their dragon, it came time for them to take to the skies. Only some of them, they had been warned, would survive this trial, and -

***

"Hey, uh, pardon me for party pooping, but...what is it exactly that you kids are doing right now? In the middle of the night? Besides eating...all of the trail mix, that is?"

There was a chorus of "Hi Mr. H!"es (and more than a few muffled giggles) as Chris came out of his office to stand by their table, arms folded and expression perplexed. No one rushed to answer him, though, which...well, that just figured, didn't it?

"We're playing a game," Abi said quickly upon realizing no one else was stepping forward. "Sorry if we were being loud."

"Trying to," Ryan corrected her, "we were trying to play a game. A TTRPG."

"Uh. Huh. Well NGL that sounds like a BFG, but FYI and JSYK, you guys GTG. To bed. It's late, and the last thing I need is you guys being all groggy-eyed for the scavenger hunt tomorrow. So quit ROFLing and GTFO, you know?" Clearly proud of himself, Chris gave a little chuckle.

"Sorry Ryan," Abi said, tucking her sketchbook back into her bag. "Maybe we'll actually, um, get to the dragon riding part next time!"

"Whoa, whoa, wait, there are dragons in your game?" Chris asked. "You mean like Trogdor?"

"Yeahhh!" Kaitlyn and Jacob cheered, giving each other a victorious high-five before cutting Chris in on that action.

There was no sugarcoating it. Ryan was devastated. "There's no way Trogdor the Burninator is a thing. There's no way it's a real thing."

"Hey, bud," Chris said, still grinning, "IYKYK. Now seriously, everybody, bed. Now."

((incredibly desperate author's note from an elderly millenial: please tell me you whippersnappers out there know trogdor omg))