#rhea assignment

[talulla-artblog]

This is actually for one of my homework, believe it or not lmao...

[queenielacy]

Liv pulling Rhea to lay across Damian’s body.

[rheas-chaos-anthology]

ok so

rosekiller = evan rosier x barty crouch jr

jegulus = james potter x regulus black

wolfstar = sirius black x remus lupin

moonwater = remus lupin x regulus black

prongsfoot= james potter x sirius black

jily= james potter x lily evans

dorlene= dorcas meadowes x marlene mckinnon

marylily= mary macdonald x lily evans

partyvan= barty crouch jr x evan rosier x peter pettigrew

pandalily= pandora lovegood x lily evans

bartylus- barty crouch jr x regulus black

sunkiller/jarty= james potter x barty crouch jr

i think thats all??

OH MY GOSH THANK YOU I AM IN THE KNOW NOW

GUYS GUYS GUYS I CAN UNDERSTAND THINGS AND NOT JUST LIKE THINGS DEPENDING ON THE VIBES WHAT MELTS CRIES DIES EXPLODES MERCI MY ENEMY MERCI

[beggamoth]

To Wed A Dragon

summary | Viserys I Targaryen, being geopolitical genius he is, arranges a marriage between his dangerously serpentine second son Aemond and a wildling of pure First Men blood: the elusive Omega daughter Daemon left rotting in Runestone. It’s all bread and circuses and targcest.

pairing | alpha!!aemond targaryen x omega!!reader with implied social anxiety

parts | 1 2 3

tags | TW!!! OMEGAVERSE!!! not proofread. slowburn (sort of). very chopped english. consists of aemond’s journals. yes, this man journals and draws in margins while giggling and kicking his feet. I accidentally OOCed him so hard I made him a teenage girl. we all kinda forget that he’s technically in his late teens and his frontal lobe is still developing that’s where all dumb decisions are coming from

wordcount | 2,5k

any kind of feedback is highly appreciated!

7th Moon of 127 AC.

I have been promised a wife.

No, not offered - that would imply a choice of any kind, a market stall romance, where I pick a ripe fruit and bite until I get to the sweet pulp, or simply refuse. I was assigned to her as one might be assigned a steward, a bannerman, a new dagger for ceremonial guttings.

And not just anyone, but the current Lady Royce.

The only daughter of Daemon Targaryen and the late Rhea Royce. The Vale's very own afterthought. They put it as unsullied, unspoiled. Apparently, undefeated in the art of vanishing into walls. She has spent her entire life in the Vale, which is to say she has lived as a shadow among shadows. I was told she is ‘clever’ and very ‘fond of reading’ which is what they always say about women who have read too many books to be safely married off.

Other than that, there are no reliable sources of information about my future wife. She has made no public appearances outside Vale. There are no scandalous rumors, no bards’ songs written about her, and not even a small locket portrait.

Nothing. This should be concerning, but instead I find it invigorating. Mystery is the one luxury my station rarely affords. Everything else—titles, dragons, destinies—I inherited or conquered. But this?

This is a locked door. A dark corridor. A question without an answer.

I would’ve been offended but this. But truly—what is nobility if not the art of being unapproachable?

Aegon called it a “divine punishment.” Almost wept while five fingers deep in his goblet. Said I was being shipped off to “fuck a deer in the mountains” as though he hadn't bedded worse in Flea Bottom and paid for that.

As if he understands.

A wife unseen is a strategy untold. She might be a beast or beauty. Insipid or shrewd. Unbearable or invisible. She might very well despise me—and so what of it?

Let her tremble behind stone. I will come. I will look upon her. And I will know how to shape her.

10th Moon of 127 AC.

I have met her.

Lady [name] Royce—named like some tragic mythic heroine who throws herself into rivers over men who aren’t worth the drowning—exists.

She has limbs. A face. Breath. She arrived to the Keep three days later than she was supposed to, swaddled in the gray wool like mourning incarnate with unremarkable bronze brooch with the ornaments of her house, with exactly four retainers, two books, and one expression—inconvenienced disdain.

I reached for her hand to plant a chaste kiss at the back of her palm under the watchful eye of the court, but she recoiled. Openly. As if I had poison on my lips.

And curtsied. Too low. Then, as if it would suffice for the proper greeting, she curtsied again, until her skirts dragged on the ground.  

And immediately walked away, no, fled – as if she’s caught a stomach bug. No ‘hello’, no ‘My prince’, she’s just run away with a face of someone preparing to be run over by a cart but hoping it’s a fast one, while her handmaids followed her.

During her first day in the Keep I safely assumed she was:

Unfriendly: She barely looked at me, and when she did, her expression resembled that of someone inspecting spoiled meat. A rather tragic display of poor manners and poorer breeding.

Haughty: She kept her chin raised and her answers curt. When I asked whether she fancied poetry, she responded with: “Not when it rhymes.” Barbarism.

Possibly slow-witted: Her replies to the simple questions always come late, like a letter lost in the post. When I asked if she’d had a good journey, she said: “There was a dead stag on the road. The crows had eaten its eyes.” What in the Seven hells was I supposed to do with that?

Actually—and this I came to realize by the second day—She isn't stupid or arrogant. She's anxious. =Pathologically so. The kind of anxiety that makes you forget how to sit like a human.

She is always clutching her sleeves. Always two seconds late in responding, like it takes her tremendous effort to collect thoughts nervously scattering across her skull. She flinches when addressed directly. She chews the inside of her cheek so often I suspect she may one day bite it off entirely

She annoys the fuck out of me.

And yet—

There is something bewitching in how terribly bad she is at all of this. Like a creature raised underground, suddenly dragged into torchlight, blinking like it’s about to be punished for existing

And I am to marry this... conundrum.

Not even a wild thing. Wild things fight. She doesn’t even seem to think she’s supposed to be real, let alone have some claws.

There’s something irritatingly compelling about it.

I’ve seen men get severely maimed with more grace than she handled a compliment.

She is not what I wanted. She is not what I imagined.

But what I gain is all that matters: Runestone. A keep of my own. Vassals. Land. All mine to command.

A proving ground. A canvas.

If my lady prefers living as a shadow among shadows instead of handling the most basic of human interactions, which is less than a bare minimum for the lady of her station, then I’ll gladly take the burden of ruling in her stead.

This marriage is not a joining of hearts, but of worth. I will become Lord Consort of the Vale’s oldest house and let Daemon spit venom over it.

Let the Lord of Fealbottom rot in Rhaenyra’s little soap kingdom while I, the second son, the maimed, the marked, the maligned—rule.

[margin sketch]

A hastily drawn caricature of Lady [Name] Royce:

Big owl eyes. Tiny, shivering mouth. Hands raised in eternal half-apology. Speech bubble reads: “Um-m”

Labeled: “Lady [Name] of House Sorry.”

10th Moon, Continued — Post-Dinner Entry, written by candlelight and righteous indignation

Tonight was our first shared meal. A private dinner. Intimate, ceremonial, profoundly awkward. Mother insisted we “get to know each other in peace,” which in practice meant a room stuffed with tapestries depicting obscene amount of naked people and exactly two servants who might as well have been executioners for all the tension in the air.

The table stretched between us like a battlefield. She took the other end, as though the space between us could be colonized by silence.

And yet—I could feel her watching me.

Not like a maiden watches her betrothed with shy interest, nor like a courtier observes a prize to be won.

No. It was far stranger.

She glared.

Unblinking. Grim. Purposeful.

Not coquettish or bashful. Not hateful. Just... a stare with weight. Like she was trying to solve me with her eyes and growing very disappointed at the result.

She did not touch the roast. Only picked at a barley cake with tragic resignation.

When asked about the Vale’s northern passes, she said, “They’re cold,” and refused to elaborate.

When asked if she had ridden a dragon before, she said, “No. I don’t like heights or animals who can potentially swallow people.”

When I told a rather clever anecdote about the dying words of a Qohor philosopher, she snorted.

(Not laughed. Snorted. Like a stable boy who’d just heard a fart joke.)

At one point, I attempted civility. I leaned slightly forward and said, in my most gracious tone:

“You keep glaring at me. Do I offend your sensibilities?”

She blinked slowly, as if just now realizing she had a face and it was doing something.

“Oh. Sorry. I wasn’t really thinking.”

What a maddening sentence. She was thinking. I could see the cogs turning, rusted and bristling. But what she meant was: I didn’t realize I was looking at you like you’re a centipede with two legs and blindfold.

An academic approach to the topic of glaring.

In lesser men, like Aegon, the intensity of her stare might’ve provoked fear or flight. But I am a dragon in a man’s skin. I do not run from a pair of eyes that might blink too rarely.  

