#the-rejected-princess muse [character]

[the-rejected-princess]

@thewxnderer

lovebirds... (✿◠‿◠)

[queers-gambit]

The Black Dread part two

prompt: after word is sent for Dragonseeds to raise up, you shockingly claim The Black Dread. knowing your stance would all but determine the war, both Alicent and Rhaenyra send emissaries to persuade your allegiance through means of marriage. when tragedy strikes, you fly to war. -> in this part: receiving the Princes at Highgarden and a little flashforward.

pairing: Jacaerys 'Jace' Velaryon x female!Tyrell!reader pairing: Aemond Targaryen x female!Tyrell!reader -> hair color specified reader -> technically Targaryen!reader -> ALL characters aged 18+

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

series masterlist: The Black Dread < < < previous part, part one: read here > > > next part, part three: read here

word count: 6.4k+

warnings: cursing, more set up, depiction of anxiety, i think that's it and that's suspicious

You winced when the seamstress pinched your waist again while hemming the gown you modeled in front of a trio of mirrors atop a pedestal. "Apologies, my Lady," the woman with a heavy Braavosi accent excused with a quirked thick brow, "I appear off my clock, think I am seeing double."

"Expected after such long travels," you nodded in agreement. "Perhaps we should pause to let you rest, we can resume later - "

"No, no, nope, we have no time," the jittery ginger Maester Keiff Foral insisted, hands rushing in a flurry from where he was pacing behind you, "we have to get your dresses done now before the Princes arrive!"

"This is so superficial - "

"Stand straighter."

You huffed, "Tell me in earnest, why are we even entertaining these proposals?"

"Because war - "

"Not our war."

"Ours now that you've claimed a dragon!"

You sighed, just watching Madam Oraena Ostiris work in the reflection. "So we come to it," you whisper.

"To what, child?"

"You are angry I have claimed Balerion!"

Maester Foral pursed his lips, moving around to sit at the available table. "Angry? At you? I am weary," he admitted. "Bringing The Black Dread here, it has put a target on us, my Lady. The Greens and Blacks both were content to look the other way, we had declared ourselves neutral; they need Harrenhal more than they need Highgarden - and Oldtown's on their own, but now? Now, your dragon has beckoned them to our door."

"I can always refuse them," you mused.

"I do not know how the Princes would handle rejection from you in that dress," Foral chuckled. "Your father would choke if he saw you, my Lady."

"I suppose it is good he will not see again," you sighed, petting the material of your new gown. It was modern, chic, new; albeit revealing and daring, it was different. "I suppose I should ask, is there news?"

"No, my Lady. Your father makes no change."

In the tallest tower of the Highgarden Keep, your father, Lord Paramount Tyrell, laid in a bed; unmoving, unwaking, still breathing, as he has for the past 4 years following a swift and sudden infection. Your Targaryen Princess mother passed just a year prior to King Viserys, leaving you to inherit the lands, riches, titles, and all that comes with Lordship Ladyship of The Reach. This was until your brother, Ryden, now ten, came of age in another four years. Technically, he could assume Lordship at ten-and-three, but it was so stipulated he would remain under education until ten-and-four, pending your father's health.

"What do you think I should do, Maester?" You asked stiffly. "Prince Aemond and Prince Jacaerys both fly for us this day, what should I do?"

"Well, what feels appropriate?"

"As if that matters," you scoffed. He waited as you and Madam Ostiris chittered over your dress; making necessary changes in posture to let the seamstress hem and sew.

"Humor me, pretend it does," Maester Foral spoke to you through the mirror.

You frowned, rolling your eyes, "Well, ideally, I'd have time to get to know them both before being forced to choose who I want to bind myself to for life."

"Reasonable."

"For the love of the Gods, be helpful, Keiff, or get out," you huffed. "Do not just agree with me, please."

He chuckled, "All right, all right. You are the acting Lady of the House, you hold more power than you realize, and you now ride the largest dragon in the known world. So, receive them both and offer accommodations for the week their mothers have bartered for, and in that time, make clear you wish to spend equal time with them both before you declare for either side."

"I'm able... To do that?"

"Why not? If Rhaenyra can be Queen, why can you not take a week to get to know suitors you might possibly wish to spend your life with? Times are changing, my Lady, just look at the dragon you now ride, the position you hold." Keiff paused to take a long, deep breath, "You know, all-in-all, perhaps this will not be too bad."

"How so?"

"I hear both princes are rather becoming."

Your eyes rolled as Madam Ostiris snickered and softly mused, "Sounds as if, at least, whoever you choose will be someone pleasing to look at. There are worse fates, worse prospects of husbands, my Lady."

You hummed in acknowledgement, admiring your figure cut in the dress, directing to Keiff, "Do me a favor, old friend?"

"Of course, my Lady, anything."

"Keep me logical. If I fall prey to emotions, keep my head straight - I want to make the best, most logical, strategic pact for our people as possible."

"Do not be so pessimistic. Love can be so - "

"This isn't about love, it's about strategy, and at the very least, compatibility. A single week to decide who I will spend this life with, a week to consider which scales I tip in this war. This is about survival and stability, Maester, not love."

He sighed, watching Madam Ostiris tighten the laces of your exposed corset in a finishing touch to your attire. Since you were a babe, Maester Keiff Foral served your family; a surrogate father, nanny, tutor, friend, brother, the fun uncle you run away to when pissed at your parents. He hated how repugnant you sounded at love - wanting that magic for you, never wanting your marriage to be akin to a sales transaction.

Maester Foral, however, knew you to be a noble and honorable woman and if duty compels, someone who would agree to a marriage pact for other's benefit. So, he wasn't surprised by your determination to do your duty, but the way you spoke, the hostile acid used when speaking about marriage, about love - it saddened him. He knew you had so much love to give with nowhere to put it, nor were you equipped to accept authentic love - let alone give it a chance to let a flame catch and ashen.

One of the servants entered the chamber, hesitating only a moment before informing, "There's been a dragon sighted, my Lady. The watchmen predict no farther than 10 minutes from our location."

"Thank you," you breathed, Madam Ostiris finishing her work, allowing you time to finish prepping to your pleasure. "Maester Foral, please, uh, gather members of our court to the Throne Room. We'll receive the Princes. Oh, we'll need their rooms finalized, please, send some maids to double check the guest chambers are ready, as well. Ensure they're in separate wings."

"My Lady," he agreed, bowing out of the room to go do as you asked while you heaved a grand huff of breath.

There came a long pause as you looked at your dress, nodding in approval. "It becomes you," Madam Ostiris noted casually, packing up her sewing kit.

"Hmm?" You hummed.

"Power," she smirked.

"She's right," a voice chimed, Grandmother Celia came into the room; lips spread in a smirk, hands clasped before her. "Power becomes you, sweet petal," she chuckled. "That dress is exquisite."

"Madam Ostiris is a genius," you complimented, stepping off the pedestal. "I'm glad you're here. Tell me," your arms spread in bravado, "is this appropriate to meet our royal convoy in?"

"I would say," she approved, petting the skirt you wore. "Thank you, Madam Ostrich."

"Ostiris," you swiftly corrected with a smirk. "Madam, you've been shown your quarters, yes?"

"Yes, my Lady, thank you."

"Thank you," you dismissed softly, watching her scoop her personal sewing kit into her arms and scurry out of the room. "Grandmother," you directed, pouring a goblet of sweet wine, "would you attend today's affair with me? I do not wish to stand alone."

"Maester Foral will be there."

"I would feel stronger with another Tyrell at my side."

She chuckled and took your arm, patting it in assurance. "I will always stand with you, my girl," she assured. "Are you prepared for their arrival?"

"As best I can be. I feel as if I am standing trial."

Celia chuckled, watching you take a nervous gulp. "To what crime?"

"Claiming to be a Targaryen is a heinous declaration, bordering on a punishable offense. None believed me, said I did not look akin to my claims; now I ride Balerion and am fielding marriage proposals from Dragon Princes. It's as if I am defending myself from tension that brewed in my mother's generation, and none of it feels real."

Celia nodded, "And yet, you carry this responsibility beautifully."

"Begrudgingly," you corrected with a smirk. "Shall we?" You finished your wine, setting the goblet down and offering your arm to her withered hand.

"To the Throne Room?"

"Courtyard," you corrected. "I intend to meet the royal envoy."

"Then we shall meet inside," she decided, "there's no chance I'm traipsing through the mud. Nor nearing your beast."

You agreed, watching her part as you were swept up by a swarm of maids and guards all escorting you towards the front of the Keep.

"My Lady," your usual lady's maid rushed up to you, "there's a dragon - "

"Yes, Eyme, I'm aware," you smirked, waving her to follow. "Did you have the guest chambers made up?"

"Yes, my Lady, in the East and West wings."

You nodded, "And the kitchens?"

"Stocked and preparing tonight's welcome feast," Eyme confirmed. The winds swept your dress skirt back when the doors opened, surging down the stairs as more of your Household Guard joined the procession.

"Open the gates," you commanded, leading the way out of the Keep. Things seemed relatively calm as the dragon in the distance was a growing speck, but then, the peace shattered when Balerion lifted his head and released a loud, reverberating growl. "Shit," you muttered, "stay here, stand at the ready!"

You rushed to your dragon laying in the valley beneath the Highgarden Keep, trying to use broken High Valyrian but making absolutely no sense - turning into a blubbering mess out of panic. There was no true calming your beast, especially when he lifted onto his feet and bared his teeth in threat. You cursed again.

Balerion stretched out, making you keep pace at his shoulder as the distant dragon drew closer. "You know them?" You asked The Black Dread casually, sighing and patting the scaly hide of his ankle - the only place you could honestly reach. "Is it a familiar smell?"

He grumbled and in truth, you had no honest idea if he understood the Common Tongue or not - but after so many years, perhaps he did to an extent.

"They're guests," you warned your dragon, who breathed heavily; shoulders hulking, leering in threat as the other dragon became more defined. "They're kin," you sighed. "One is your old rider's son, and the other, his grandson. Did you ever meet her? The Black Queen, Rhaenyra? Daughter of Viserys?"

Balerion huffed and you smirked, successfully distracting him. "I haven't either," you told him. "We'll judge them fairly, yes? You sniff out their dragons, see if they smell deceitful." When he grumbled, you patted his hide again, "Good lad." The dragon began it's decent, you musing, "Here we go..."

The first dragon that touched down was tiny in comparison, your curiosity peaking when another dot was spotted in the distance. "Easy," you told Balerion, "Vermax is young, he's not a threat." Your dragon grumbled as the dark haired Prince dismounted. "Vhagar approaches, she's who makes me nervous. Remain vigilant, that's a good lad."

You did not move far from your dragon, standing a few paces beside him as his head leered in an arch to watch the exchange as you faced the Prince. His dragon leered at your own; hissing and spitting, backing up a few paces as you smirked. When he was close enough, you greeted, "Welcome to Highgarden, my Prince."

"Lady Tyrell," he halted himself, eyeing Balerion with mistrust. "What a pleasure it is to make your formal acquaintance. I am Prince Jacaerys Velaryon."

You relaid your full name, using your manners to ask, "I trust your travels were safe?"

"Yes, my Lady, thank you," he nodded, clearing his throat. "Though I regret to ask - "

"Vermax will be provided ample feeding," you smirked, clocking his breath of relief. "We've prepared for your arrival... And mine own, I suppose."

"I've often wondered, how much does The Black Dread consume?"

"Enough to feed several villages," you chuckled, glancing at the large head that dropped beside you. You laid an arm on him in a show of affection, "He's very good at self sustaining; though, I buy his love by feeding him livestock. I hope it makes up for my inability to speak High Valyrian."

"Perhaps we could arrange some lessons," he smiled prettily.

"That would be appreciated," you nodded. "In fact, I was hoping for your opinion on a tutor, while you're here. I'd like to learn of my heritage, but being able to communicate with Balerion is paramount."

"Of course, my Lady."

You watched as Prince Jacaerys was welcomed into your court as Vhagar eventually made her descent. You required a moment or two to collect yourself, swallowing nervously in the presence of the Velaryon Prince; a young lad you found almost dreadfully attractive. Despite his thick head of dark, luscious curls, he was every bit Targaryen you were - perfectly one half, on your mother's side.

For some reason, to the Realm, the mother's lineage is erased and forgotten - but blood doesn't lie. Neither do genetics, but that was a conversation for a different day.

You thought the Prince was well groomed; his thin face angular, high structured, and sharp, framed by his corkscrew curls. Though lean, he appeared to have the makings of muscle; standing taller than you, freckles sprayed across his nose and cheeks, lips plump and perfectly pouting.

Balerion bellowed when faced with Vhagar - even at a distance. You were unsure what word to use, but smoothly, you heard Jace provide the High Valyrian word for clam, "Lykiri."

You repeated the word with a stutter, Jace gently repeating himself to allow your tongue to form the foreign word. After another try or two, you were rolling your pronunciation; Balerion shifting his weight and growling, even under your patient hand. You muttered a few words in the Common Tongue, the beast glowering with literal smoke wafting from his nostrils as the One-Eyed Prince stalked across the short distance between dragons.

"Prince Aemond," You greeted kindly, "welcome to Highgarden."