Still, it is worth noting that she never looked at the servants. Never glanced around the room. She stared at her plate. Her sleeves. Me. As if attention, once given, must be locked in place like a punishment.

I suspect—this is a theory—she is not afraid of people. She is afraid of being seen.

The idea that someone might observe her, interpret her, assign her value. That is the horror.

And that is fascinating.

[margin sketch]

Lady [name], hunched over a plate. Above her: thought bubble that reads “Can’t believe I’m being perceived again.”

Caption: “The Hostage Dines.”

11th Moon of 127 AC, in the still hours when even the gods avert their eyes. With a lot of ink stains and deliberate (?) misspells.

Let us address something.

I had hoped. I had, despite all reason, assumed that Daemon’s bloodline—despite its tendency to act like spilled wine on a very stained tablecloth—would leave some visible trace in her.

I imagined silver hair. Violet eyes. High cheekbones and that half-feral Targaryen toothy smirk that says: yes, my family tree looks like a wheel and I’m proud of that.

Instead—

Well, she is not ugly. Lady [name] Royce is—by the standards of men who notice such things—comely. That is the word I choose because it is aggressively neutral. A word with all the erotic tension of day-old porridge. She is not beautiful, not as Aegon defines it (bosomy and all giggles and blushes), nor is she striking like Rhaenyra was at her height, all molten gaze and battlefield charisma.

No.

Instead—

Earthy. Common.

That breed of plain-featured beauty. Broad of brow and warm of eye. That particular kind of non-Valyrian softness that makes people think they’re being comforted when they’re being lied to.

It’s not her fault, of course. She did not choose to be born looking like this. But this is offensive.

I should be marrying a Targaryen goddess. A silver-haired priestess of flame. Not some rustic scribbler’s daughter who looks like she gets nosebleeds when overwhelmed.

I can already see the court’s laughter, though it simmers behind tight lips.

“The one with the eye and the temper? He wed the girl with the library tan and the commoner eyes.”

Do they think I’ll breed heirs with that blood? Do they think my sons will come out brown-haired and morally grounded?

I REFUSE.

If she does not carry my look, then at least she must carry my will. I will Targaryen her by force of proximity. Let her birth children whose dragonblood will run hot, not earthbound Roycelings who get nosebleeds when the bathwater is above lukewarm.

This is not what I wanted.

I had envisioned myself with a Valyrian bride to mirror me—a pale mirror, a prophecy’s consort. Someone who looked like she could breathe fire if you slighted her. Not a girl who apologizes to bread when she doesn’t finish it.

And yet—

I keep looking at her.

Why?

What game is this, where the prize repels you but still draws your gaze?

Is it that she defies me? Or worse: refuses to be impressed?

No matter.

I am Targaryen. She will conform. Or she will vanish into my shadow, and history will remember only me.

[margin sketch]

A tiny baby with his eye-patch and a mop of fluffy brown hair. The baby is saying: “Why don’t I have a dragon, Papa?”

Caption: “A legacy.”

12th Moon of 127 AC, the day of our official engagement — marked by ritual, pageantry, and something that I did not, could not, prepare for.

Today, the engagement rite was held.

In the Old Way, by scent, not just ceremony—Targaryen blood honors both gods and our ancient ways. This was not the wedding, no. But the marking—the exchange of scent to seal intention. It is binding in the eyes of dragonkind. A public declaration of private futures.

There was no music or septons. Viserys was wheeled in for the optics. I, Aemond, took my place beside the girl I will wed.

She wore black and brown. Of course she did. The Royce colors. Iron and bronze. And she looked… still. That’s the word. Still like a storm caught in wax. Hair plaited back, hands tucked into her sleeves.

The ritual was simple.

She leaned toward me first.

AND THEN—

The scent hit.

Maple. And something… else.

Something I cannot name.

Warm. Wet. Red, but not angry red.

Something like—

Like the throb before a wound breaks. Like blood still inside the body, waiting.

No. That’s wrong. Not blood. Not war.

Like want, made into vapor. The slow bloom of hunger where it ought not be. Sweet without being cloying. Ancient. Animal.

It hit the back of my throat and I staggered slightly—not visibly (never that)—but enough that I could feel my knees note the offense.

And my eye—

The pupil blew wide. I felt that.

Like a child’s.

Like a beast’s.

I did not speak for five full seconds.

My mouth may have opened. I refuse to confirm.

She looked at me—looked, not glanced, not fled—and there was a question in her face. Not smugness. Not curiosity. Some kind of half-formed panic. Like she had given too much away on accident.

But still,

It is tradition, after the Omega offers their scent, for the Alpha to reciprocate.

I leaned in, closer than I’d allowed myself to be near her since the very beginning. I saw the gentle slope of her nose. The twitch of her left eye, like a rabbit scenting predator.

I don’t know how I smelled to her.

I do not care.

I Do. Not.

But she swallowed, slow and hard, and her hands gripped the hem of her sleeves until the fabric strained.

Good.

Let her feel it, too.

Courtship begins now. Daily presence. Shared meals. Ritual observation. We are to be seen together. We are to be seen.

She left before the rest. Of course she did. Like a frightened bird who’d perched too long on the wrong windowsill.

But the scent lingers.

Gods.

It’s in my hair. My sleeves. My mouth. I want to name it. Categorize it. Find a metaphor.

I cannot, for all my experience and vocabulary. It is not wine. Not fire. Not snow or rain or steel.

It is her.

And worse—

I think I want it again.

[margin sketch]

A sketch of [name] Royce with her face deliberately oversimplified like a caricature, with swirly lines around her.

The title “The Smell???”

[itsgivingmami]

Unyielding- Rhea Ripley

After a shocking phone call turns Rheas world upside down, she rushes to the hospital to find her roommate—her closest confidant and secret crush—recovering from a car accident. As emotions run high, the tension between them shifts, forcing Rhea to confront the truth: some bonds are too unyielding to ignore.

Likes,comments and reblogs always appreciated💛😈

As Rhea Ripley stood in the bustling airport terminal, her phone rang, its tone cutting through the ambient noise. Glancing at the screen, she saw an unfamiliar number displayed. She wasn’t sure why she felt compelled to pick it up—maybe residual anxiety or sleep deprivation. The fact that she’d texted you almost two hours ago and heard nothing back gnawed at her.

“Hello, is this Rhea Ripley?” a calm voice inquired.

“Yes, this is she,” Rhea replied, her voice tinged with apprehension.

“Ms. Ripley, this is Nurse Thompson from L.A. General Hospital. Your roommate has been admitted following a car accident.”

Rhea’s breath caught, her world narrowing to the words coming through the phone. “Uh, okay, fuck, I… I’m about to board a flight home.”

“I understand this is overwhelming,” Nurse Thompson said gently. “She’s conscious and talking with her doctor.”

“Thank you,” Rhea managed to say before ending the call, her hands trembling. Could’ve led with that, she thought, frustration mingling with relief.

She stood motionless for a moment, the weight of the news pressing down on her. The announcement for her flight echoed in the background, but her focus had shifted entirely. She handed the gate agent her ticket and headed down the terminal, feet feeling heavier than any weight she’d lifted. She sat in her seat with her hood up, trying to steady her racing thoughts.

~

“Miss,” the nurse assigned to you for the past few hours peeked around the curtain, her overwhelming positivity evident. You offered her a tired smile in return.

“I’ve been gone for three days,” Rhea groaned, her eyes scanning your body for injuries. Her hands clenched and unclenched, torn between wanting to hold you and fearing she might cause you pain. “I thought you might set our place on fire, but crashing your car and a concussion…”

“Someone t-boned my car; I didn’t crash it,” you defended yourself, though it seemed she didn’t hear you. “Hey, I’m okay,” you tried again.

“No, you’re clearly not,” she retorted, her eyes burning as they met yours. You swallowed thickly. “You’re sitting in a hospital bed with a head injury.”

“It’s minor; it won’t mess with your schedule,” you said, hoping to ease her concern.

Rhea’s eyes narrowed, her frustration evident. “Won’t mess with…?” She sighed angrily, gripping the metal rail on the side of your bed as she leaned down, closing her eyes. “That isn’t my concern.”

Her scoff confused you as you tried to understand why your roommate was so upset.

“No, I guess I shouldn’t assume you’d take care of m—” you began, but she pushed off the rail, rubbing her hands over her face as she laughed quietly.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Rhea hissed, pacing within the confined space of the room.

The tension in the room was palpable, a mix of concern, frustration, and unspoken emotions hanging in the air.

Rhea’s pacing halted abruptly, her eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. “I can’t leave you alone for one second without you hurting yourself, can I?”