As you went through the usual spiel, you got a good look at the Kinslayer Prince. He was handsome in a much more unique way; perhaps unconventional, but certainly alluring. His jaw (and nose) came to a point, his expression full with his single eye; stoic yet oddly expressive. His pin-straight platinum locks were down, pieces at his temple tied back simply to accommodate the strap of his eyepatch. His cheeks were chiseled. His scar was a dark pinkish-tan against porcelain flesh, indicating years of healing. Thin, bowed, quirked lips - even with a neutral and passive expression.

Handsome, indeed.

After hearing your court greet Aemond respectfully, attention had shifted towards you again. You told both Jacaerys and Aemond smoothly, "I hope to come to know the extent of our hospitality during your stay here. I apologize for greeting you outside the bounds of the Keep - I was unsure how Balerion would react to visitors. And I should apologize for our lack of Dragonpit, I understand the anxiety you might feel from leaving your dragons exposed; there's never been need to host dragons at Highgarden before."

"Mh," Prince Aemond hummed, "though appreciated, no apology is necessary, my Lady. Thank you for granting me your audience. The King was most pleased to learn you accepted our parlay invitation."

"No thanks necessary, my Prince," you shot back, saving Jace from rebuttal, "but I have yet to bend the knee, and therefore, encourage you do not mistake my hospitable curiosity to receive your envoy, my Prince, for alleged proclamation of support in the war ravaging the Realm. Yet while I do not declare for either of your sides yet, it's akin to alining with both." You paused, lips straightening in tight emotion, "I've learned those who refuse kings - or their kin - end in demise, so, at the very least, I'd be a fool to reject your entry under my roof."

"Nevertheless, the King appreciates your cooperation."

Balerion growled as if in disagreement with the term "King", but you just hushed like a parent would a child, "Aht! You behave."

Seeing them both offer kind amusement to your words, you noted how effortless Jace appeared and how Aemond's expression appeared to host veiled impatience. You remembered this wasn't some romantic meet-cute, but a very disingenuous way to marry; to find a partner; to start a new life - what very well could be the rest of your life.

Something in your gut stirred.

You were pretty as a petal, protected by dragon hide; knowing that when people saw you, they saw a meek, unmarried maiden and concocted their own narrative, snap judgements, harsh in their opinion. They thought you looked weak - a death sentence in this day and age; looking the part of vulnerable, all but offering for others to take advantage and manipulate you - only to dine on them. As dragons do.

Pretty girls were viewed as prey, appearing as easy targets. It was sickeningly frustrating to always be the bigger person; to remain ladylike, soft, kind, seen and never heard even in the face of adversity.

Like your grandmother said, it was time to be a dragon - who don't concern themselves with the opinions of sheep. Dragons leave absolutely zero room for disrespect, and they never ask for respect - it's given, warranted, collected, nonverbally demanded all out of fear. Respect universally bestowed to the top apex predator who could end life in a single stream of fire, crush anyone or anything under their legs, decommission entire cities; talons that can easily eviscerate, teeth that could shred human flesh and bones like cheese on a grater.

Be a dragon.

So, you smirked, "Follow me, then, my Princes, Grandmother will be eager to meet you."

Two guards walked ahead of you, leading the procession into the Highgarden Keep. Maids and other guards placed themselves strategically between the Princes, but it seemed the Prince in green leather followed you closely at an even pace, lanky legs moving him with a distinct swagger; feeling almost magnetized to you while gliding through the Keep.

Upon entering the Throne Room (which wasn't a real "throne room" but instead, the room the Lord of the Reach would sit when receiving his peers, guests, counterparts, and citizens), you saw Maester Keiff Foral with your grandmother, Celia, standing at the front of the room with your brother, Ryden, around the seat you were to occupy.

Not feeling secure enough to sit in your new dress, you remained standing while introducing the two Princes - but it was still obvious, you were at the helm of Highgarden.

"Prince Aemond and Prince Jacaerys wish to discuss an alliance between our Houses - we are going to hear their marriage petitions," you announced officially, finally taking a seat - but in a perch, teetering at the very edge. "Now," you cleared your throat, "you both sent words of parlay that we have agreed to hear. Are you both designated to offer terms of negotiation?"

"Yes, my Lady," Jace nodded, your eyes shifting to Aemond, who nodded and repeated his words.

With a hum, you continued, "Then I encourage you both to listen closely. As Lady of this House, I will do whatever is right by my people - not this war. I am not currency for either of you to collect, this is about negotiating terms of peace. Nobody today is present under false pretenses, yes?"

There was a murmured wave of agreement.

"Then we are all aware that this alliance means the fighting rights to Balerion." There was another few nods. "I would see peace return to our land, to this Realm, but first, we have much to discuss. So, I will offer you both one week. In this proposed week, I will attempt to spend equal time with you both and learn of you; since marriage is served over a lifetime, I want to be sure about the man I willingly spend it with. Is this agreeable?"

"I accept your terms," Aemond nodded.

"Oh, you haven't heard my terms yet, love, sit tight," you mused; longer fingernails drumming on the armchairs. "Is this agreeable? A one-week term?"

"Yes, my Lady, most gracious of you," Jace agreed.

Aemond's head tilted to the side, slowly regarding those who ruled The Reach - all watching him like a wild dragon. "Tell me," Aemond leered, "when Lord Tyrell passes, who inherits Highgarden?"

You scoffed gently.

"Lady Tyrell, my Prince, until the new Lord Tyrell comes of age," Maester Keiff Foral answered strongly. "Your father, Gods rest his soul, was a peaceful King and the Realm is forever grateful that the Quiet Age lasted this long after King Jaehaerys ruled - but Viserys was not the first man to name a woman heir. Yes, first woman to the Iron Throne, but there are known keeps and kingdoms under the leadership of women - The Reach, for example. The Vale and Dorne, too."

"I am well aware. Does Lord Tyrell have any bastards?"

"Uh, n-no, my Prince. None that are known...?"

"Can anyone lay claim to her inheritance?" Aemond asked plainly, cutting off anyone ready to scold him for his brash questions.

"No, but she is expected to rule until her brother ages, and Gods forbid, if something happens to Ryden, she is to birth presumably the next Lord of Highgarden," Keiff answered slowly, as if piecing the idea together in real time.

"Then, forgive my hesitance, but why bother with Prince Jacaerys?" Aemond dared. "If he's to inherit the Throne," he mocked, "Lady Tyrell would have to forfeit her duties and the family's ancestral seat for a time, produce heirs for her husband's line, stand at the King's side when she's meant to rule here. Begs the question who Prince Jacaerys means to propose for this alliance? Surely, not himself as he's previously betrothed - to his cousin, uh, stepsister, Lady Baela?"

"And what of your engagement to Floris Baratheon?" Jace shot back.

Sure, his question was being answered (both engagements broken) and actually spurred conversation around the room, but Aemond couldn't hear anymore. Yes, he started this, but salty, warm, pressurized waters had flooded the chamber through sealed windows to trap Aemond in waves of anxiety. Suddenly, his nerves compressed, lungs emptied but couldn't refill; veins dilated to accommodate his worrisome racing heart, throat closing immediately after.

Jacaerys... Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, who would be a legitimized, recognized, acknowledged Targaryen upon succession... Jaecerys. Jaecerys. Jaecerys. Jace... Jace. Jace. Jace. Jace. Jace. Jace...

Memories flashed to silently - privately - remind Aemond of that day when Vhagar killed Lucerys - the little bastard brother of Jacaerys. That infamous day haunts Aemond, feeling unfamiliar guilt and shame with himself - which didn't say much considering Aemond's entire life was a steady-handed written tragedy. Now, the other object of his ire would face off with him as Luke had... Vying for a Lady's hand...

Aemond wondered if Jace - being older with dropped testicles - would scream, and if so, would it be like Luke's? Shrill? Or something "deeper"? Lucerys screamed in sheer terror before being swallowed whole; arguably the day that started the war, but definitely being first blood shed (unless you believed that to be Lord Beesbury). Blood was going to be spilled one way or another! This was war, after all!

Aemond hated being mere feet from Jacaerys, but for the sake of the Realm, he restrained himself.

Yet nobody in that room was stronger than Jace - who stood, patiently, pleasantly, mere feet from the man who murdered his beloved baby brother in brutal cold blood. There would never be a more opportune time to strike for vengeance, but Jace kept his cool - insisting to himself that if he remained patient, he'd get his chance. Or perhaps karma would get Aemond! But one thing was for sure: Jace refused to "lose" you to this Kinslayer. So, he kept calm.

Aemond was sent to Highgarden by his mother; by the Green Council; by anyone not himself. Jace, sure, had been sent by the Black Council - but he had wanted to do his duty to his mother, in this war; to history. Jace felt honored to be received by your Ladyship - and by Gods, it showed.

Eventually, you spoke clearly through both Prince's internal thoughts, turmoil, and monologues:

"In this week, you are both welcomed guests, and all of Highgarden's amenities, resources, and services are at your disposal, my Princes. What livestock can be spared, your dragons will be fed - though do not be startled if they venture off with Balerion, he enjoys hunting in the surrounding areas. You're both to be hosted in different wings of the Keep," you laid out plainly, "and under no circumstances shall violence nor taunting be permitted. I understand the animosity between you two, there's been plenty of rumors - so I will not see bloodshed in nor around my home," you directed at Aemond, "to one another, myself, family, or dragon; nor any staff members, occupants of the Keep, and / or citizens. Can you both agree to these terms?"

"I agree," Jacaerys almost instantly accepted.

"I agree," Aemond nodded stiffly.

"Good. Then, come next Sunday, I endeavor to have a decision for you. I ask you both to consider a single question that I will expect answered in the coming days: what role would you have me play in this war? What would you see me do? Have me do?" There came a pause. "If there are no questions, I think we have much to discuss - privately."

When neither Prince argued, you and Maester Foral lead the terms of negotiation. You worried mostly over how The Reach would either suffer or benefit; hardly caring about personal expectations, you wanted to know who would overhead the barley production that season - since ale was so precious to the Realm. You wanted to know who would be funding the new irrigation system. You wanted to know how quickly either side would retreat once their alliance was made - essentially asking how long this war was expected to last post alliance. You wanted to know how best to help your people, fearing they'd suffer if you chose the wrong side to aline with.

After several hours, you understood the terms set by the Blacks and Greens; insisting they disperse for supper and get a fresh start for tomorrow. When the chambers emptied, leaving you, Keiff, and Celia, it was eerily quiet for several long heartbeats.

"What is it?" Maester Foral asked, leaning his crossed arms on the tabletop. "What do you think, my Lady?"

"This feels... I don't know, futile?" You struggled to think rationally, sighing deeply. "Like, what's the point? Rhaenyra isn't gonna let her claim to the Iron Throne go. And Aegon is more likely to tap dance naked in the streets of King's Landing than stand off the Throne. His mother, I hear, would probably shove him out a bloody window if he dared give up the Throne she stole for him. No matter what, Keiff, both sides think they're right and it's too late now. So, what do we do? Do we affirm this usurper's claim? Or do we help the Queen get her birthright back?"

"It is not a simple thing I can answer."

"Nobody can - yet I am expected to," you huffed. "They won't back down... We all know they won't - neither side will consent. So, no matter what I do, who I choose, I'll be on the frontlines with Balerion. They'll expect us to commit some incredible yet treacherous acts, like The Conqueror fucking burning Harrenhal. No matter what we choose, this war isn't gonna end, will it?"

Celia just sighed as Maester Foral was quiet, then he, too, sighed deeply. He spoke softly, "In truth? I always worried this would happen. There's nothing wrong with a woman heir, I never understood the fuss. Yet this country is so - so - so...?"

"Traditional?" Celia guessed. "Stubborn?"

"Closed minded," Keiff found the words, you nodding along. "They think because we started with a King, we should end with a King, and nowhere between should there be a ruling Queen. I don't know if Rhaenyra stands a chance winning..."

"What do you mean?" Celia asked stiffly.

"Even if she defeats the Greens, takes back her Throne, she'll still have to face the entire Realm - who whisper about her predicted downfall. A Queen will never rule," he frowned, "and the people would become restless and unhappy, betrayal would always brew - someone would always plot against her. She wouldn't be winning the war - but affirming it."

You frowned, "Who would think they have better claim than Rhaenyra?"

"Aegon - "

"Besides him," you chuckled.

"Prince Aemond, probably. And by the same right, Prince Daeron would have a claim - being Viserys' seed," Celia considered. "Could even be a bastard or two lingering in the shadows. Consider if Baelon had bastards, huh?"

"Prince Baelon? Bastards?" You laughed. "The man was devoted to his wife!"

"Devoted men can still fuck around! A cunt is still a cunt!"

"Oh, Grandmother, don't say that - I don't think you're allowed to say that and I certainly don't wish to hear it!"

Keiff spoke over you both, "There could be any number of bastards - from any number of royals. But there's no real proof of lineage, less the sire steps forward, and in this case, all sires are dead. So, I wouldn't worry about any bastards trying to raise and lay claim."

The night was still young and the questions only just starting.

ONE WEEK LATER

Dawn would peak in less than an hour, and yet, instead of being safe and warm in bed, you were slipping in dew-dotted grass while carting a wagon full of sickly lambs. In a tremendously unladylike fashion, you cursed like a sailor, annoyed with nature; pacing further from the border of the Highgarden Keep.

After clearing the dewy hill, you descended into the valley Balerion had curled up in. His head lifted as you approached, his grumble causing the earth to quake and send birds squawking into the skies. "Yeah," you panted, "I'm hungry, too, love, just gimme a second. Good lad."

For the past nine weeks you've had your dragon, you had fallen into routine of bringing him little treats. Cattle, goats, chickens, sometimes dogs or horses; and today, after an entire litter fell fatally ill, lambs. Vhagar and Vermax were in the sky above the Keep.

"All right, love," you sighed, approaching your beastie. With a tentative tongue, you tried the commands in High Valyrian both Princes had taught you that past week, "Serve, Balerion."

No story could do this beast justice. He was magnificent, but also absolutely terrifying - horrifying - devastating to gaze at. It's said “his wingspan was so large that his shadow could engulf entire towns when he passed overhead. His teeth were as long as swords, and his jaws were large enough to swallow an aurochs whole, or even one of the hairy mammoths that are said to roam the cold wastes beyond the Port of Ibben.”

In person, he was the living embodiment of Death.

You repeated yourself, listening to your dragon huff before lowering his head. "Be calm, Balerion," you commanded with a stern voice, smirking when he grumbled, "be calm. Easy... Easy," you chanted, extending your hand. His lip twitched as his snout extended, allowing you to lay a gentle touch to his cracked ebony scales. "Good," you praised, "good, be calm."

He breathed deeply, eyes bright and blazing a menacing flame red. You were lost in thought as you stroked his face, mind whirling with all that happened the past week; mind nagging about the stark differences in Dragon Princes. Balerion did not find his feet, there was no need; lifting his head only slightly when you pulled away to overturn the wagon before him. At your feet, the lambs were too sick to run away, bleating helplessly; the great large beast locking eyes with you and waiting for permission.

After several steps back, you smirked and called, "Eat, Balerion."

Behind you, a voice called your name. Balerion didn't care, indulging in his breakfast treat, allowing you to peak back and locate your best mate, Alora Flowers, waving you down. "C'mon, love," she called.

"You! C'mere," you told her, lugging the now empty wagon behind you.

"Gods, no!" She squeaked. "You get up here! I'm not going around that beast, you know this!"

"Coward!"

"Absolutely! Proudly!"

You laughed, lugging the wagon to a certain height and then leaving it to meet Alora on the hill incline. "Still scared of him?" You teased.

"Of the big arse dragon?" She laughed, "Yeah! I'm still scared! Even at this distance, he could reach out and snack on us."

"Good thing he won't," you assured, nudging her to sit down. "What're you doin' out here? It's early."

"You were not in your chambers," she noted, "and today's the day you announce to the Princes... I wanted to check on you, see how you're feeling about everything."

You scoffed, shaking your head in amusement as she revealed the miniature picnic basket she brought. As Alora unpacked an array of fruits, some cheeses and breads with jams, honey, and dried meats, you admitted, "I've no bloody idea what to think anymore."

"Oh, that's not good."

You hummed, biting into an apple as Balerion crunched three lambs between his jaws at once. "It's been a touch overwhelming," you muse. "But either Prince has made an impression, I am now tasked with choosing a side in this Godsforsaken war."

"You could truly turn the tide in it," Alora nodded, biting into a plum. "Take the Realm in a direction it's never been before... Or support it going in the same direction it's always gone. Which, you know, lead us here anyways."

Your eyes rolled, "Well, when you phrase it like that..."

"C'mon," she nudged your shoulder. "They're both very handsome, but for different reasons."

"Hmm?"

"Prince Jacaerys is handsome in a stereotypical way. You know, cut jawline, chiseled cheekbones, luscious curly hair. He's young, but in a charming way - seems green to the ways of the world. He'd be a match to learn with you," she chuckled, sighing to herself.

"You seem enraptured - surely, you'd hate me for choosing Prince Jacaerys since you sound so taken by him."

"Unless the Prince's penis suddenly reverts within his body, I don't envision myself with him," Alora teased, making you both laugh loudly. She flinched a little when Balerion grumbled and lifted his head to seemingly glare at the pair of you for interrupting him. After clearing her throat, she continued, "On the other hand, Prince Aemond's handsome in a rugged way. He's entirely chiseled, mysterious and confident. His entire presence drawls you in."

"All seems so simple when comparing men on parchment," you frowned, leaning back onto your elbow as the sun began its ascent above the horizon.

"Well, let's break it down."

"How?"

"If you aline with the Greens, what would that look like?"

You paused to consider her question, answering, "Chaotic."

"Think deeper."

Chewing a piece of bread with cheese, you considered, "Probably a logical choice, since the Realm has only ever known men to sit the Iron Throne. It wouldn't challenge norms, would relatively keep the peace since there's plenty to be expected when a man rules. Balerion would be put to use; that, I can all but guarantee. Things would... Become predictable, but perhaps that's preferred. After decades of peace, perhaps it's best to not change the status quo."

Alora nodded, "Alining with the Greens would keep Aegon on the Throne."

"Use Balerion would neutralize Rhaenyra, though?"

"Probably. And anyone who offers Aegon insult."

"And if I aline with the Blacks, then I would dethrone a usurper..."

"What an adventure that sounds like," she chuckled, you agreeing. "Keep going, we could expect what outta you alining with the Blacks?"

You huffed, "Chaos."

"Bitch."

Laughter felt a little misplaced, but still, you shared in the exchange of amusement. "Rhaenyra's the emotional choice - where it almost doesn't matter her qualifications because the Realm swore to her; she was declared and her claim upheld by her father, the King. We would be putting a Queen on her Throne, as intended. The Greens would be extinguished... We'd be heralding in a new age. Her son would sit the Throne after her..."

Alora blinked, "Am I just realizing that now?"

"What?"

"If you marry Aemond, you'll be the King's sister-by-law. If you marry Jace, you'd... You'd be Queen one day."

"What a fate after all I've been denied," you scoffed bitterly, "all my mother and aunt were denied."

"The Vanished Princess and the Queen Who Never Was. Quite a pair."

"I hear, in their youth, they were," you frowned with a sigh. "We'll never see their likes again."

"No... But perhaps, we'll see something new in you. Answer me this, who did you think was nice?"

"Oh, fuck off - nobody cares for that - "

"I do," she snapped. "Now, answer me. Who do you think is nice? Which Prince? Either? Neither? Both?"

You hummed in consideration, answering nervously, "Jace was nice - is. Is nice, Jace is nice."

"Who do you think you have more in common with?"

"Maybe Aemond."

"Are either of them funny?"

"Jace has a sense of humor, Aemond is so very... Rigid and stoic."

"I imagine it takes longer than a week to truly know someone, perhaps he is anxious?"

"Or perhaps he is simply doing his duty," you scoffed gently. "At the very least, Jace seems... Somewhat..." You shrugged, "Excited to be here, maybe even intrigued."

She nodded. "So, no matter who you choose, we're looking at war - but the end of the war, so... Where do you wish to stand? Since it's inevitable, I think this comes down to what kind of chaos you want to see - a chaos we've endured or one we've never seen before? I mean, never before has a woman come so close to the Throne..."

There was a long silence. Like, several minutes long. After deep-enough contemplation, you whispered, "If this past week if any indication..." You trailed off, sighing deeply for the hundredth time; staring at Balerion. "I think I know what I should do."

"Oh?"

"Talking it out helps."

"Then talk," she leaned back in the grass. "Tell me about this past week - tell me about the Princes."

And where to start?

< < < previous part, part one: read here

> > > next part, part three: read here

requesting rules and masterlist

HOTD masterlist

The Black Dread series masterlist

[avesomnia-inhoramortis]

[ooc]

Gender fuckery/general musing: while alchemically speaking Mohg is the Red King and Trina is the White Queen, Trina is also the rejected feminine aspect of her own White King, the very concept of which is delightfully nonbinary. Miquella quite literally rejected his role as an Arthurian princess to Build-a-Bear himself a husband and create a new world his damn self. We love men's wrongs here. That said, considering how extremely queer he is, I think Trina deserves to be really queer in her own way too.

We all know how Mohg can be read as queer. He's literally hated by the Catholic Church and found his own family (among other things but still).

Trina is very much the damsel in distress in canon, though prior to current events she seemed pretty on par for the pious princess sort of trope, devout and generous and good. Y'know. Barring all the self-destructive drinking and the occasional assassination she probably enables.

Miquella himself has some fey elements that we can assume carry over to Trina, though, and that's where I've been having the majority of my fun. She likes being a kid in a way Miquella really doesn't. Let her get up to nonsense!!!

But that proclivity for nonsense is going to change depending on what situation I put her in, and if I have her allying with Mohgwyn, she's going to have to figure out where she stands with the violence and bloodshed. She is an extremely passive character who does not really initiate things unless pushed to it, or if she's having an extreme childish lack of impulse control, mostly pulled along by gut feelings and whimsy as well as compassion when necessary.

So. All of that said.

While Trina is extremely feminine in all ways, and absolutely not a Red Queen in the same way that Malenia is, in the right lighting I think she would absolutely look like Miquella's triplet. And she's a secret third thing, neither alchemical king nor queen, but the mediating spirit between the two.

I'm restraining an alchemy ramble real hard.

Suffice it to say that the third party in the Divine Marriage is an aspect of the divine itself, a spirit that helps forge cohesion between the two halves, and that's why Trina is never just herself. She's the alchemical divine spirit meant to glue Miquella to his other half.

In summation for my headcanons:

She's a girl, but in a nonbinary way, and I think probably inherently inclined to polyamory and demisexuality. And, though she's very shy and mostly avoids occasions where this is necessary... I do think if push came to shove she has what it takes to command soldiers and lead an army. She's very compelling in her own way. But... probably more likely to assemble a team of assassins.

Since she's also a spirit/religious figure, I 100% headcanon that she can use any weapon she has blessed or otherwise helped make, like her arrows and swords. She's just not very likely to actually fight to kill and generally avoids the whole thing entirely. But she'd probably enjoy sparring a lot, since that's a bit of a game.

Put that girl in riding pants and flower crown braids and give her archery muscles!!!! She can be delicate and dainty and also pull a divine shortbow. She deserves it.

[the-rejected-princess]

@thewxnderer

by DUOJ@DUOJ_ji

[chibi-pix]

Chibi watches V3D 10!

Well, time for another episode of Voltron: The Third Dimension!

“Descent into Madness”. Title is catching my attention. I have high hopes for this episode.

Starting the episode with Keith pissed with that calculator amuses me. And. Honestly? My knowledge of Voltron with VF and DotU? I’m with Allura on the spirits of the lions. They aren’t just machines and I feel like they should research more. Research means understanding.

Oh ho ho! Keith is witnessing Zarkon being the traitor! And Zarkon figured it out. “Your mother should have told you, snooping is very unhealthy.” Not my mom. My mom taught me to always pay attention and it’s not really eavesdropping if someone is too loud and don’t notice you there. “Miserable excuse for an offspring!” A good insult. But. Zarkon? The offspring is only as good as the parent in this case.

Ah, Doom forces expecting the team. At least they don’t waste time to try and form Volt-oh. They got attacked before they could actually form. That’s actually impressive on the enemy’s part to attack fast enough to prevent the formation of Voltron.

“The rest is up to Haggar.” Almost seven minutes in, seeing Haggar’s green magic glow, Keith being knocked down in Black, and the title of the episode? Keith is gonna lose his mind and descend into, well, madness. I think I’ve seen a scene in this episode in a discord server I’m in. I probably asked “What the quiznak is this? That’s Keith?!” and was so confused because, let’s face it. Knowing what I know and seeing the characters look a certain way in other versions? It threw me for a loop. Okay, preliminary musings and deductions over. Time to continue the episode.

And. Oof. Seeing Black down on the ground, poor baby. She’s gonna need some fixing. Oh hey! It is that scene! And actually better quality than what my friends on discord showed. Better lighting, too. And now I know what’s actually going on. Both in image and in context.

Oh. Did not expect to see the “skeleton” of Black. She really needs her outer shell. She looks eerie and naked. It’s unnerving.

“As cold as it sounds, Princess, Keith is replaceable.” Yeah? Well so are you you glorified calculator! Jeez, rude much? This is why we can’t leave it to robots to run the universe when they don’t have proper AIs that allow them to understand or learn to understand emotions of biologicals. It doesn’t go well. You get things like this and next thing you know, people are considered expendable. It may be obvious? But I really hate that guy.

Oooh, Black refusing Lance. Nice! Further proof that she has a spirit and she doesn’t want any other pilot except Keith. She’s chosen him for a reason. This makes me think of VLD and the lions choosing their paladins. And even in VF at the mention that the black lion there rejected Wade when he and Coran were younger. THESE LIONS ARE SENTIENT! They aren’t just machines. And I love this about them.

“And pray that Keith recovers soon.” Yeah, you’re gonna need more than prayers for this one.

Oh shit, Zarkon’s in Keith’s holding room. Preliminary thought? Dude’s gonna set the feral boy free to cause issues and worry. “Commander Keith’s just lion around.” I hate Zarkon, but I appreciate good puns. Oh, I stand corrected. Keith got out on his own.

Oh hey, falling into Black seems to have healed Keith. Cliche, but it works. Now time for him to go and join up with the team.