You opened your mouth to respond, your voice soft. “I mean, I’m fine, so it’s oka—”

“No,” she interrupted, her tone firm and edged with frustration. “It’s not okay. Not when I feel like I’m going to go batshit fucking crazy, thinking about you being hurt.”

The room fell into a heavy silence, the weight of her words settling over you both. You reached out, your fingers brushing against her hand, offering a silent apology and seeking reassurance.

Rhea’s gaze softened at your touch, her fingers intertwining with yours. “I just… I can’t bear the thought of losing you,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

You squeezed her hand gently, your eyes meeting hers with a promise. “I’m not going anywhere,” you assured her.

Rhea’s eyes, previously stormy with concern, now softened as she gazed at you. The tension in her shoulders eased, and she took a tentative step closer, her fingers gently brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear. The warmth of her touch sent a comforting shiver down your spine, grounding you in the reality of the moment.

“I’m sorry for worrying you,” you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion.

She shook her head slowly, a small, tender smile playing on her lips. “Just promise me you’ll be more careful,” she murmured, her breath mingling with yours as she leaned in, the proximity creating a charged intimacy between you.

“I promise,” you replied, your words a mere breath against her lips.

The space between you seemed to disappear as Rhea closed the distance, her lips meeting yours in a kiss that was both gentle and profound. The world outside the hospital room faded away, leaving only the sensation of her warmth enveloping you. Her lips were soft, moving with a tenderness that spoke of unspoken promises and deep affection.

As the kiss deepened, her hand cupped your cheek, her thumb tracing soothing circles against your skin. The connection between you was palpable, a silent communication of love and reassurance that words could never fully convey.

When you finally parted, both breathless and hearts racing, Rhea rested her forehead against yours, her eyes closed as if savoring the closeness. “I love you,” she whispered, the words a sacred vow between you.

“I love you too,” you replied, your voice filled with unwavering certainty.

I don’t know what this is I was high and inspired and then came back to it…🤷🏻‍♀️😂

[flowerandblood]

Archmaester Gyldayn's Chronicle

The Price of Pride Chapters from 1 to 8

Archmaester Gyldayn's chronicle combines information gathered by Septon Eustace and Mushroom concerning what happened after Prince Aemond ordered the abduction of Daemon Targaryen's eldest daughter with his first wife, Rhea Royce. As is common in history, lies and truth become one.

Previous part ➽ Next part ➽

Sources disagree on when exactly Prince Aemond ordered the abduction of his cousin — Septon Eustace believed it was an attempt to repair his image in the eyes of his family after the murder of Lucerys Velaryon, Mushroom, however, argued that the Prince desired her for himself out of sheer vanity, displeased that he had to marry the daughter of a mere Lord. This is how Septon Eustace described her arrival in the Keep:

The guards were surprised by the calmness and dignity with which she endured the discomforts of her cell — apparently this also impressed the young Prince, for although cool and mocking in his manner, he appreciated her steadfast character and attitude by assigning her one of the chambers. King Aegon received his cousin with joy and treated her as a member of his family. “Our family has forgotten you,” the ruler was to say when she was presented before him, “and I am deeply sorry for it.”

Mushroom, however, believed that the story had been falsely presented in a light favourable to King Aegon and his brother, maintaining that Prince Aemond had taken his cousin by force on the very first day, delighted by her beauty. According to reports, just after the act was over, the Prince was to say to his guards that he was surprised that she was a maiden.

Whatever might be the truth, the familiarity between the Prince and his cousin did not escape the gaze of the court, and their solitary expedition to the Vale together only furthered the rumours about the nature of their relationship. The fact is that the pair returned victorious, flying on their dragons over King's Landing.

Eyewitnesses recounted seeing Vhagar and another large, terrifying dragon flying side by side in the skies — a few days later, Sheepstealer was circling alone with his Lady during a patrol, his shadow causing fear and panic among the commoners.

Mushroom mentions the reaction in Dragonstone to the news that Princess Rhaenyra was not the only one who was trying to consolidate her position in the war with the help of dragon seed.

The Rough Prince, when word was passed to him that his daughter had tamed the mighty dragon sat down in his chair, hid his face in his hands and wept. “You have abandoned her and she will take revenge,” his wife told him, “we will all pay for how cold your heart is.”

The Prince's lone expedition with an unmarried woman aroused envy in his betrothed, Borros Baratheon's daughter, Floris, who came to the Red Keep demanding an explanation. Septon Eustace describes the events in detail:

Lady Floris was received with honours by the Prince himself, who walked out to greet her — they were seen strolling together through the corridors of the keep, walking hand in hand. During the evening feast, Borros Baratheon's daughter loudly expressed her displeasure and insulted a royal relative.

“I did not know that you look so ordinary, my Lady,” she was to say, referring certainly to the dark hair and eyes of her betrothed's cousin, for which the Prince was to rebuke her in front of everyone. “Jealousy does not suit you,” he was to reply, humiliating his betrothed “just as the gown you are wearing.”

However, the cup of bitterness overflowed when Lady Floris assaulted Prince Aemond's favourite in one of the corridors, hitting her on the back of her head with a candlestick in a rage of jealousy. The Prince's fury was great and he ordered her to leave the keep immediately, himself spending the entire night at his cousin's bedside.

While Mushroom confirms that Floris came to King's Landing demanding an explanation, he depicts recent events as having taken place completely differently.

When Lady Floris walked into her betrothed's chamber, intending to wish him a good night and place a kiss on his lips, she saw to her despair the bare bodies of her Prince and his cousin in a tight, hot embrace. The servants said they did not notice the poor girl for some time, absorbed in their own pleasure.

Floris Baratheon left the Red Keep the next day drenched in tears. When she returned to Storm's End, according to Mushroom, her father was furious.

Lord of Storm's End rose from his stone throne, calling his daughter a foolish goose. “For centuries men have had wives and mistresses — a wise woman knows which is more important. You could have been a princess, and you will be a nobody.” Despite his desire for revenge, after what happened to Lucerys Velaryon, Lord Baratheon dared not put up any real resistance to the One-Eyed Prince.

The betrothal between Prince Aemond and Lady Floris was broken with no effect on the alliance, and from that point onwards it was certain that the Prince began to take his cousin to his bed. Septon Eustace depicted their fiery affection as follows:

The young Prince became inflamed with affection for his cousin, appreciating her wisdom, courage and sincerity. Rejected by his father and suffering through the sins of his past, he sought solace in her person, spending whole nights in her company. Out of respect for her, he did not take her maidenhood, simply enjoying her presence, spending long hours discussing history, philosophy and poetry.

Mushroom is not so lenient in his assessment of their intimacy, leaving no illusions as to what was taking place behind the closed doors of the chamber:

The guards recalled loud moans of pleasure coming from the Prince's chamber every night. It is said that Prince Aegon desired his brother to share her sweet, shapely body with him; however, Prince Aemond, being a vain and jealous man, refused him, telling him to return to his own wife, for which Prince Aegon was later to take lavish revenge.

Previous part ➽ Next part ➽

[houseofripley]

HEYY

Can you do a rhea x fem!reader story where rhea and reader are in Highschool and have both had feeling for eachother for the longest time and both haven’t confessed but all that changes because rhea ask reader to prom and they end up kissing and it leads to something else (ifykyk😏) (smut n a lil bit of fluff too🙏)

Starry Prom Night

Rhea Ripley x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS: 18+ SMUT, Kissing, Vaginal Fingering, Cunnilingus, Scissoring, Praise, Cheek Cupping & Kissing Galore, INSANE PLOT BUILDING FOR NO REASON LOL SORRYYYYYY IM A YEARNER (im serious this is like 67% plot building)

WORD COUNT: 3,731

A/N: this is just pure sapphic yearning on my end LMAO anyways anon i had so much fun writing this even though its all over the place!!!

also can you tell where i got impatient with all the plot building lol

“Rhea, I seriously don’t know how many more of these cheesy signs I can’t take. I think I’m gonna go insane.” You grunted, rolling your eyes to the back of your head. 

Prom season was in full swing. It was third period and you had just witnessed what had to have been the seventh promposal of the day. This year would be the mark of your and your best friend, Rhea’s senior prom. Senior prom was a date thousands of dreamed about, wanting to show up and show out one last time before waving goodbye to their highschool years. 

Every girl except you and Rhea. You both despised the thought of prom. Why would any sane person spend hundreds of dollars on an outfit just to spend their night drenched in sweat in the school gymnasium? 

Fuck that!

“Romeo O Romeo! Will thou spend your Saturday night with I, drinking punch next to the locker rooms?” Rhea mocked, elbowing your arm. 