“Now to go back to Castle Doom!” Apparently not. That quick retreat was actually amusing.

Finally, the calculator is allowing the research into the lions. Not that the team should have to have his permission.

Poor Keith doesn’t remember that Zarkon’s not their ally. Well, he’ll remember in time. Hopefully.

Anyway, that's it for the night! Until next time!

[coffeecat1983]

Stuck Together pt 1 of 2 (TotK one shot, Link/Kohga Out of Character fluff)

  "I cannot believe I'm stuck up here with you of all people!"    Link didn't reply, only glanced at his unlikely companion before looking over the edge of the rocky pillar they were stuck on. They were on a pillar in the middle of a pit in the Depths, and three masses of Gloom Hands oozed and slinked around, occasionally one rising up to stare back with a baleful yellow eye.      "Yeah well, we're stuck here." Link replied. "I'm out of weapons, arrows, and only have a few fire seeds. Not enough to get past those things or the gloom puddles around them."    Master Kohga groaned. "How did I get into this again?" he said, flopping back on the hard stone.      "You jumped me while I was trying to glide over." Link deadpanned. "Thanks for that by the way, you broke my paraglider."     "I was aiming for your neck." Kohga muttered. He looked down at the roaming hands. "Goddess, those things give me the creeps."    Link just hummed in thought. After a while, he spoke. "Why haven't you tried throwing me over the edge, anyway?"    Kohga sighed. "What good would it do? I still couldn't get away from all those things. Figure survival's more likely with you around, as much as I hate to admit it."      "Huh, so it's not because you're sweet on me?"    This made Kohga sit up sharply. "What?! NO! How did you get that idea?!" Link gave him a sly grin, one that oddly sent a tingle up Kohga's spine. "You're so obsessed with killing me, I kinda thought something else was going on."    Kohga groaned. "Goddess, no. Look it's all part of the Yiga clan's plans, okay? Get rid of the hero, be evil, that kind of thing."    Link just hummed again. He heard a soft sound and looking over, realized Kohga had removed his mask. The Yiga leader caught his look.      "What?"      "Nothing, just, I don't think I've seen you without your mask before."      "Lemme guess, you'd rather I keep it on?" he said, shoulders slumping in a familiar rejection.    Link looked away, a faint pink coloring his cheeks. "No, actually. You can keep it off." He admittedly hadn't expected the older man to be so, dare he even think it, good looking.    Then again, I guess technically we're not too different in age, he mused. Kohga let out a soft scoffing laugh. "Heh, I'll take that as a complement. But I'm no princess, I bet."    Link's face grew redder. "She's... not really my type." he muttered. Kohga looked at him, eyebrow raised.      "Really? With the way you stick to her like you do, I thought you were in love or something."    Link turned his back to Kohga, wrapping his arms around his knees. "She's a friend, and I'm expected to stay close to her. Part of the job. I mean when I first started, she hated my guts almost as much as you do. Wasn't until I saved her that she saw me as more than an annoyance. But what can I do? I didn't exactly have a choice in this job."    Kohga picked up his mask again, running a thumb over the painted symbol. "Yeah, I know that feeling. I wasn't really given a choice, either."      "What? But you started the Yiga Clan, right?"    Kohga scoffed again. "Please, all I did was give them a name and a new mission. Everything else has been in place for generations. If I had refused to take over, I would have been killed as a traitor." He stared out over the Depths, into the murky dark. "I, I don't really hate your guts, you know." he finally said. "Again, it's part of the job. An act."    Link turned, looking at him over his shoulder. Giving in, he scooted a little closer. "What would you be doing, if you weren't in the Yiga clan?" he asked. Kohga shrugged.

Continued in part 2...

By "CC"

[classiqals]

{tessa thompson, 33, cis female, she/her} We are so glad to see you safe, PRINCESS NOMENAOLITIANA "HENRIETTE" HERINIAINA RATSIFI of MADAGASCAR! It’s dangerous out in the world these days, but I hear that you are SCIENCE-FORWARD and COMPASSIONATE enough to handle it. Just don’t let your INSECURITIES bring you down! Stay on your guard, because with your secret being at risk for exposure, you wouldn’t want everyone to find out THEY HAVE A LOYAL FOLLOWING SHE CARES FOR AND FINANCIALLY SUPPORTS WHO WOULD FOLLOW HER INTO BATTLE IF SHE MAY SO REQUEST IT OF THEM, EVEN AGAINST THE RULERS.

BASICS;

behind the name: malagasy names tend to be a minimum of 12 characters, and are often derived from physical or emotional attributes relating to the infant. later, names may be changed, added onto, or adjusted to fit the needs of the developed adult. nomena is gift, and olitiana is curly hair, making her given name nomenaolitiana - the gift with curly hair. as she matured, she gave herself an additional name, being in nature, or "heriniaina". the gift with curly hair in nature. it is also common for those in madagascar to adopt french nicknames, and so for her dealing with other nations, she tends to go by henriette because it sounds similarly to the way heriniaina is pronounced. see more info on malagasy naming conventions here.

nicknames:  due to the long nature of malagasy names, nicknames are very common, and different between the exact relationship! for example - those who knew henri as a child (such as family) may call her "nomy", "nomena", or "no-no", shortened versions of gift. others (friends, neighbors) may call her "oli" or "oliti" for curls. those she met later in life, could call her by "heri". but typically... you can call her henriette, or simply henri. you have full permission to come up with a nickname your muse may call her (these suggestions or otherwise!) if you feel it is fitting!

sexuality: bisexual.

relationship: lovelessly married to risa ratsifi, banished ex-royal of thailand. has all but closed the door on her heart when it comes to romance by now, much to her dismay.

date of birth: july 20th

zodiac sign:  cancer

moral alignment: neutral good

hobbies: very big on knowledge and learning, gardening and agriculture, reading, chemistry, astrology, biology, and invention making... she also loves nature walks, swimming, baking/cooking, getting her hands dirty (non-violently), and has grown an interest in themes of divination and magic and spirituality, is searching for her own belief set currently. enjoys sleeping under the stars, bird watching, sewing, and understanding new concepts.

dislikes: rejection, happy married couples, war, general themes of suffering, being confined, small spaces, shoes.

languages spoken: malagasy and french best, but can do passing english, thai, and some other african dialects. is trying to learn hindi.

politics/loyalty: does not tend to be political, is more humanitarian based, but will do what is needed for her family as long as it does not come at too great a cost to her moral code.

inspirations:

DETAILS;

her earliest memories are nothing too fond - she remembers cold nights, helpful strangers, and the sensation of hunger. the fate of her family remains unknown, but when she was six years old, henriette was rescued by staff to the ratsifi family, before they ever came to be in power. the estate owners saw a treasure in the wild curly headed girl, and chose to raise her as their own, perhaps a soft spot growing for her from the mere month age gap between one of their other daughters.

it was better as a lady to an estate like that of the ratsifi clan, practically a palace from the start compared to where henri had come from, despite her rough beginning. for a time, she was shy and reserved, prone to watch and unwilling to accept help, having trouble to fully adjust to a life of luxury compared to the world she'd known of need before. there were many times she would awaken early to make her own bed, light her own fire, and prepare her own breakfast in attempt to beat the servants to it.

there was always a level of guilt associated to taking the luxury offered; but as the years went on, and she grew more comfortable in her place in the family, bonding with her siblings, until she, too, felt she belonged. even so - there were often times that the girl would go missing for long stretches of time, off to the tribal villages or scattered towns that the estate governed. henri knew what it was like to be in need, to be left wanting, to feel fear for where tomorrow would bring you, and she wanted to give back some of her found fortune, working to learn medicine and cooking and even themes of invention to improve the quality of life for everyone she could reach.

henriette did her part in uniting madagascar into one cohesive unit, and even was able to put her scientific mind to work in the creation of unique weapons and supply systems to fully liberate from power's reign. when madagascar rose to royalty, henri found pride in her family - but took this adjustment difficultly, too.

from a lady of wealth and privilege to a castle built, and the staff tripled, and suddenly - every door felt open. she was terrified to make a mistake, and when an opportunity came to strengthen the family defenses against their foes through a marriage, she did not hesitate to agree.

time was not slow to reveal that love was not in the cards for henriette and her new wife - and while things were tough in the beginning as she reconciled with her disappointment, the pair managed to find some way of cooperating enough that their union was not hostile, nor unfriendly. in fact, henriette has come to be quite fond of her wife, even if she faces jealousy for those who have found love. perhaps her need to be a helping a hand, to save everyone, had a higher price than the princess realized.

not finding what her heart needed in her union, henri turned to the citizens of madagascar, and spent more time in the villages as she assisted in building them up, growing her skills, and creating agricultural systems to quicken the process, and lessen the work load for others. it felt more comfortable than home, after all, and thanks to her long-standing dedication and wide-open heart, many communities around the palace came to see her as their sovereign, moreso than the family she came from. child of the wild - they whispered, and would revere her almost as a saint, much to henriette's discomfort.

now she has come to india with her family, though leaving home has placed a hole in her heart for all she's left behind, it has inspired her to learn more, grow more, and become her full potential and aid in this conflict the best she can. very rarely has she left madagascar - so this is mostly new to the princess, and she is very curious to see all that she can, and protect her loved ones from harm.

CONNECTIONS;

tba

[nightfoxproductions726]

An introduction:

Hello, good day. This introduction of me (not my story's world) is something I should have done when I first made this account, but completely spaced and wanted to do a worldbuilding intro over this. Anyway, no time like the present.

My name is Elyse or if you want, you can refer to me as Night Fox or Fox. Whatever is the easiest to remember or you are comfortable with. Pronouns are She/They.

I'm just your local Bi, Nonbinary, Disabled Adult Fantasy Writer and Art Doodler.

My current writing projects. My main projects are a loosely connected series. Set in the same world known as the Kaeyama, but has different MCs and Countries in each book. The side stories/spin offs are usually set in the same country as their main counterpart, but as I'm going to explain there's an exception to this rule:

The Legend of Bolyra - This story follows a Magic/Physical Disabled, Bi, Polyamorous Snow Elf Thief, who's a Princess in hiding, named Aerilaya Lithrina (later Likuri - a combination last name of her husband and her wife's). Who stumbles upon a sacred orb belonging to the LifeBlood Tree and a journal from a High Priestess who served Two Twin Goddesses during an investigation to make sure a local greedy noble isn't hoarding extra wealth at a seemingly abandoned temple at the edge of town.

The Legend of Huisong - Follows 3 misfits, who try to find their place in the world, while dealing with one another's dark and potentially dangerous secrets. A Runosu (a humanlike being with Iridescent Glowing Skin, Light Purple Eyed, and Natural Multicolored hair) named Sairi, a Kayosei (a humanoid butterfly person known for having beautiful purple wings) named Murasaki, and a nonbinary, trans Kitsune named Hiraku.

The Legend of Iecruinia - Follows 4 dragonborns who end up on a quest to find their kidnapped parents and the sacred crystals their parents were guarding. Before the floating islands of their lands come crashing down and watch their country being thrown into destructive chaos.

Side stories:

A Winter's Dance (tentative title), a novella that follows three human nobles who live in the oppressive monarchy dictatorship country known as Helina. Thornton Sr, his wheelchair bound cousin with Time Magic Luciana Nightwork, and Fire User Nym Andronicus. This story is a play on Romeo and Juliet (but none of the three MCs dies. Yes, yes, you can boo me and throw your tomatoes. 🤭) This is a prequel back story to these three characters, how they wound up in Bolyra, and started a Thieves' Guild. This also gives insight to the Slave Trade and how people - regardless of status feel about it (I do a lot of characters who are in high positions of power and reject their status at one point or another.)

Short Story Collection 1 and 2 - These collections take place about 100 to 200 years after the main events of TLoB (haven't finished this, but the muse wants semi cozy stories at the moment and wants me to build up some characters that makes appearances in TLoB.)

Art Projects:

I'm currently working on some printable bookmarks and digital (which can be printed too) stickers for my Ko-fi Shop. Also, for funsies and to improve my art skills is doing fan art of video game characters for both Ko-fi and Patreon.

Anyway, that's enough about me. I hope you enjoy my content, if you have any questions about my stories, my art, my Ko-fi or Patreon, please feel free to ask, and I hope to see you all soon.

Sharing my Ko-fi and Patreon links for anyone interested.

[une-nuit-pour-se-souvenir]

The Dragon has Three Heads

"Three heads of the dragon... yes... but the third will not necessarily BE a Targaryen..."

~ GRRM @ at some convention

The conclusion is simple. The heads of the dragon refer to people and while the two are Targaryens, the third might not be one.

We can ignore anything that says this group of things are of different things (for example, I've seen "two Targaryens plus a concept"), as that makes no narrative sense. The key is exactly that last sentence, the third one may not be a Targaryen, which implies the three heads are all people and that two are Targaryens and the third is not quite one. Therefore, these three dragon heads must refer to people associated with dragon, with two of them being Targaryens but the last one not necessarily being one.

The most popular theory is that the two Targaryens are Danerys Targaryen and Jon Snow, with the third being the youngster that claims to be Aegon VI Targaryen and appears first in ADWD. This identification ignores the narrative framework for both Aegon VI Targareyn and Jon Snow.

On one hand, Aegon is often associated with kingly imagery (for example, the chapter he's introduced starts with six chests, the kid himself is introduced as standing at a higher ground than the rest, and ends with a turtle who is said to witness the birth of kings), he's accompanied by a lot associated with his parents such as Jon Connington (his father's hand of the kind) and some dornish / royne people (his mother's land and culture). Another thing to note is that Varys introduces him as the real thing to a dying man.

Moreover, there is at least one "baby switch" story that shadows this one, a prince baby being switched with a nobody, sent away to protect against a Baratheon. In specific, Mance Rayder's son (the wildling "king") being switched with Gilly's son, then sent South for protection against another Baratheon, which is notably a plan concocted by Jon Snow (another of Rhaegar's kids, as if preparing him and the reader to "believe" such a scenario is possible).

On the other hand, Jon Snow's core character revolves around two facts, that he is a bastard and that he loves his Stark family. The reveal that he's not Eddard Stark's bastard but Lyanna Stark's child doesn't erase the latter, as he's a Stark through his mother. Still, the nature of Rhaegar and Lyanna's relationship may erase the former. If Jon is illegitimate, that doesn't erase the former, but if he's legitimate somehow (Targaryens are said to take multiple wives), that erases the former and replaces it another. It can go either way.

Moreover, there is at least one "legitimized bastard" story that shadows this one. In specific, Jon Snow is offered to be legitimised both by Stannis Baratheon (something that is a true temptation, as it would give him everything he secretely longed for all his life), but also by Robb's will as it names Jon Snow as his heir over sisters and that's only possible through legitimising him. It's my conviction that "the rule of three" applies, therefore that Jon will reject Robb's will like he rejected Stannis' offer, but will have a third legitimization opportunity and that this time around he'll acept.

To be more specific and in contrast with Aegon, who's introduced with kingly imagery, Jon is introduced with bastardy imagery. Bran introduces him into the narratve as his bastard brother, while Jon's first POV chapter starts with him musing that he's a bastard. While Jon has "kingly" imagery, it doesn't come associated with imagery from his father's side, and seems to be self-contained to the North (for example, the first inside joke is "kings hiding under the snow" or Mormont's crow calling him king while he's at the wall). Jon's hidden parentage comes along with prince imagery instead (for example, the anti-parallel with bastard prince Joffrey). With my conviction explained above, I do believe it will come to Aegon legitimising Jon as his heir until he has kids (a parallel to Robb's will). Most (if not all) foreshadowing falls into place. Aegon VI is king, Jon is the (bastard) prince. An example would be Sansa's "Glory to your betrothed," Ser Arys answered at once. (...) "He is the dragon's heir." which fits with Jon as Aegon's heir.

Combined, this interpreation suggests that the popular theory is actually backwards: Aegon VI is the real thing while Jon Snow is the Blackfyre (bastard Targaryen). This is in accordance to the way the text is presented.

House of Undying

"THe dragon has three heads" is referenced for the first time to Danerys Targaryen in a prophetic inducing Shade of the Evening tripping out at the House of Undying.

The man had her brother's hair, but he was taller, and his eyes were a dark indigo rather than lilac. "Aegon," he said to a woman nursing a newborn babe in a great wooden bed. "What better name for a king?"

"Will you make a song for him?" the woman asked.

"He has a song," the man replied. "He is the prince that was promised, and his is the song of ice and fire." He looked up when he said it and his eyes met Dany's, and it seemed as if he saw her standing there beyond the door. "There must be one more," he said, though whether he was speaking to her or the woman in the bed she could not say. "The dragon has three heads." He went to the window seat, picked up a harp, and ran his fingers lightly over its silvery strings. Sweet sadness filled the room as man and wife and babe faded like the morning mist, only the music lingering behind to speed her on her way.

I'll say that whatever the House of Undying shows, may not be reality. Rhaegar wanting to fulfill some prophecy with three kids is not referenced anywhere else, except this moment which is the equivalent of a very bad drug trip. It's worth mentioning though, Ratgar saw a comet in the sky and thought he should impregnate his wife, against medical advice because she who was recovering from giving birth his first child. It could be, but it could not be.

Regardless, what's important to note is what's being prophetized. Much like GRRM's convention remark, Rhaegar identifies the three heads as people. So far so good. However, he also gives us an order: omitted Rhaenys as she was born already, Aegon in mother's lap, Danerys when Rhaegar looks up to "see" her at the door, then finally Jon when he says "there must be one more". On one hand, Rhaenys was murdered and Danerys is in this as well, so the conclusion is that the former "replaced" the latter in the prophecy. On the other hand, if this had been a real memory, than Rhaegar would have two legitimate kids at the time (Rhaenys and Aegon) such saying "there must be one more" suggests a third child (Jon), which goes well with GRRM saying "the third may not be a Targaryen". So in order, we have Aegon, Danerys, Jon.

Danerys later reflects upon what this prophecy means and comes the conclusion that these heads are supposed to be people. This is because the Targaryen coat-of-arms is a dragon with three heads, each head representing three Targaryens.

"The dragon has three heads," she sighed. "Do you know what that means, Jorah?"

"Your Grace? The sigil of House Targaryen is a three-headed dragon, red on black."

"I know that. But there are no three-headed dragons."

"The three heads were Aegon and his sisters."

(...)

"Prince Aegon was Rhaegar's heir by Elia of Dorne," Ser Jorah said. "But if he was this prince that was promised, the promise was broken along with his skull when the Lannisters dashed his head against a wall."

"I remember," Dany said sadly. "They murdered Rhaegar's daughter as well, the little princess. Rhaenys, she was named, like Aegon's sister. There was no Visenya, but he said the dragon has three heads. What is the song of ice and fire?"

(...)

"Your Grace," he conceded, "the dragon has three heads, remember? You have wondered at that, ever since you heard it from the warlocks in the House of Dust. Well, here's your meaning: Balerion, Meraxes, and Vhagar, ridden by Aegon, Rhaenys, and Visenya. The three-headed dragon of House Targaryen—three dragons, and three riders."

(...)

When Brown Ben left, she lay back on her cushions. "If you were grown," she told Drogon, scratching him between the horns, "I'd fly you over the walls and melt that harpy down to slag." But it would be years before her dragons were large enough to ride. And when they are, who shall ride them? The dragon has three heads, but I have only one.

(...)

"No dragon has ever had three heads except on shields and banners," Armen the Acolyte said firmly. "That was a heraldic charge, no more. Furthermore, the Targaryens are all dead."

"Not all," said Alleras. "The Beggar King had a sister."

(...)

"The dragon must have three heads," he wailed, "but I am too old and frail to be one of them. I should be with her, showing her the way, but my body has betrayed me."

The prophecies in ASOIAF are always misunderstood. Danerys is no exception, as she's wrongly identifing people and their motives. One thing is for sure in all these mentions though, the "dragon heads" are meant to be people and one of them is Danerys.

Danerys thinks these three dragons are supposed to mimic the original trio, with herself as Aegon and two men she'll take as lovers as the two sister wives. This is where the misunderstanding is, because it's obvious from the framework that is backwards.

These at least she could rely on, or so she hoped . . . and Brown Ben Plumm as well, solid Ben with his grey-white hair and weathered face, so beloved of her dragons. And Daario beside him, glittering in gold. Daario and Ben Plumm, Grey Worm, Irri, Jhiqui, Missandei . . . as she looked at them Dany found herself wondering which of them would betray her next.

The dragon has three heads. There are two men in the world who I can trust, if I can find them. I will not be alone then. We will be three against the world, like Aegon and his sisters.

Danerys is a dumb bitch and the text shows us exactly how. The idea of Danerys being betrayed comes together with the other two heads. They're not lovers, they're betrayers. It occurs again in ADWD as she's in the Dothraki Sea, contemplentanting if the "king" betrayed her and a wolf answers in the distance.

The framework fits this foiled scenario. The original trio was a man married to both his sisters, but only he became king (later, only the man could rule according to Targaryen law). In contrast, Danerys is a woman (foil) and both her brothers are dead (foil), whom are replaced with nephews that have a bigger claim than her (foil) and whom will not be involved / married with her (foil).

It's also thematically relevant and poignant for the trios to be foiled. The Targaryen king dynasty started with an alliance between three dragons, it's fitting that it ends with a war between three dragons. It's what they've been threatening all along with the Dance of the Dragons after all.

[blackmissfrizzle]

Don’t Make Me Say It

Characters: Angel Reyes x black!reader

Summary: Angel takes care of you after one too many drinks.

Warnings: it’s me so smut, duh 😂

A/N: Shoutout to my muse, my enabler, my lending ear @starrynite7114 for helping me brainstorm this!

If you like what you read, here’s my masterlist and if you want notifications here’s my taglist.

Gif credit @xxrouxx

“I can’t believe me you got me to wear this.” Angel pulled at the crotch of his costume, but you couldn’t stare at him for too long or you’d jump his bones and that wasn’t appropriate best friend behavior. “You could’ve chosen the other costume,” you whispered in his ear and ran away before he could catch you. Now he really had to readjust his pants as he watched your dress flap against your bottom showing a bit of the booty shorts you wore under.

“Damnnnn, Y/N!” Coco whistled while he twirled you around.

“You couldn’t have chosen another costume?” Angel snatched you back from Coco. You looked up at him with furrowed brows, “I thought you liked it? You said I look like a total badass.” Angel kissed your forehead, instantly feeling bad at poking at your self-confidence. “I do like it and you are a total badass. It’s just even with the booty shorts, your ass is hanging out. You’re lucky I can fight.”

“Coco is harmless.” Angel looked over your head to his brother who caught another glance at your backside. “Yeah, he’s gonna be harmless in a few.” Angel was making his way to the bar when Cynthia stopped him.

“Hey, Angel,” she gave him shameless head to toe once over and stroked his arm. You cleared your throat, there was no way you were gonna let this hoe ignore you. “Oh hey, Y/N. What are you? Supergirl?”

“No, dumbass, you’re thinking of Wonder Woman and you would still be wrong. I’m Xena.” Cynthia just looked at you with an open mouth and blank stare. “Warrior Princess?” You added, hoping it would help her out. “Nope, never heard of her.” She dryly stated but pepped back up when she turned back to Angel. “What are you, Angel?”

He looked down and smirked at you. If Cynthia didn’t know who you were then it was doubtful, she would get Angel’s. “I’m Ares.” She got that blank look again. You and Angel had to try your hardest not to laugh at her. “God of War.” Same blank look stayed on her face. “Okay, well catch you later,” he gave her a friendly pat on the shoulder and made a smooth getaway to the bar, where EZ had shots waiting for you two.

You took a group shot with the boys and immediately after told EZ to rack em up again. “Uh, chiquita you sure about that? We got that good shit.”

“Yes, I’m sure, Johnny!” You rolled your neck and took your shot. “I can match you shot for shot.” A sly smile crossed Coco’s face as he slid a twenty on the bar. “Wanna bet?”

Angel grabbed your wrist when you went for your wallet. “You sure you want to do that? Coco can drink.” You jutted your chin towards your opponent. “Him? See how skinny he is…man I’ll drink him under the table.” Angel threw his hands up in surrender as he watched you put your twenty down. “Okay, but I’m not holding your hair later.”

You overestimated yourself. You lost twenty dollars and to top it off you got a hangover.

Last night, Angel cut you off when you were dancing on the tabletop with Xiomara. And he’s glad he did, because as soon as you got to his house you ran for the bathroom.

“I told you so,” Angel sung while holding your hair. However, you didn’t have the energy to get smart, you were too busy throwing up your stomach lining.

Angel lived up to his name. He held up your hair until you were done vomiting, he started the shower for you. While you were showering, he got your clothes out since you kept some at his place for these types of occasions and before you went to bed, he made you drink some water and take some Tylenol.

But when you woke up the next day, Angel wouldn’t let you hear the end of it. “Just one more shot, Angel.” He mocked you, he made his voice higher to match your pitch. “Okay, okay you won. I should’ve listened to you.” Groaning, you roll over and grip a pillow for comfort.

Angel came and sat next to you and rubbed your back, making your back heat up from his touch. “Nah, but for real, you good?” Turning back towards Angel, you intertwined your fingers with his. “Better now, thanks to you.” Taking your conjoined hands, you turned them to kiss Angel’s. You missed the smile that graced his lips when yours met his hand. It was an asshole thing to think, but he wished he could get you drunk like this all the time, so he had an excuse for you to be laid up in his house.

“I got you, Warrior Princess,” he patted your thigh and got up, giving you a perfect view of his dick print in those damn sweats.  “I’ll make you some breakfast. Don’t want you puking all over the place again.”

“Fuck you, Angel!” You threw a pillow at him. “Promise?” He clasped his own hands together and bashed his eyelashes like a schoolgirl. “You wish,” you scoffed. “Then no food for you.” Angel walked away, his wide back disappearing into the kitchen. “No, Angel come back! I was just kidding!”

Angel popped his head around the corner with a big ass grin on his face. He came back to you, his dick print at the arm of the couch, making it eye level to you when you lean your head back. “I know, querida.” He kissed your forehead and went back to the kitchen.

The whole time Angel was cooking you tried to wipe every impure thought of him. Currently, you were watching Lion King, hoping the children’s movie would cleanse you, but it didn’t. Angel kept interrupting your viewing by talking to you, his deep timbre leading you to daydream about how he would sound deep in your guts.