You shook your head, pressing your lips together trying to keep your laughter silent. The commotion of classmates was soon drowned out by thoughts as your eyes met Rhea’s, causing your tightened lips to curl into a small smile.

Rhea’s blue eyes never failed to warm you. Everytime you gazed into those beachy eyes you were brought back to the day you first met the girl. Seventh grade, first period, language arts. A quiet blonde girl sporting a Pierce The Veil shirt was assigned to sit next to you. Nobody knew anything about the girl besides the fact she had just moved basically across the globe. You spent the entire period thinking of what you could possibly say to her, because what do you even say to a kid that was just relocated from South Australia all the way to some shitty suburban town? 

“Cool shirt.” 

And it fucking worked somehow. You were immediately attached to her hip. The two of you grew closer with each day that passed. You were inseparable. She was everything to you. Sleepovers every weekend. ‘Study’ sessions that were spent play fighting with each other. Singing pop-punk songs at the top of your lungs till your throats were raw. Dying your hair the same shade of blue at three in the morning. She was even at your side while your parents scolded you the morning after for said blue hair. 

Jesus Christ. Lost in her eyes again? Snap out of it already! 

“Yo, Alice in Wonderland, you okay?” Rhea playfully questioned, breaking your trance by poking at your thigh.

“Just…thinking. That’s all.” You softly chuckled. You were telling the truth, you were just thinking. Just thinking about her. Thinking about her touch, her hands, her pierced nose, her lips, her stupid cool shirts. 

══════⋆☆⋆══════

“Jesus, someone’s eager to get out of here.” You laughed, trailing behind Rhea who was booking it over to her small black Lexus.

“Dude, can you blame me? It’s like everyone has some sort of prom fever. I am not letting it catch me.” Rhea complained, ducking into the vehicle. 

You made your way to the passenger side of the car before hopping into the seat next to Rhea. “I counted eighteen of those damn signs today.” You babbled, resting your arm on the center console before trailing on, diffusing the topic, “Anyways, let’s go thrifting or something. I don’t wanna go home.”

Rhea shrugged in agreeance before pulling out of her parking spot. She knew things were tough for you at home. You had recently come out as lesbian to your parents. They weren't unsupportive but they weren't exactly supportive at the same time which had built quite a bit of tension in the household. You came out to Rhea just about two years ago, who was more than supportive. She was your number one defender, always there to threaten whichever classmate that dared to ridicule you.

You knew absolutely nothing about Rhea’s sexuality. Hell, even Rhea knew nothing about her sexuality. She only knew one thing, that she liked you. She didn’t even know when she caught feelings for you, it was like the sentiments were there since the moment you first spoke to her. She hoped as time went on the flutters she’d feel for you would pass on but recently she couldn’t seem to even push the mere thought of you out of her head, it was killing her.

The drive to the nearest thrift shop was comfortably silent…silent if you ignored the Black Veil Brides cd Rhea had blaring…

Entering the store the pair of you let out scoffed laughs as the first thing catching your attention was a large display of second hand dresses. Shaking it out of your heads and ignoring it at first you carried on to wander the isles, grabbing whatever caught your eye to try on later although you’d inevitably end back up to the racks of long dresses. You weren't a big fan of dresses but you wanted to waste as much time as you possibly could, so you decided to browse the gowns with Rhea. 

She pulled a deep maroon dress, the form fitting glittered bodice was paired with a looser, more freeing skirt. “Try it on!” Rhea pushed, shoving the dress into your arms.

“I’d look so stupid in this.” You gave Rhea a bewildered look.

“Oh c’mon just try it!”

“Rhe’ when have you ever given a shit about this stuff?”

“Dude you’re the one that wanted to waste time here…” Rhea playfully scorned, diverting your question.

“Urgh, I hate when you’re right.” You huffed, shuffling towards the dressing room. 

“How ridiculous do I look?” You pouted, opening the door of the changing room before shuffling to the closest mirror.

Rhea stood behind you, peering over your shoulder as you silently studied yourself in the mirror. You looked at Rhea through the mirror as she opened her mouth to speak but stopped herself in her tracks. “I mean it’s cute but where in the world would I wear this?” You shrugged, adjusting the straps as Rhea chewed on her cheeks.

“Wear it to prom.” Rhea timidly broke her silence.

“Why would I go to prom, Rhe’? First of all it would be so lame and second of all I’d have nobody to go with. I’m just gonna put this back.” You mumbled, turning to make your way back into the changing room.

 A hand grabbed your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. “Go with me…” Rhea blurted out, sounding scared of her own words. Her statement caused you to turn to face her with a puzzled expression, Rhea herself even looked surprised at what she just said. Fearing your rejection she quickly added on, “Ya know, like as a joke and stuff. We can make it not lame…”

“As a joke?” Your heart that was skipping beats just seconds ago was immediately let down. 

“Yeah. It’s just a stupid idea we don’t hav-”

“No, let's go…as a joke.” You interrupted Rhea’s nervous deflection. “We’ve got nothing better to do.” You shrugged on watching Rhea’s anxieties fade into the distance as her classic cheeky smile crept upon her face.

After you swapped out of your dress you returned to Rhea who was holding up a silky black dress with a deep slit in the skirt. “This’ll work. I’m too lazy to try anything on.” She chuckled while shrugging.

“That's ballsy Rhe-Rhe.”

══════⋆☆⋆══════

Tonight was the night, you were sat atop Rhea’s bathroom counter, finishing up your makeup while Rhea was shuffling around her closet searching for a pair of shoes. It had been four weeks since Rhea ‘asked’ you to prom and you simply couldn’t keep your mind off it. Although you two planned this whole thing as a joke, something shifted ever so slightly between the two of you, maybe it wasn’t a joke, who knows. Rhea had your heart in your throat at every moment and you were the topic of every thought that popped into Rhea’s head. More than ever the both of you were head over heels for each other, just terrified the other wouldn’t reciprocate those shared feelings.

Your parents were completely unaware you’d be attending prom. You had informed them you were staying with a friend before immediately storming off to Rhea’s house. Rhea’s parents hadn’t a clue either, they were under the impression tonight would be just another night of the two of you doing nothing for hours then sneaking out to go for a drive at three in the morning. There truly wasn’t much reasoning behind this secret, you guys just wanted to have this night for yourselves without pestering parents. 

“Urgh! At this point I’m gonna go barefoot!” You could hear yet another pair of shoes be tossed to the floor. You slid off Rhea’s counter, stepped out of her bathroom and over to her closet. She was already in her dress tearing through a pile of shoes on the floor. “What has gotten into you Rhe’?” You leaned against the doorframe laughing at the fact that Rhea of all people was stressing over shoes. 

 Rhea rolled her eyes ignoring your banter. “Would it make me a hipster if I wore converse?”

“Oh absolutely, I dare you!” 

“You know I will,” Rhea retorted, picking up a black pair of the canvas shoes.

You chuckled before turning to return to the bathroom, letting Rhea know you were gonna change. You got into your dress with ease up until you came to the zipper on the back. You groaned in annoyance, reaching behind to your back attempting to wiggle the zipper to no avail.

“Rhe’, can you help me real quick?” You asked while popping your head out the door.

“Hm? What’s up?” Rhea turned around and questioned before making her way up to you, trying to keep her gaze from falling down to the hand placed on your chest, keeping the dress from completely slipping from your body.

“Zippers stuck,” You pouted, turning around. Rhea’s hand swept across the base of your neck, sweeping your hair to the side. You watched her through the mirror as she began fumbling with the metal, ultimately getting it to slide up your back.

After an awkward exchange of bashful looks the two of you finished getting ready in each other's company. You sat next to Rhea slipping into your shoes while she tied off her converse, took a handful of polaroid pictures together, then eventually snuck out Rhea’s window to begin your hike to the school.

══════⋆☆⋆══════

“Ouu! Ripley’s got a date!” Was whistled out by a classmate as you and Rhea made your way down the congested hallway, making Rhes roll her eyes.

“Shut up dickhead! We’re here as a joke.” Rhea rebutted, flipping the guy off as she carried on down the hall. 

Here as a joke but her flushed cheeks and sweaty hand gripping yours told a slightly different story.

“Dickheads always running their mo-” Rhea muttered, stepping into the crowded gymnasium.

“Shh. It’s fine, you shouldn’t worry about them.” You cut off Rhea, giving her hand a squeeze as you examined the starry night themed room. The area was dimly lit by blue leds and strings of fairy lights. Blue curtains decorated with paper stars draped over the majority of the walls while an array of tables adorned with bottles of fairy lights surrounded a dance floor full of teenagers.

You both seated yourselves near the stage where a live band was playing. Your legs pressed against one another as you fell into an array of conversations. Thirty minutes had managed to sneak by before your meaningless conversation was cut short by your biology teacher.

“You girls gonna sit here and chat all night? Go dance!” 

“But dancing is lame, Mr. Brown.” Rhea groaned while you both turned to face the man.

“I promise you that in ten years you’ll regret not doing anything at your senior prom. Seriously, go dance!” Your teacher stood behind you giving his words of advice. Rhea peeked over to you looking for your opinion. You gave her a ‘why not’ shrug before rising from your seat.

“But I don't even know how to slow dance.” Rhea whined to herself under her breath as she stood up. “If we have to dance, we’re dancing in the corner cause I’m gonna look stupid.” She stipulated.

You guided Rhea over to a secluded section of the dance floor near a wall, reassuring her that you also had no clue on what you were doing. 

“We’ll just do what everyone else is doing, Rhe’.” 

“I think this right,” Rhea unassuredly giggled with a racing heart, taking a hold of your left hand while wrapping her free hand around your waist. You shook your hair to cover your flushing cheeks as you brought your right hand to rest on her shoulder. The pair of you began swaying to the music while trying to hold back laughter, both in slight disbelief at your current situation. Prom was the last place either of you ever expected to be attending.

You were already trailing back into the pit of those sapphire eyes, drowning out all external noise you missed Rhea humming about how beautiful you looked. You were too occupied taking in the essence of your childlike crush to take notice of the grip Rhea had on your waist tightening. You were fully prepared to stare into those eyes all night, but Rhea was eager to run a risk.

A set of warm lips fell onto you abruptly, pulling you by the waist into a desperate kiss. All five senses rushed over your body, sending a rush of adrenaline through your bloodstream, placing you in awe too shocked to move.

Rhea forced herself to pull away, letting a sigh of relief out before the panic settled in, “Shit. I, god I’m so-”

Your thoughts had just now grasped what just happened.

This was a kiss that spent years in the making…you were not just gonna let it end like that.

Your hand slipped to the back of Rhea’s head, pushing Rhea back into the kiss, forcibly putting an end to her apology. She immediately fell back into your lips, closing her dilated eyes. While her tongue slid across your bottom lip begging to deepen the kiss, her hands slid up to cup your cheeks. Time slid away as the two of you fell into each other in your isolated corner of the gymnasium.

Rhea pulled herself from your lips breathless, her parted lips forming an open smile. She wanted more. You attempted to collect your thoughts while catching your breath. Both of you were attempting to draft a response while gazing into each other, because what do you say after tasting your best friend of five years?

“Cool.” You nodded

Rhea shook her head scoffing out a laugh, still making an attempt to regulate her breath. She took grip of your hand, giving it a squeeze before beginning to pull you into the hall without speaking a word.

“Wher-”

“Just follow me!” Rhea cut you off, rushing through the halls as she dragged you behind herself, both of you trying not to stumble over your dresses. 

She halted in front of the nurses office before fiddling with the keypad on the door, “God bless modern technology,” She muttered, managing to get the door open as you watched in disbelief. “Don’t even ask.” She chuckled, scanning the hall to make sure you were in the clear before tugging you into the room.

Once Rhea’s foot forced the door shut her lips directly got to work pinning themselves to your neck, nipping at the delicate skin. 

“Shit Rhe’, there might be cameras.” You pushed through a stunned whine. 

“There's none…” Rhea couldn't even pull her lips away from your skin as she spoke, “Wouldn't stop me either way, I’ve waited too long for this.” She grunted, dragging her kisses to your collarbone. “Now please tell me I can keep going.”

“I don’t think I could ever tell you to stop.” You pulled Rhea’s face to meet your eyes, whispering your confession. There was no need for Rhea to open her mouth, the look on her face alone told you that was exactly what she needed to hear.

“You have no fucking clue how long I’ve waited for this.” Rhea growled, grasping your cheeks as she pulled you over to the nurses twin sized treatment bed. 

She brought her legs to straddle over you, lowering her chest to hover over you. Rhea was attached to you like a dog, her lips were sloppy against yours as her hands snuck to pull up the skirt of your dress. 

Rhea brought herself between your legs, in a rush to finally get a taste of your core.

“Please…I’m begging you, please don't make me wait more than I already have.” Rhea looked up at you pleading.

Your heart was in your throat as you fervently nodded. “I wanna hear your voice,” Rhea begged, whispering out your name.

“Rhea, please just do anything, I need, I need you.”

With that said she hurriedly slid your panties down your legs, tossing them to the foot of the bed. Rhea was making it clear that tonight was her time to shine.

“Fuck, you’re perfect…” Rhea murmured, awed at the sight of your soaked cunt. Her arms tangled themselves around your legs. After years her tongue finally made contact with your delicacy, she preached a string of curses, finally getting what she was after. You propped yourself on your elbows to catch the sight of Rhea exploring your brand new world. You could feel a smirk between your legs as her eyes met yours, thirstily watching you watch.

“Tastes so good.” Rhea praised, sweeping her tongue through your folds before bringing herself to round your clit. You chewed on your cheeks to hush the moans escaping your throat as Rhea wrapped her lips around your sensitivity, allowing her to lightly suck at your skin. Your legs made an unsuccessful attempt at wrapping around Rhea’s head only to be overtaken by her hands, prying them open, giving her full access to devour your aching heat. 

The stealthy addition of two fingers into your emptiness was only amplifying the wobbly knees her mouth alone had created. Her fingers began steadily massaging into you, causing an arch to form over your back. The mixture of Rhea’s roaming tongue and grinding digits already had a knot forming in your stomach.

“Fucking Christ Rhe’, where the fuck did you learn all this.” You struggled out through moans. Rhea let out a soft chuckle as she continued to take your clit into her mouth, rolling her tongue piercing over your sensitivity.

Rhea gave your cunt one last kiss before she brought herself to face you. Now that Rhea had finally gotten a taste of your mouth she couldn't get enough, she had to return for more. Your lips once again blended together, your moans now slipping into Rhea’s mouth as her fingers curled inside your core. 

“God, you sound so beautiful.” Rhea admired, pressing her warmed forehead against yours while her digits continued toying with your clenching walls. Her thumb was soon added to the mixture of pleasure as it rubbed rhythmic circles over your bud. 

“Rhe’, I want to feel you against me,” You opened your eyes, pulling from her kiss while your hips rolled against her working digits. “Please.”

Rhea nodded, her eyes full of adoration, she’d do whatever it took to please you no matter if it took minutes or hours. She let her fingers come to a declined pace before withdrawing from your warmth. She stood up, licking her fingers clean before riding her dress up her legs and dropping her panties. She rushed to return to the bed pulling your leg into the air before propping a leg of hers next to your hip.

Rhea settled her heat against yours, letting out a heavy breath. She gradually started rocking her hips against you, mixing your slick together. You watched as the new sensation of pleasure washed over her, causing her jaw to drop open and her eyes to roll to the back of her head. 

“Just…just like that.” You whimpered as you began to grind your hips at a matching pace, chasing towards your climax. Rhea’s arm clung to your leg that was situated in the air for support as the sound of quiet moans and the rustling of dress fabric bounced around the room. 

“Feels so good, fuck.” Rhea quickened her motions, moaning out the nickname she created for you through heavy breaths.Rhea pushed herself further against you chasing her own high as you squirmed beneath her grinds. 

“Rhe’, I’m gonna cum.” You whined out, reaching for a hand to cling to. Her hand met you halfway, instantly taking you into her grip she pulled you up to meet her face. She was back to those oh-so passionate kisses she could now never get enough of. “Please, Rhe’!” You cried against her, her movements bucking against your cunt.

Rhea nodded into your kiss signaling for your release, her own climax just seconds away. Your series of moans brushed against Rhea’s lips as your orgasm washed over you, hers quickly following. Muffled whines echoed around the room as Rhea’s thrusts against you faltered.

After riding out your highs together, Rhea squeezed herself next to you on the tiny bed and rested her hand on your thigh, giving it a soft squeeze. “I swear to god if you say cool.” Rhea looked over at you giggling. 

“Unfair!” You joked, resting your head against Rhea’s chest. You both fell into silence simply taking in the moment, reflecting on everything that had just happened. Rhea peppered small kisses to the top of your head as you toyed with the fabric of her dress.

“We should probably get outta here before somebody finds us.” Rhea suggested, breaking the silence.

“Wanna go dance again?” You teased as you turned to face her.

Rhea quickly shook her head, “I’m never gonna dance again. I was so bad.” She laughed, “How about we go find a parking lot and makeout under the stars, hm?”

“I seriously would have never expected you to be all smoochy, Rhe’.”

“Look, I have like five years of kisses to make up for!”