“Y/N, Y/N, Y/N, Y/N, Y/N, Y/N,” Angel repeated your name until he finally clapped in front of your face to get your attention. “Huh?” “I said, did you like the food?” “Uh huh, yeah it was great, thank you.”

Angel eyed you warily as he took your plate to the kitchen. “Okayyyyy, imma get you something to drink because you’re still out of it.”

Fuck it, you thought. The worst thing that could happen is that he rejects you and all you have to do is blame it on the alcohol. “Cum or water,” you asked boldly. Angel came out bugged eyed with a glass of water. “Excuse me?” Sitting up, you tried to make yourself as presentable as possible. “Do you want me to drink your cum or water?”

This had the be a cruel joke, Angel thought. “Shut up, you’re still drunk.” He shoved the glass of water in your hand and tried to walk away, but you stopped him. “No, I’m not Angel. I’m very sober right now and I know what I want.”

“And what do you want?” Angel asked, keeping his back towards you. Taking a hold of Angel’s bicep, you turned him towards you. His eyes were downcast, trying his best to avoid yours until you lifted his chin. “I want you Angel Reyes, but if this is not what you want, we can pretend this was a drunken mistake.”

His silence scared you and caused you to back away. Leave it to you to make a fool of yourself and possibly ruin your relationship with your best friend. “Alrighty, then, imma get my things and go home.” Dejected you bent down to grab your purse and went for the door, but Angel grabbed your wrist and pulled you towards him. His name barely left your lips when his was on yours. At first it was soft and hesitant, like he was testing the waters, but once he felt you kissing back it became harder, like he was making sure he never forgets the feel of your lips.

He gripped the back of your thighs and carried you until the back of his knees hit the couch. He only backed away, so you two could get an inhale of breath. Taking advantage of him releasing you, you slid down his body onto your knees. “I need you to hold my hair again,” you told him before you pulled down his sweats.

Good god almighty. Xiomara told you that the other girls at Vicki’s said that Angel’s dick was big, but you weren’t expecting this. How would he fit all in your mouth? And then who goes around not wearing any underwear around their best friend? “Scared, querida?”

“No,” you crossed your arms and pouted. “I was just wondering what kind of psycho doesn’t wear boxers with their best friend around?” Angel laughed and cupped your face to kiss you. “Maybe deep down I was hoping this would happen. Now are you gonna keep stalling or you gonna suck this dick, mami?”

Whew, you can do this Y/N. Taking a deep inhale, you rolled your shoulders and cracked your neck side to side. What was the first thing Xio said? Oh right, lube it up. Gathering the moisture in your mouth, you spit on Angel’s dick. In no way this could be sexy, you thought, but then you heard Angel mutter, “Oh fuck.” You gripped his dick and you didn’t expect it to feel so warm, smooth, and heavy.

His red, swollen tip was leaking precum and now you had to get a taste. First, it started with a little lick of the mushroom head, then it led to a lick from the underside all the way to the tip, then from his balls in your mouth while you jerked him off, and until finally your head was bobbing up and down from sucking him off.

“Yeah, just like that, querida.” Angel hissed, his hand wrapping around your hair. “Slow down, baby or I’m gonna cum.” You hopped off his dick momentarily. “That’s the point,” you smiled and went back to work, picking up speed. “Fuck, baby.” Angel grabbed your head and drilled his hips, fucking your mouth until his hot seed exploded in your mouth.

“Open up, baby. Lemme see,” he pulled your chin down to see his essence in your mouth. “Swallow,” he ordered, pushing your chin back up.

When he saw that you swallowed, he leaned down and kissed you, pulling you up with him. “Good girl. Let daddy return the favor.” He laid you on your back and pulled your shorts down with his teeth. “Mmm, you smell delicious, baby.”

The anticipation was killing you. His heated breath could be felt against your covered core, sending tingly sensations throughout your body. “Pretty ass pussy. Can daddy get a taste?” He snapped back your panties with his teeth.

“Mmhmm, please,” you whimpered under his touch. “But these panties are so soaked, mami. I think I should dry them out.” Angel fixed your panties into their rightful place and clasped his mouth right where your clothed clit was at.

Even through the fabric, you could feel Angel’s tongue and the man could work magic. Your vibrator paled in comparison to him. “Angel, please! I need the real thing.”

“You sure you can handle it?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“Alright, brace yourself.”

“Angel, shut th- OHMYGAWD!” Your back lifted from the couch and you clawed at it. Angel should’ve given a better warning than that. How were you not supposed to lose your mind?

‘Fuck’ was the only word you seemed to know. “Come on, mami. Cum all over my tongue.” You followed Angel’s command with screams and quivering. Never before had you experienced such a strong orgasm and Angel took notice.

“Damn, you good? Nobody made you cum like that before?” Angel murmured against your neck as he started to finger you. “Nope.” Your answer was breathy due to Angel’s ministrations. “Cause you’ve been fucking with little boys. I’m a man and imma take care of you, mi dulce.”

He ran off to his room to get condoms. Should you tell him? Would it be bad if you didn’t? But what if he stops if you do tell him? But Angel would want to know. What if he laughs at? Would he laugh at you? Nah, he wouldn’t, not your Angel.

“None of them made me cum, because I haven’t fucked any of them.” You whispered, covering your face with your hands.

“Huh?” Angel stopped rolling the condom on and looked at you through fallen strands of hair. “What do you mean, Y/N?” Angel knew what you meant, but he needed to hear you say the words. He needed to hear it come directly and unmistakably from your mouth.

“You’re really gonna make me say it?” Angel looked at you patiently with raised eyebrows. Evil bastard. “I’m a fucking virgin!” You yelled and then covered your face with a pillow, hoping you would be able to disappear.

“Fuck, Y/N!” You peered from behind the pillow to see Angel rub a hand over his face and your heart dropped. Of course, Angel didn’t want to screw a virgin. What sex god wants to be with one?

“I’ll go now,” you tried to roll off the couch, but Angel stopped you with a hand on your hip. “Where you going?”

“Home, Angel. You clearly don’t wanna do this now.”

“Did I say that?” Angel pinned you beneath him, his face getting closer to yours. “No,” you whimpered, feeling yourself getting wetter at the waves of his dominance. “Then how did you get to that conclusion?” “Because you fucking blanched when I told you!”

“I fucking blanched, because your first time doesn’t need to be on my couch! You deserve the candlelight dinner, the wine, the flowers, a better fucking place than this!” He outstretched his hands around his home. “So, don’t you ever fucking presume that I don’t want you. I want you so damn bad that it hurts.” His voice croaked a bit, revealing his true feelings.

Cupping his cheek, you kissed him. “But I don’t want all that, Angel. I just want you. My first time will be perfect because it’s with you.”

“You sure?” He kissed the palm of your hand. “There’s no going back after this. I’m making you mines.”

You lifted your shirt and unhooked your bra, fully exposing yourself to Angel. His wanton gazed made you feel desired and a bit stupid for doubting Angel’s attraction to you. “Make me yours, Ignacio”

Angel growled and lifted you from the couch to carry you to his room. “Wait a minute,” he stopped in the middle of the hallway and pushed you against the wall. “How the fuck did you learn how to suck dick like that if you’re a virgin?”

“I had Xiomara teach me,” you nuzzled your face in Angel’s neck to escape the embarrassment. “Vicki’s Xiomara?! What the fuck, Y/N? Who the fuck was he?” He gripped your chin, fury covering his face until he saw you laughing. “What the fuck is so funny?”

“You,” you gasped between laughter, wiping away your tears. “Xio had me practice on a dildo, not on a john.”

“Oh,” Angel had that adorable little pout on his face when he got stunned. “So, did she wear a strap orrrr…” You slapped Angel against his chest. “None of your fucking business.” ��Well, next time I see her I’m tipping her. She did a damn good job.”

He continued walking to his room and went to get a towel to lay you on. At first, he didn’t join you in the bed. Angel just stared down at you in disbelief that he finally had you naked in his bed. “I love you. You know that, right?”

Smiling up at Angel, you gripped his wrist to pull him down to you. “Yeah, I know. I love you, too.” Angel kissed you once more while he reached out for a condom.

He was trying to open the condom packet with his mouth when you snatched it out and threw it to the side. “I’m on the pill.” Angel had to remind himself that he couldn’t jump on you like he really wanted to. There would be plenty of that later once you got use to him.

“God, I love you.” He bent down to kiss you, to distract you from the upcoming pain you were about to experience. You hissed and bit on Angel’s bottom lip when he finally began to stretch you out. “You good?” He lifted up to check on you. “Yes, please keep going.” Angel continued pushing until he felt something pop and checked on you once more. “Angel, I swear I’m good.” You strained, clawing at his back.

Angel didn’t know how he was keeping it together. “Querida, you feel good. You were made for me.” He whispered against your lips. “Can daddy move? Can daddy make you feel good like you did to him?”

“Mmhmm,” you nodded your head, tears pricking your eyes from the delicious pleasure Angel was giving you. Angel pulled almost all the way out, just leaving the tip in then slowly slid back on. “Angel,” you gasped. “Louder, baby. I want my neighbors to know who’s making you feel this good.”

“Harder!” You were not beneath begging. Angel was going slow, almost pulling all the way out just to fill you back up while he laid his forehead against yours and gave you praises. “No, not yet. I gotta savor you baby.”

Angel pushed up on his arms allowing him to reach new depths and watch him slide in and out of you. “Such a pretty little pussy, especially with my dick inside of it. Don’t you think?” He grabbed the back of your neck to make you watch. It was glorious, a marvel to look at. “Oh my god, daddy. Please fill me up.”

“You want my cum? You want me to fill my pussy up so much it is leaking down your thighs?”  Angel prayed you said yes because he couldn’t hold out much longer. “Fuck, yes! Please!” At your cries, Angel gave you controlled snaps of his hips and thumbed at your clit. As you screamed Angel’s name, he screamed yours, both of you cumming together.

Angel looked down at your conjoined bodies and admired his work. He did that to you. He made you cream like that, that it was dripping down your legs. But his eyes also caught the sight of blood, the evidence of him taking your purity and your well-being was back at the forefront. “I wasn’t too rough, was I?” He cradled you, scared that he hurt you. “No, worrywart. Actually, I was thinking next time you can go a little harder?” You shrunk yourself, scared that Angel might think you were weird for wanting it rougher.

“Alright, be careful what you wish for,” Angel warned you with a sly smirk.

--

Coco watched you limp across the yard all day. He knew it wasn’t with exercise because you told the crew you spent the weekend recovering from the Halloween party. But then he caught the little smile you gave Angel and the one Angel returned back and there was only one explanation he could come up with. “You hit that?” Coco tapped Angel’s knee and then pointed to you helping Chucky spread out some desserts.

“Y/N, come here.” Angel yelled from the picnic table. He watched you hold up one finger to Chucky and then run over to him. “What do you want, Reyes?”

“Come closer,” he ordered. You stepped in between his legs and he buried his hands in your hair and brought his lips to yours. The kiss was supposed to be sweet and chaste, but Angel couldn’t help himself. One taste of you and he couldn’t stop.

“Okay, we get it!” Bishop yelled, slightly disgusted at Angel tonguing down the young woman he considered a daughter. “You finally got your heads out of your asses and got together.”

Angel pulled away from you and both of you had silly, goofy, ‘I’m in love’ smiles on your faces. “Reyes you hurt her feelings and I’ll bash your knees in!” Bishop threatened, even though he could tell it was useless by the way Angel was looking at you.

“Yeah! You’ll be a no knee having ass bitch!” You teased, pretending to bash his knees in with your air baseball bat. Angel mushed your face, “I got it, Prez!” He yelled over your forehead with no worries about being a no knee having ass bitch.

Taglist: @ourlittlesecretsoveragain @starrynite7114 @sambucky8 @mygirlrenee @richonne4life @readsalot73 @chaneajoyyy @ljstraightnochaser @my-rosegold-soul @angrythingstarlight @brattyfics @lovebennycolon @langiinspirations @chibsytelford @trulysuccubus @spookys-girl @brownsugarcoffy @thesandbeneathmytoes @fvckthisbxtchup @theartisticqueen​ @vsfavs​

[the-rejected-princess]

Purple Reign

                                   Open Roleplay [Starter]

The skies were clear on this sunny day. The suns in the sky shined down brightly on the lands. It wasn't to hot to where it was unbareable which the former Queen hated. The former Queen sat on the balcony of her home in Naboo. She couldn't be at the capital, sadly, because she was being hunted. The dress she wore today was made of thin material so the former queen didn't become overheated; it had no sleeves, and the front held against her body by the collar piece that was around her neck, there was a split between her bust reveling just a tiny bit of skin.

Padmé ran her fingers along the many flowers that scattered her surroundings. The former queen let out the tiniest sigh, she just wanted this all to be over with. It seemed every time the beauty turned around her life was in danger. The former queen stood up slowly, making her way to the rail at the edge of her balcony. Her slender digits moving up to rest on the rail. Her exotic features shining in against the suns of Naboo. She was a lone... her hand-maidens had to stay back at the capital to be safe. This meant the former queen had no one.