[syndrossi]

Reverberate AU Concept #1

Aka "what if Resonant!Daemon woke up in the Stepstones shortly after the twins' conception, resolved the first Stepstones conflict in record time, and flew back to Runestone to convince Rhea to announce the pregnancy as her own?"

I may eventually throw these up on AO3, but for now, enjoy them on Tumblr in their roughly hewn form. (There's a second part/scene in progress but it's not directly related to this one.)

x~x~x

“No,” his son said, his first word and his favorite since.

His grey eyes were fixed on the spoon and its cargo of cooked peas in Daemon’s right hand. With his left, Daemon brought the other spoon to Rhaegar’s mouth, and his other son opened his mouth dutifully for a bite.

Daemon moved the full spoon back and forth, mimicking a roaring dragon descending, and brought it right up to Jon’s closed lips. His son’s stare found Daemon’s, deeply unimpressed.

“There are foods other than carrot,” Daemon informed him with a sigh.

He moved to feed the rejected peas to Rhaegar, but now his other son was in rebellion. Daemon tried another dragon maneuver, and his other son’s purple eyes sparked with delight, allowing access. Two more fiery whooshes of the dragon finished off the peas, and Daemon moved on to the finely-diced carrot, which Jon immediately demanded.

If Rhea were in the room, she would scold him for caving to Jon’s demands, but Daemon had never been able to deny them anything. She could be the villain instead, if she so desired. Jon made short work of the carrot, which Rhaegar ate more sparingly, his eyes drawn to the final bowl, which Daemon uncovered with a flourish.

“This,” Daemon said, dipping the spoons next into the gooey mass of blueberries cooked down to a thick, nearly jam-like consistency, “is blueberry.”

Blueberry was a new, messy favorite for both of them, Jon’s indignation over the insult of peas entirely forgotten as they finished the small bowl in record time. Rhaegar got fussy when he was left sticky, so Daemon was quick to wipe their faces with a damp cloth after.

With the completion of their meal came Rhaegar’s daily demand. “Zaldis!”

Zaldrīzes, the very first word his other son had decided to attempt. Far more ambitious than “no,” but certainly less intelligible.

“If we are to ride Caraxes, we will have to sneak past your mother,” he informed his sons.

She fretted about him taking them out in the waning last days of winter, which was a far bitterer cold here than they would have been in King’s Landing, but he had wanted his first year with them to be as safe as he could arrange. His brother had no reason to assign special guards for them at Daemon’s behest, though perhaps he would have.

At Runestone, he did not need to ask. Daemon had informed Rhea that the enemies he had made in the decisive victory over the Triarchy in the Stepstones might seek to target the twins, and they were promptly assigned their own knight to protect them, her cousin Willam.

It was not the Triarchy he feared, of course, but Volantis. The Free City seeking to steal his children as infants or toddlers now that they were known to the world from a young age was a possibility he would not risk ignoring.

“You must be at your most quiet,” he instructed, to solemn blinks from either. They were bright, even so young, at times seeming to understand him perfectly.

Daemon bundled them into thick furs, taking care to make sure their heads and ears were covered, until only small wisps of black and silver escaped along the sides of their round little faces. He grinned at the sight of them swallowed by the furs, nearly spherical in either arm, and crept out with his bounty, both utterly silent for the entirety of the walk to Caraxes’s enclosure.

There was a trace of warmth in the light breeze, a promise of spring, and the air lacked the bite of months before. When spring came, Daemon guessed, it would come quickly to melt the snow that remained on the ground.

Caraxes snuffed at his sons, and they both happily babbled at the dragon for the few minutes Daemon left them on the ground beside him to fetch his own personal saddle, as he’d taken to calling it. He secured them to it first before fastening the straps around his own chest, and when he was finished, he had one on either side of his back, peering over his shoulders.

Mindful of the maester’s many lectures on how much fresh air was acceptable for infants, he kept the flight short, guiding Caraxes along the northern shoreline before completing a wide circle around the outer perimeter of Runestone, landing back at the enclosure to a welcoming party of Ser Willam and his lady wife herself, her lips pursed in disapproval.

Daemon approached her unapologetically after dismounting, his two passengers giggling their glee at the ride, until her frown began to waver.

“I promised Jon he could have a dragon ride if he ate his peas,” Daemon said.

Rhea’s eyebrows crept up, her gaze shifting to his right shoulder. “And did you, Jon?”

“No!” Jon exclaimed, expressing far too much merriment in his betrayal for Daemon to do anything but smile.

“Rhaegar ate his peas,” Daemon said. “I could hardly leave one of them behind.”

Rhea walked up to him, her intention plain, and Daemon crouched so that she could reach each of their cheeks for a kiss. “You must not encourage your father. He is more than capable of doing so of his own accord.”

Daemon begrudgingly surrendered them to her for the walk back to the castle, their destination his wife’s solar with its large hearth, already radiating heat into the chamber. Tea, piping hot, was brought up from the kitchens, and once Daemon had finished unwrapping his sons from their layers of fur, and set them upon it with their beloved dragon dolls within reach, he poured himself a cup and settled on the floor beside them.

“Did you seek me out for a particular reason?” Daemon asked, knowing that as much as Rhea might fret about the dragon excursions, she no longer believed he would endanger them in any way.

“A raven arrived from King’s Landing.” She grabbed her own cup and sat in one of the chairs by the hearth, tossing him a rolled up slip of parchment. “From the king himself.”

Ignoring the twist of apprehension in his stomach, Daemon broke the seal and unfurled the parchment, scanning it quickly for any unwelcome surprises. The contents, however, though not particularly welcome, were not a surprise. “My brother has a new son. We are invited to King’s Landing.” He handed the letter to her. “He is still set on throwing a tourney for the twins, and plans to tie it with celebrations of his son’s birth.”

If there was one lesson his brother had learned at long last, it was not to celebrate births before they happened.

Rhaegar had crawled to Rhea’s chair to tug insistently at the laces of her boots. She scooped him onto her lap, holding him there as she read the letter herself. “Six moons. Spring will surely be upon us by then. The seas should be calmer.”

“Choppy water is little concern to a dragon,” Daemon said.

“It is to those of us who must travel by ship,” she retorted.

It would be at least two weeks by sea, and even in spring, not a pleasant voyage. Daemon hesitated, then said, “Come with us on Caraxes. The saddle seats two.”

The offer caught her off guard, her eyes narrowing briefly in suspicion as though she thought he was not being earnest. “You have not let me ride with you before.”

You have not asked, Daemon almost said, before remembering his very first arrival at Runestone—less than a decade ago to Rhea, but nearly two for him. He had been bitterly furious about the marriage, escorted there by his own father on Vhagar, as though he might try to flee otherwise. His new wife had borne the brunt of Daemon’s resentment, his interactions with her curt. When she had asked him if they might ride on Caraxes together, he had coldly informed her that such privileges were for Targaryens alone.

“Jon and Rhaegar will want you there,” Daemon said, by way of excuse.

“Zaldis,” Rhaegar said solemnly to her.

“Very well,” Rhea said, her expression now one she often wore in his company—as though she were not quite sure what to make of him. “It would be an honor.”

It was a matter of pragmatism as well. Rhea’s confession to treason on her deathbed had settled any doubts about her truly being his sons’ mother. Here, it was still possible that a whisper or two in King’s Landing about Lady Elys also being present at the family’s summer home at the time of birth could raise suspicion. The more amicable his relationship with Rhea in the eyes of the realm, the less likely anyone would be to question—or question successfully, at least.

Daemon retreated to the desk to write a response to his brother’s letter, a frown finding him midway through. His sons’ sworn shield, Ser Willam, would have to travel by ship, which meant they would be without protection for a time in King’s Landing. Viserys should be able to spare at least one of his Kingsguard until he’s arrived, he decided finally, including a request for such in his letter. He can have his damned tourney in return.

By the time he had finished, both of his sons had started fussing for their linens to be changed, which was one of the few tasks he happily let their nurse handle, taking a small meal of his own before rejoining them in the nursery. They were sleepy with milk when he arrived, fresh from the wetnurse’s breast, and he eagerly reclaimed them, kissing each soft cheek as he carried them back to the solar, where their cradle was kept.

It was an elaborate piece, with an intricate relief of two dragons perched vigilantly at the head of the cradle, sized for two babes, rather than one. He’d commissioned it the very day he had arrived back in Runestone to confront Rhea about Elys’s pregnancy, and if the woodworker had wondered about his confidence about having twins, he had kept his curiosity to himself.

It only saw use during the day, when his sons napped. At night, they slept with him. He had lain awake for most of the first few nights, terrified that he might somehow crush them in his sleep, but that fear had eventually subsided. The fear of someone taking them from him, however—that had not.

He watched them sleep from his chair by the hearth. They stalked you from the shadows before, and struck in broad daylight. Has it begun yet? Do they watch us even now?

One of the posts on his brother’s small council that he had not yet held—and subsequently been dismissed from—was that of master of whisperers. With the Stepstones claimed for now and its crown bestowed upon his brother, he had been promised a favor. A position on his small council would certainly be within reason.

But it would require moving his family to King’s Landing. Once, he would have wanted nothing more than to escape Runestone and return home. But even just the past year he had spent in the Vale, first anticipating his sons’ arrival and then raising them since, had shifted the castle from a hated prison to something almost like a sanctuary.

How do I protect you? He reached into the cradle, stroking the back of Jon’s small hand, which immediately curled around his forefinger in response, his grip strong. Daemon smiled. When will you first demand a dagger to wield?

He repeated the motion with his other hand on Rhaegar, who also instinctively grabbed for his finger. Daemon recalled the first few weeks after their birth, when his younger son would wail whenever he tried to hold him or even approach. That phase had fortunately passed. These days, Rhaegar happily demanded dragon rides and cuddles.

“You have trapped me,” he murmured, keeping his voice quiet so as not to wake them.

He could feel Rhea’s eyes on him from where she worked at her desk. All their marriage, she had built him up as a monster in her head: selfish, cruel, ambitious. When he had hurried on Caraxes to Runestone to find both Rhea and her sister in the midst of drafting their proposal to Corwyn Redfort, he had nearly flown into a rage. Instead, he had confronted her about all that she sought to steal from him, every moment he had mourned since rescuing them from the Vale the first time, equal parts fury and grief.

She had not looked at him the same since. Daemon wondered if she struggled as he did when he tried to reconcile his own hatred for what she had done to him before with her newfound tolerance. That first exchange had been—heated. Daemon’s infidelity, after all, had been the very reason for the pregnancy. Yet she had been willing to hear his proposal and forgo her own honor to offer the twins a life free of the stain of bastardry.

“Do you regret your choice?” he asked, turning to her.

Rhea regarded him with a raised brow. “Have I given you cause to believe so?” She rose from her desk to approach the cradle, gazing down at the twins with a smile that did not fully reach her eyes. “I feel guilty that I may have them, and my sister may not. It is—difficult on her.”

Elys had been forced to stay behind at the summer estate after their departure with the twins, though they had remained there for the first week. Daemon’s jaw clenched, and he shifted his gaze back to the cradle. He did not regret taking them for his own, but the pain and loss in their true mother’s eyes as they had been plucked from her arms for the final time reminded him uncomfortably of his own grief at their childhood having been stolen from him.

“When enough time has passed, I do not see why they should not know the company of their aunt.”

But enough time could very well be another year or two. First she would need to be safely wed, perhaps with another child on the way that would be trueborn and hers to keep.

By the shake of her head, he guessed that Rhea was thinking the same. She reached out her hand toward Jon, only to pull back at the last moment. “I cannot help but feel that I have stolen them.”

And yet you felt no such guilt in taking them from me. He swallowed that old anger, then wondered if it had been her reason for only seeking them out twice a year. Whether they would always feel stolen to her.

“Do not let that stop you from loving them,” Daemon said, earning another of those uncertain looks. He fought back a frown, misliking the sense of being constantly evaluated and reevaluated. “They deserve a mother’s love.”

“Though you would rather it not be mine,” she said with a hint of challenge.

“It does not matter what I want,” Daemon replied, feeling himself grow heated. “It is a matter of what they need.”

Their raised voices had woken Rhaegar, who was peering upward at them now, his purple eyes fixed on Daemon. They had darkened some since birth, from a lilac that had immediately recalled his uncle Aemon, to something closer to the darker violet he remembered. Rhaegar’s brow furrowed, the beginning of a whimper forming in his throat, and Daemon quickly began humming a lullaby as he rocked the cradle back and forth.

Rhaegar settled eventually, snuggling into Jon’s side, and they sat in silence for several minutes as Daemon continued to rock and hum.

“I do love them,” Rhea said eventually, voice lowered to a whisper so as not to disturb the sleeping infants again. “I had grown resigned that I would never have children of my own. To have them, but in a manner so steeped in dishonor, both yours and mine own—”

“They live,” Daemon interrupted. “They breathe.” He leaned in to kiss their tiny foreheads. “How can there be dishonor in that?”

Rhea fell silent, watching them for a time, before leaning in to do the same. As she pulled back, Jon’s eyes opened to fix upon her. The hint of purple in them at birth had since faded, almost lost now within the pensive grey. Rhea stared at Jon, as though trapped by his gaze, then leaned in to kiss his cheek as well.

Daemon overcame his reluctance and rose to give her space. “It is your turn to sing.”

[ripleylove]

You have nothing to worry about as long as I'm with you.

requested by @stellakiddsblog saying Rhea x reader They fly to Australia to tell Rheas family they are getting married and reader is terrified they won't like her

pairing: Rhea Ripley x fem reader.

genre: fluff,comfort

summary: during the way to meet Rhea's family to tell them you're getting married,you started to get a bit worried,but Rhea is quick to calm you down.

A/N: today I've wrote like 5 pages for an assignment....god give me the strength also thx @bibibi-tchx for the moral support xx <3

Also sorry if it's short!

⋆ ˚｡⋆𔓘⭒๋࣭

Your soon-to-be wife Rhea wanted to let you meet her lovely family.

It's okay,you should be happy,right?

Right.

The problem is,you were anxious. Like, you were terrified that they wouldn't approve the two of you.

You loved Rhea dearly,and you would do anything for her. So,seeing her happily telling you about her family and how she would love you meeting them for the first time, you couldn't decline her offer about going to her hometown,Australia,to meet her parents and to announce that you were going to get married.

When you nodded with a smile,she was jumping of joy, hugging you as tight as she could (and almost destroying your whole body) and peppering your whole face with kisses.

On the airplane,you just couldn't bring yourself to tell her about your worries,seeing how happy she looked. She was literally squirming in her seat from the excitement,and you didn't want to ruin it.

What if they think you're ugly?

What if they don't like you?

What if they don't approve it?

What if they will hate Rhea because of you?

What if Rhea wants to leave you?

What if,what if,what if...

Your thoughts were flooded with negativity,thinking the worst about this whole meeting. And your lover Rhea noticed this.

"Baby,are you alright? We can wait a little bit more to meet them-" She was talking with a worried tone,obviously caring about your wellbeing. "Yes,baby,I'm alright,don't worry. I'm just a bit scared" You mumbled the last part,suddenly finding the floor interesting.

Rhea fully turns towards you,combing your hair with her sharp nails.

"Scared of what,cherry?" She came closer to you and put her pointer and middle finger under your chin,raising it so you can look at her in the eyes. Your eyes,after seeing her comforting gaze and after feeling her soft digits starting to caress your cheek,started to water.

"What if they don't like me? What if they don't like us?" You said with your voice breaking mid sentence,tears now fully flowing down your eyes.

"Oh,baby. Come here,Mami is here for you." She said while opening her muscular arms,welcoming you in her warm and loving embrace,while gently kissing your head.

Her hands went on your back,tracing soft patterns, while she started talking. "Baby,you have nothing to worry about. You know that as long as I'm with you,you don't have to worry about anything. So if my family says something bad about you,I will for sure put them in their place. Also,who cares if they don't approve? I have to marry you,not them." You giggled a bit from her words,the sound quickly made the corners of Rhea's lips rise upwards.

"See? That's what I want to hear,your cute little laugh." She said while teasing you,tickling your sides. Your laugh echoed through the whole plane,and you think you'll get some complaints from other people. But who cares,you're having fun with your wife,the love of your life and you life saver.

After that,you two just cuddled,loving each other even without words.

taglist: @stellakiddsblog @bibibi-tchx

[bcowlick]

More fun facts about Modern AU of my gods!

- Story takes place in modern Athens!

- Triton is in high school (He is around 14-15) and he is currently living with Zeus since Poseidon and Amphitrite are on a trip all the way on Australia (for work. They're both marine biologist!) So he's now practically the babysitter of Athena. For his little sisters, they are with grandma Rhea

- Hades runs a funeral home with Persephone. He makes great coffins and she does really beautiful flower arrangments. They are filthy rich from it

- Zeus is currently a lawyer specialized in familiar situations. His college story is kind of inspired by Legally Blonde.