“This will conclude soon hopefully... and I will go back to the capital.” She said to herself softly.

[archangelswintergiftlist]

FAQ

It’s winter and it’s coming up to gifting season, so! Welcome to the Archangels’ Winter Gift List!

What is it?

The Archangels’ Winter Gift List is an angels and archangels-centric gifting event for the Supernatural fandom. Participants create wishlists of up to 5 requests that others then browse and fulfil. Gifts will be kept anonymous and unrevealed until the 25th of Dec, when the collection will be revealed and gifts will be delivered. You must have an AO3 account to participate.

If your gift cannot be hosted on AO3 (rec lists, playlists etc) you must have and include your tumblr account name in your request so that you can be alerted to any gifts on the 25th Dec.

🎁🎁🎁Click here to join! Sign Ups are OPEN!🎁🎁🎁

(rules and timeline below)

What can go on a wishlist?

Each participant can make up to five wishes. These can be for fic, art, graphics (icons/moodboards/headers etc), meta requests, character playlists, fic/art recs, or vids. You can also make general requests, e.g. “I love Gabriel and would love any gift related to him.” Or “I love Anna and would welcome any fic/art of her.”

All wishes must be angel or archangel-centric, and they must be safe for work. If you’re over 18 you may indicate you’re open to receiving NSFW gifts.

What type of gift can I make?

There is no minimum participation requirement! A 100 word drabble fill or a single icon is just as valid as a 15k fic or a 20 icon set of every single Lucifer smirk.

Multiple fills for the same wish are allowed and encouraged. You may answer as many wishes as you want to and have time for.

You do not have to make a wishlist to create gifts.

What is not allowed?

No requests for underage content or fills containing underage content are permitted. No character or pairing bashing. Any such requests will be deleted and fills will be rejected.

Requests that are not angel- or archangel-centric will be deleted.

Examples:

YES - A request for a fic where Donnie Finnerman muses on what it was like to be Raphael’s vessel would be accepted.

YES - A request for meta on how vessels experience angelic possession would be accepted.

YES - Pairing fic, human/angel, angel/angel is accepted. Human/human only if it is specifically focused on them as vessels.

NO - A request for a fic where Sam and Dean go on a hunt and no angels or plot about them specifically as vessels and what that means would not be accepted.

The Timeline

You can submit your wishlist from now until the 20th Dec, but be aware that very late wishes are unlikely to be answered.

Nov 1st - Event opens for new wishlists. Anonymous gift filling, and claims open.

Dec 20th - Wishlist submissions close. Gifting still open.

Dec 24th - Non AO3-hosted gifts/gift links posted to tumblr.

Dec 25th - All gifts revealed, collection no longer anonymous. Gifts posted to tumblr reblogged. Gift advert posts linking to AO3 gifts reblogged.

If you are posting a rec list, playlist, or any other content that AO3 doesn’t host, please post your link/content on tumblr on the 24th or 25th and use the tag #ArchangelsWinterGiftList These will all be reblogged to this event blog on the 25th and following days. (Likewise we’ll reblog your fic/art advertisement posts on tumblr if they’re in that tag, but please do not post them publicly until after the reveal on the 25th!)

If you’re having any trouble navigating AO3’s claims system or have any other questions, asks are open. Please do ask if you’re not sure, there’s likely to be someone else wondering too!

Your mods are @fandom-space-princess and @bluecookiesforrick.

(credit for original post and event to @ophanir-deactivated20211113)

[merryfortune]

There Is Lead In The Paint Here

Written for the 100ships Challenge on Dreamwidth

Prompt - #34 Lead

Title: There Is Lead In The Paint Here

Ship: Haruka/Yui

Fandom: Go! Princess Pretty Cure

Word Count: 1,696

Rating: T

Warnings: No Warnings Apply

Tags: Not Canon Complaint, Alternate Universe - No Magic, Out of Character, Surrealism, Obsession, Mutual Pining, Confessions, Unreliable Narrator, Twist Ending

   Noble Academy had the best facilities, the best staff, the best resources. It placed young girls and boys on the world’s stage and prepared them not only for the real world but how to make it theirs. Thirteen year old Nanase Yui was desperate to become a student of Noble Academy and have a fabulous, even magical adolescence as one of its high schoolers.

   That was not the fate meant for her, unfortunately. Her application was rejected and it devastated her. She felt that shock strike deep to the soul as her dreams shattered. Or at least, tried to shatter, she took it on the chin and figured she was just average. She was never meant to be strange and unusual, a celebrity or a scientist. She was just plain. Mediocre. Middling. 

   With her first school of choice denied to her, that meant Yui had to go to the not quite so fantastical Yumegahama High School. It was not the worst of the worst, it was merely adequate. Only fine. Yui tried to convince herself this had to be a blessing in disguise, better to be a big fish in a small pond as they say. Whoever they were, they were right, of course.

   Three years later, on the cusp of graduation and a few months short of her seventeenth birthday, sweet sixteen year old Nanase Yui had become the crown jewel of the Yumegahama High School art department. It mightn’t be the most prestigious of studios or galleries but Yui felt very beloved for the attention and validation that was brought upon her because of her paintings. The art room had become her home away from home. She loved it dearly and it loved her back.

   Every scrape on the cracked floors, the blotched and splattered paint on the windowsill, the paintbrushes that were fuzzy and needed replacing, the first year’s clay creations and abominations that sat in every nook and cranny forgotten. It was all so unique and eclectic, Yui truly felt at peace amongst the chaos and eccentricity and lack of budget. She spent lunch time after lunch time, afternoon after afternoon in the inner circle of tables set up in the art room.

   Not alone, of course. Believe it or not, though she was a solemn and serious child, she did have a friend. Someone more than a friend, actually, a muse. Her name was Haruno Haruka and she was Yui’s best friend. Haruka was a recent transfer from the bright and marvellous Noble Academy, but she felt burnt out by the course load that was expected of her there and so, had come here. 

   Her wistful tales of Noble Academy validated Yui’s bittersweet feeling that being rejected from their school had, indeed, been a blessing in disguise. Haruka spoke of nights that she spent crying under the pressure and the wounds of her body as her own hobbies turned against her when she tried to monetise or hustle them. It sounded dreadful, made Yui’s skin crawl but to her, ultimately, they were just stories of something that happened to someone else. Even if that someone else was Haruka, dear and beautiful Haruka.

   But, they talked about loads and loads of things. Happier things, too. What models in the magazines were pretty, what flavour of doughnuts were du jour at the moment, and of course about Yui’s art too. They spoke lots and lots about Yui’s art because she was always in the middle of making something and Haruka found that exciting.

   Yui just made painting after painting, it brought her all the deepest joy. She learned something new from each and everyone of them, both the failures and the masterpieces alike. She fancied herself quite flexible when it came to styles of art in her body of work. She had been more stubborn in her younger years as a tween, getting in trouble for doodling cartoony little things in the margins of her various school books but putting her head to grind, she had learned some other styles. Realism, mediaeval, surrealism, cubism, that of the Fauves, ukiyo, and more. Yui tried them all and she liked the dreamier styles best. They best suited her ambition of becoming a children’s book author but for her personal interest project, she wanted to showcase the one that meant the world to her.

   She was doing a series of portraits. She had meant to do one of herself, one of Haruka, one of her favourite teacher, one of Haruka, and two of her parents but they all turned into portraits of Haruka. Yui was hopeless. She supposed it was a symptom of being in her springtime of youth as what wasn’t there to love about Haruka?

   Haruka was simply ethereal. She was graceful and dorky, delightful and well mannered but she could take a joke, often being the butt of it, even. She played the most wonderful songs on violin and could dance ballet, too. Everything she touched, she turned it into something fun and vivacious. She lit up every room with just her smile alone, it would be more difficult not to be captivated by such a blithe spirit. Especially one with as majestic and unrealistic a dream as Haruka: she aspired to be a princess and to her, princessliness was all of that and more. It was jubilance and amity, it was hard work and determination and Yui admired that.

   She admired everything about Haruka. Her ruddy-brown hair, her round cheeks dotted with freckles. Every stroke and brush that Yui painted of Haruka, it was painted with the most awestruck expression upon her own face and motions of love all down her arm, from where she held her paintbrush to her trembling shoulders. She loved painting Haruka above all else. She used to experiment more - garden scenes, still lifes, different studies of different people - but it all became Haruka now.

   Haruka, Haruka, Haruka.

 Even though all Yui thought about and made paintings of was Haruka, she never brought it up. She was a good and delicate friend like that. She even seemed demurely flattered by the notion, even when it tipped very much into the realms of crushes and pining. It was just that Haruka was to Yui’s heart like a bow was to a violin’s string, she elicited the most beautiful music and art from Yui, it flowed freely like nectar and ichor.

   Yui was all thankfulness for her dear friend and muse Haruka. She was waiting. She had to be. Waiting for Yui to find the courage the same way she could find the colours of the oil paints that she used. Yui was determined to pluck up the courage to confess her burgeoning feelings that were full and vibrant, like streaks of sunset over a field or like fruits just before harvest in the agricultural terraces.

   “What are you working on today, Yui?” Haruka asked sweetly as she sat beside Yui.

   It was just another day in their precious home away from home: a world all of their own, looking like a mere underfunded public high school art classroom but it was theirs. Every inch of it was memorised and mapped, slowly changing and ebbing, giving way to entropy as various classes came and went but at the end of the day, it was theirs and only theirs. 

   Haruka sat primly on the edge of a plastic, ergonomic chair, matching Yui’s but the scrapes and scratches were completely different. She had her hands on her knees and was watching intently as Yui painted onto the prepared canvas. She had begun the silhouette of a person and that person, was of course, her beloved.

   Yui giggled, “Isn’t it obvious?” she asked, blushing. “It’s you. Or, well, going to be you.”

   “You’ve been painting me a lot lately.” Haruka commented, demure.

   Yui’s blush deepened. Her eyes skirted around the room. Her paintings were in places of honour and it was true. There were hung portraits of Haruka in every blank place, variations upon variations of each other, some still drying and some which had dried long, long ago. They were portraits of Haruka with the most sweet smiles upon her face and others were dreamy, blurry candids that were friendly, as though she were saying hello to the viewer and plenty more in between. They were utterly worshipful of the subject but there was something eerie to those bright colours.

   “Yes, I have.” Yui agreed and she shifted as she sat. She held her paintbrush tightly and turned her head. “It's because I’m in love with you. I have always been in love with you since the day we met and you became my muse.”

   “I know.” Haruka said. “I’ve loved you always, too, since then.”

   Yui leaned in and Haruka mimicked. They kissed one another and it was a slow, sloppy kiss. Yui had never kissed anyone before and she had only ever dreamed of kissing Haruka. She didn’t know if Haruka had ever kissed anyone before, she hoped not, but her technique seemed experienced, or at the very least everything that Yui had ever wanted and more.

   She felt her heart race inside the cage of her ribs. She held even tighter onto her paintbrush and she sighed at the end of that kiss. She inhaled the fumes of her oil painting and she felt the soft wetness of Haruka’s lip balm on her lips. They paused, they breathed, and they kept kissing. Kissing until the illusion was shattered and until the door to the art classroom opened and the sounds of various gasping awoke Yui from her trance.

   She turned her head, her eyes bleary and her lips slightly parted, dripping with fresh oil paint. She blinked, she stared, she cared not for what was happening around her. Yui only cared for her oil painting of her muse, her best friend and lover, her imaginary creation, smeared with her kiss and oil paints. Hazily, Yui listened as her teacher spoke so far away about how there had been a production recall on the art supplies - specifically the oil paints - that they used here, how there was lead in them.

[b00t-s]

Begone thot

this is part 3

I'm sorry if this is short, C!Thomas is surprisingly hard to write.

Thomas he/him

Roman he/she

Nico he/him

Virgil he/him

See the character intros for more info

Tw. Swearing, capitals, Virgil's and Thomas' (very mild) anxieties

Unfortunately, some of the dialogue is a tad slow, bear with me, i do not have a proof/test reader :)

Again, tell me if I'm being insensitive. Shout at me if I am.

Summary: Thomas being a literal Disney princess and not making decisions himself

Thomas exhaled and slumped over the table.

It had been a quiet morning but, nevertheless, he was still here.

He was always here.

He was always there, with his sticker-adorned laptop and his adorable ruffled hair and his cute little glasses and his amazing personality aaaaaand Thomas was gay.

Thomas wanted to go up to him and actually speak to hi, start a conversation, not just to send Virgil over to serve his Coffee.

He should be the one to be confident enough to serve The Guy's drinks!

But he didn't even know his name, and he wasn't going to come out of the blue and ask like a creep! Normal people don't do that! Talk to people! In public! ..right?

...He better ask Roman what to do first.

He dailed her number and waited.

After five rings she finally picked up.

"What up Thomathy"

"Hi! So I am calling you...I am c a l l i n g y o u t o d a y"

Roman replied, used to this behaviour.

"..Yes, you are"

"I am calling because...well..it's

"Well then hurry up then loading screen! I've got a lot going on!"

"....what-?

"Yeah, not one of my best ones." He mused.

"Well OK then-it's--well I thought seeing as---maybe you could--uh..it's about a g u y-"

Thomas winced and held the phone away from his ear as an ungodly squealing emitted from the mobile.

"XNHISNXEBYIWDB OK OK STAY CALM CALM DOWN THOMAS WHOO SO WHat is the problem? Oh oh is it that guy who you always attempt-and fail-to initiate gay eyes with at your work? The cute one? The one you once tried to talk to but ended up buying five bags of carrot sticks from The Store™ for some reason?" Roman sounded like she was about to spontaneous combust.

"Buddy--buddy I-uh-I'm in public here-" Thomas said, anxiously awaiting the stares he would surely gain from the shouting leaking from his phone. More specifically, awaiting His glorious bespectacled judgment.

"Right, right. So you want me to come over? I'm totally coming over. You at work? Does Janus work around this time? What? Ignore that one-uh-see you!"

"Roman wait--" Thomas groaned as she hung up before he got to finish. Why did she have to be like this? And what was that about Janus? Not important. At least he's coming to help.

And boy, Thomas needed help.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"So let me get this straight--"

"good luck with that"

"Thomas, come on man, not the time" Virgil was pacing around in the backroom, full of second hand anxieties for Thomas. His purple tipped hair flopped in a frenzy like it had a mind of its own. Roman was sitting on a counter, swinging his legs. Patton, oblivious was left to serve customers by himself.

"You, Thomas, want to make the first move" Virgil continued

"uh-" Thomas looked at Roman, who gave him a thumbs up. "Yes?"

"You? You."

"Oh stop being so pessimistic all the time my chemically imbalanced romance, support the poor guy! He certainly needs it" Roman hopped off the counter, rummaging in her bag.

"I though you guys were here to help" Thomas grumbled "I don't see a lot of helpin-" he was cut off by Roman attacking him with a hairbrush

"Do you ever brush this mess? It's worse than my rug, jeez Thomas" Roman dragged the brush through Thomas' mess

"I have the power to ban you still" Thomas has used this threat too many times for it to be effective. Virgil just watched, biting his nails, as Roman ranted about what to say, how to walk, how to act and how to gather information for small talk.

"Roman that's just creepy. Thomas, just go up to him and say hi, if he rejects you at least you know its because he didn't like you, not what Roman told you to do."

"Gee thanks Virge" Thomas gently swatted Roman away, took a deep breath then went out there to talk to The Guy.

"Aaah, they grow up so soon" Roman wiped away some fake tears

"Thomas is older then you" Virgil replied, walking back to his job. Roman huffed in response, and sat at a table.

Right next to The Guy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Heyyy-you-" Thomas already died approaching Him. The holiest of guys. And he already ruined it.

"Oh-hey! You work here, right?" Oh my god, Thomas loved his voice. It was so reassuring.

"Haha, yeahh. I'm actually,,manager. Well, co-manager, but still! Prettty important job" Thomas wanted everything out of his mouth to stop.

"oh-cool. Is there-is there a problem?" The Guy said in the least rude tone of voice

"No! No, no, nope. None. Everything's-perfect, actually. Uh-good job"

"...thanks? Did you need..something?"

Thomas looked over at Roman, who was not-so-discreetly spying on him. Roman couldn't hear shit from where she was, though, so she just gave another thumbs up.

"Uh-no, not really-i liked your pins and stickers, actually-uh-fellow Disney fan?" Thomas said this with more confidence

"Yep! It was my childhood, and actually inspired a bunch of my song writing today!"

"oh! that's cool! I like-songs-" Thomas laughed nervously "Mind if i sit here?"

"sure"

Roman watched as Thomas and The Guy, who he later finds out the name of, Nico, talked for a good few hours, chatting about mainly nonsense. At the end, when Nico had to leave, he handed Thomas a slip of paper with his number on it. Thomas said his goodbyes, then power-walked over to Roman.

"ohmygoshohmygoshohmygosh"

"You did great! Obviously all thanks to me. Did you get his number?? Name????" Roman spoke unnecessarily quickly.

Thomas merely nodded, drained and incredibly happy. He set out on shutting the store, Roman close behind, demanding details.

Thomas rested poorly, but stayed incredibly happy the next day, staying up to chat to Nico until around two am. He promised himself that he wouldn't start a pattern of it, but he was lying.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hi.

I hath risen from the dead!

Yes, content! I'm sorry it's not alot though, my bad-

i am even planning the next chapter in advance, woah!!!

This chapter may seem weird because i wrote it over a long period of time, starting it then not continuing for a whole bunch of months, and i'm still incredibly new, but i tried!

Tag list: @ranboo-but-booran @spellingwillbethedeathofme @remy-please-come-back @arrowthenon-binaryroyalty

[retrogradedreaming]

heyyyyyy if you wanna write more sk8 prompt / headcanon things,,, may i request (imma give you options because i am ✨indecisive✨and don't know what you'd want to write lol)

okay so shadow giving the group friendship bracelets (idk how you feel about writing for shadow hence the other options because i panicked and this was the first thing i thought of lol)

or langa just sitting down and talking to carla because i feel like he would (also kind of a weird one lol)

or uhhh oH you like matchablossom ! joe feeling self-conscious about acne scars (or having acne as a teen ???) and cherry telling him that he's beautiful (in whatever way cherry would iuygfyuhi)

sorry for three options lol this is also partially a way to procrastinate doing my homework ✌🏻so thank you for providing me a means of distraction anYWAYS HAVE A GOOD DAY iuhgcfghuijokijhgv

Sorry this took a while!! I went with the first prompt for a challenge and it ended up WAY longer than I thought. I hope you like it! And thanks for sending these! I love the other ideas, too, so I might come back to them.

---

If there was anything Shadow knew, it was how to curate an image. At work, he created arrangements and bouquets to say exactly what the customer wanted. When he skated, he was the clown punk of the S community. Until recently, he’d never let those identities overlap. Now that they had, it felt almost like forming a third persona—except this wasn’t one he had to work so hard to maintain.

He’d started making the bracelets offhandedly at work on a slow afternoon at the flower shop, braiding and weaving colorful thread from the supply drawer. They normally used it to dress up orders, but there was so much that they wouldn’t miss a few feet. He didn’t realize that he was making them for his new group of friends until he’d finished the second one, and by then it seemed a waste not to finish the job. Now that he had friends who knew and actually liked both sides of him, he felt like they deserved...something. Something to show them what it meant to him, that it mattered.

And yet, once he’d finished them all, the idea of giving them to everyone made his chest tighten as he thought that maybe they’d all judge him after all. As Shadow, it was easier to pretend not to care, but he couldn’t pretend it wouldn’t mean something—something he didn’t want it to mean—if they did.

Still, the next night he showed up at S, five bracelets laden with charms and beads clacking together in his pocket. He swore he could hear them, even with the crowd around him. His palms sweat beneath his gloves, and he was only grateful that no one else could see how nervous he was behind his makeup. He couldn’t remember the last time he was this nervous, even for a beef. This should be easy. His friends wouldn’t just reject him over some bracelets. And if they took them home and threw them away, well...at least he wouldn’t be there to see it, so what did he care?

“Hey, you good, Shadow?”

Shadow jumped, and it was only when he stopped to look for the source of the voice that he noticed that he’d walked right by the same people he’d been looking for. Reki leaned forward, one foot on his board, looking intently at Shadow and obviously expecting an answer.

“Of course I’m good,” Shadow barked, but Reki didn’t seem convinced. He raised a brow and shrugged, shoving one hand in his pocket and absently raising one of his hoodie strings to put it between his teeth.

“If you say so,” Reki said, settling back against Langa’s shoulder. “You seem kinda weird tonight, though.”

“What do you mean weird?” Shadow shouted, voice low and gravelly. “I’m supposed to be weird! It’s not my fault you don’t know what it means to get into character.”

“He’s right, though,” Miya chimed in. “It’s outside your normal weirdness, and it’s kind of creeping me out.”

“I didn’t even do anything!” Shadow exclaimed, and his heart sank. This was exactly what he’d been afraid of, and part of him was already shoving his plan to the back of his mind, ready to leave the bracelets in his pocket and toss them himself once he got home. He could do it, and no one would know but him.

“It’s true,” Cherry mused from where he stood in Joe’s shadow. “You don’t usually look so...bothered when you’re here.”

“Listen—” Shadow began, whipping his hand from his pocket, only to hear a soft clacking as two of the bracelets hit the ground—the one he’d intended for Reki, bright red and decorated with beads of different sizes and a bright orange alstroemeria flower charm, and the other for Langa, soft blue thread woven simply with a white gerbera.

“What’s that?” Miya asked before Shadow could scoop them up and hide them again. He almost did anyway, almost tried to pass them off as some trick meant for a beef he wasn’t even skating tonight. In the end, he resigned himself to risking every single friendship he’d built over the past several months, and sighed as he held out the bracelets to Reki and Langa.

“I made them,” he said, and his voice lost some of the edge he reserved for his S persona. “Sorry I didn’t wrap them or anything. I didn’t wanna do anything too fancy, y’know? Anyway, if you hate it, at least wait until I’m not around to get rid of ‘em.”

Reki took his without hesitation, Langa picking his own up out of Shadow’s palm like he might break it if he weren’t careful. Reki twisted the beads between his fingers, rubbing them over the different sizes like they were a miniature skating course as a grin spread across his face. Langa immediately tried putting his on, fumbling until Reki paused long enough to help him tie it around his wrist.

“It’s soft,” Langa said, running his fingertips over the delicate braiding, and that told Shadow all he needed to know. Langa was particular about textures, and he always stuck with the same clothing brands because he knew how the fabric felt. Shadow knew to take it as a compliment when Langa left the bracelet on.

A weight felt like it had lifted from Shadow’s shoulders, and he let himself relax. He took the last three bracelets from his pocket, offering the next to Miya. The vibrant purple thread stood out next to the others, and it was the only one he’d added an extra charm to—a silver cat paw—along with the freesia he’d chosen for the youngest member of their group.

“I didn’t know a slime could make something so tasteful,” Miya remarked as he let Shadow tie it around his wrist.

“Watch who you’re calling a slime,” Shadow growled, though there was almost no bite behind the words. “I can always take that back.”

“After all that just to take it out of your pocket?” Miya scoffed, flicking the paw with a finger. “You wouldn’t.”

It was true, Shadow thought, as he turned to give the last two to Cherry and Joe. He wouldn’t dare take them back when his friends actually seemed to like them, and even more than that seemed grateful to receive them. It was what he’d hoped for, but he’d also learned by now to hope for the best and expect the worst so he didn’t get too disappointed if things didn’t work out. After all, so few things in his life had happened as he expected, for better or worse, and now, as he handed over a thin pink and brown woven bracelet and another green and woven like thick rope, he wanted to savor this thing that had.

“Hey, it’s not a cherry blossom,” Joe pointed out as he peered sideways at Cherry’s bracelet.

“Yeah, I thought it would be too obvious,” Shadow said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“The zinnia is appropriate,” Cherry said, eyes roving over Shadow’s handiwork as if he were trying to find fault. And yet, when he took his eyes away from it, he gave Shadow a smile that Shadow recognized as the same one he practiced for most others at S—except this one reached his eyes. “A symbol of acclaim and enduring friendship, correct? Certainly more refined than jealousy.”

“What do you mean?” Joe demanded when Cherry gestured to the bracelet in his hands.

“A yellow rose stands for jealousy,” Cherry said matter-of-factly.

“It means friendship, too,” Shadow cut in before their squabbling could turn into a full blown argument. What he didn’t say was that he knew yellow roses also symbolized jealousy. He worked at a flower shop, after all, and had put together enough subtle spite bouquets for people forced into occasions they didn’t want to attend that he of course knew all the various meanings of different flowers. Roses were some of the most versatile, and he’d hoped no one would pick up on the alternate meaning—the one that said he envied Joe’s strength as much as he valued his friendship.

“Put it on for me,” Cherry said, holding the bracelet out to Joe and lifting the hem of his pants to reveal his ankle.

“Sure, princess,” Joe said, taking the bracelet and stooping to the ground.

“Where’s yours?” Langa asked, eyes migrating to Shadow’s wrists, clad only in his spiked gloves. Shadow followed his gaze, turning his hands over absently, as if he didn’t already know he’d never made himself a bracelet.

“I didn’t make myself one,” he said. “It’s kinda weird to make a friendship bracelet for yourself.”

“I don’t think so,” Langa mused. “You’re our friend, so you shouldn’t be the only one without a bracelet.”

“Hey, yeah,��� Reki said, grasping Shadow’s hand and inspecting his wrist like if he looked hard enough, a bracelet would materialize.

Shadow pulled his hand away. “It’s not a big deal. I made those for you guys because you’re the only people who know this me and the other me. I just wanted to do something to show that I...well…”

“That you care,” Miya supplied, and Shadow was glad that his mask covered the heat that rose to his face.

“Whatever,” he muttered, only to catch Reki and Joe both grinning out of the corner of his eye.

“It’s still not the same if you don’t have one,” Reki said, tapping at the beads on his own bracelet. He thought for a moment, and just as Shadow opened his mouth to say it was fine, that he’d make himself one eventually if it was that big a deal, Reki’s face lit up. Before Shadow could ask about it, the group was already dissolving to skate, each person wearing their respective bracelets.

The next time they gathered at S, Reki gave Shadow a gift of his own—a bracelet woven in orange thread bearing a yellow chrysanthemum.