- The reason Hera needs a lawyer is because child services is treatening with taking away both Ares and Hephestos from her after an accident happened that resulted in Hephestos getting hurt. It was purely accidental. Zeus was the one assigned to her case. (To her dissmay jsksjsk)

- Zeus keeps his partying and sleeping around very on the downlow. He tries his best for Athena to not realize what he's up to when he dissapears from time to time on the weekends. To compensante for the time he is away, he then spoils her with gifts and treats. He does tries to be as present as he cans. When Zeus goes dad mode he is very dedicated to his role (but not perfect at all. He will make a LOT of mistakes)

- Athena does realizes that something is wrong when daddy says that he has to do some "extra work" and that he'll be back in the morning. She's not naive. She asks Triton about it but he just keeps his mouth shut or else Zeus might drop him with Rhea too

That's all for now! I may write a snippet later for funsies

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Ask, and You Shall Receive

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x f!reader Warnings: Mentions of female masturbation, slight coercion and degradation, smut. Word count: ~2k

Summary: Daemon's maidservant has been quietly lusting after him for three months, waiting for him to make the first move. Based on this request.

Author's note: I don't have a tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications for updates of when I post fics. Community labels are for cops.

When she’d first been assigned the duty of serving as Prince Daemon Targaryen’s maidservant, a rush of excitement had run hotly through her veins.

There were many names that the King’s younger brother went by, but the one that intrigued her most was Lord Flea Bottom, a moniker earned for how often he was seen in that particular part of the capital. It was no secret that the Rogue Prince enjoyed the company of whores; he frequented all of the pleasure houses within the Street of Silk, despite his marriage to Lady Rhea Royce, and no matter how much nobles and smallfolk alike enjoyed gossiping about his exploits, he was undeterred from this salacious behaviour. Daemon was not a man who concerned himself with the opinions or approval of others.

She had lusted after the Prince from afar for as long as she’d worked at the Keep, and ordinarily she’d never dream that someone of such high standing would give her the slightest bit of attention - she was a lowborn servant, a nobody - yet learning he frequented brothels gave her a glimmer of hope that he might deign to give her the attention she so desperately craved from him. A maidservant was certainly a step up from a common whore, and at the very least he would not have to part with coin in exchange for her company.

Much to her disappointment, it has been three months since she began attending to Daemon and he has not so much as spared a glance her way. He returns each evening from his duties as Commander of the City Watch, and she draws him a bath before helping him from his gold cloak and armour.

She allows herself the briefest gaze of admiration before averting her eyes, feeling her skin grow heated whenever he stands bare before her, tall, broad and godlike. He is the very image of power itself, surely hand-carved by the Seven.

When he reclines in the tub full of steamy water, her eyes roam appreciatively over the breadth of his chest and shoulders as she drags the dampened wash cloth across them, down the length of his arms and the span of his large hands.

The silken strands of his silver hair are impossibly soft against her fingers as she runs them through it, washing away the dirt of the city. The rumble of contentment that vibrates in his throat as her fingertips work against his scalp has desire pooling between her legs. She wonders what else she could do to elicit those sounds from him. Alas, no matter how deftly she washes his body and attends to his needs, he has never touched her. Though he is utterly relaxed in her presence, it seems to be in spite of it rather than because of it. 

This frustrates her. She goes to bed each night pent up, her hand slipping between her legs and bringing herself to release, imagining what it would feel like to have his dampened body move against her own.

There is fire in his eyes when he returns to his quarters that evening, his brow furrowed in long spent anger, his jaw set in a way that indicates he is in no mood to talk. The darkened maroon splatters on his breastplate are doubtless dried blood, and not his own.

She longs to ask what has happened, but knows better. It is not her place to question a Prince. She has heard talk of Daemon putting tougher measures in place to deal with the rapists of King’s Landing, a recent development. She suspects that this is likely the cause of his bloodied ire tonight. Her heart swells at the thought of his chivalrous bravery. Longing to reward him for his service to the people of the city, and perhaps a last ditch attempt at gaining his attention, she decides to put extra care into his evening bath.

She ensures the water is slightly hotter than usual, scented with rose and lavender, and sets oils beside the tub, almond to use on his hair, and lemon for his body. Her final action is to strip down to just her shift, stepping out of the dress she wears that identifies her as serving staff of the Red Keep and shedding her smallclothes. She wants him to see her. If he takes offence or queries it, she reasons that she will simply apologise and say that the warmth of his bath was making her too hot. However, somehow she doubts he will be offended.

As she steps towards him to begin helping with the removal of his armour, she notices his eyes drift over her body. Covered only by a thin layer of cotton, her silhouette is illuminated through the material by the soft light of the candles that burn throughout the chamber. He says nothing, standing in silence and allowing her to disrobe him. She places each heavy piece carefully to one side, as always, though this time her hands shake with the effort.

Sweat prickles the back of her neck as he is revealed to her, her mouth running dry at the sight of him, thick thighs slightly parted as he stands with his feet planted. She catches his eye as she glances upwards and her breath sticks in her throat. He is watching her ogle him. The faintest twitch of his brow is his only reaction. She cannot tell if it is amusement or annoyance.

He lets out a low hum of appreciation as he steps into the tub, clearly noticing the difference in both scent and temperature. A small smile of pride tugs at her lips as she steps behind him, preparing to begin their nightly routine.

Carefully she wets his hair, cupping water into her hands and spreading it from root to tip, before coating her palms and fingertips in almond oil and working it through his pale tresses. She takes her time, rubbing tight, slightly pressured circles against his scalp, noticing the way his eyelids drift closed, leaning into her touch. She forgoes the use of the washcloth this evening, pouring lemon essence directly into her hands and massaging it into his chest and shoulders. The tightness in his muscles melts like butter beneath her touch as she works her way down the length of his arms, watching the way the tension he has been clinging onto dissipates with every sweep of her hands across his body.

As she moves lower, about to dip her hand beneath the surface of the bathwater, she lets out a small gasp, caught off guard by the suddenness with which Daemon grasps her wrist - not applying enough pressure to hurt her, but enough for her to know she can no longer move her arm of her own volition. Her wide eyes stare at him imploringly, though his expression is impassive as he regards her carefully.

“Do you wish to fuck me, little maid?” he asks, voice low, the slightest of smirks upon his face.

She feels as though all the air has been sucked from the room. Her heart hammers wildly in her chest as her lips part in shock. She knows that Daemon speaks plainly, but she had never expected him to be so lewd, so direct. It has warmth blooming in her lower belly. A dull, throbbing ache settles between her legs.

She lets out a squeal when, clearly dissatisfied with her silence, he hauls her into the tub with him. She sits astride him, shift soaking wet and clinging to the contours of her body as she attempts to control her breathing. His hands grip her waist, holding her in place to ensure she doesn’t try to climb back out. The hardness of his body against hers, the warmth of the water lapping against her skin, the heady aroma of rose and lavender, it is all too much. Her head swims with the effort to keep her composure. 

This is all she has ever wanted. Yet, she knows one wrong move could spoil it all.

Daemon reaches up, tweaking the hardened peak of her nipple that pebbles through the wet fabric, making her whine and clench around nothing. “You didn’t answer me - but I think I already know the answer. I see the way you look at me, the way you prance about my chamber like a bitch in heat.”

She squirms, mewling desperately when he hands push her soaked cotton of her shift above her hips, his thumb dipping between her legs to lightly circle her pearl. She clings tightly to his shoulders for support, wanting to say something, anything, but the words will not come. Mercifully, he is eager to speak for both of them.

“The thing is, little maid, wanton sluts don’t get what they want unless they ask nicely. Did you really think the power of your feminine charm alone would be enough to entice me? I am a Prince. People beg for my attention, not the other way around.”

Her chest rises and falls rapidly with effort it takes her to remember to breathe. Her thighs shake either side of Daemon’s hips as he continues to rub against her sensitive bud. Her brows are knitted together, an expression of both unbridled pleasure and humiliation.

He chuckles quietly. “So, are you ready to ask for what it is you want?”

Resolve crumbling, she nods fervently, hoping he will take mercy on her, but it is not enough.

“Say it,” he commands forcefully, removing his hand from between her legs.

When she eventually finds her voice, it sounds foreign to her, broken and pitiful, not her own. “P-please…Your Grace…I-I want you to fuck me.”

“Good girl,” he whispers.

She barely has time to register the weightiness of his thick cock as it rests against his palm before he is pressing it inside of her, its girth pushing apart her fleshy inner walls with its brutal intrusion. Though she is adequately aroused, it is a stretch to accommodate him. She muffles a squeak into the crook of his neck as he sheathes himself fully within her.

His fingers curl themselves into the hair at the back of her head, gently tugging her back, an air of smugness etched across his handsome features as he looks up at her. “You will not hide from me,” he says huskily. “You wanted me to fuck you, so you will let me watch you as I do it.”

The slight threat that simmers beneath his words sends a shiver of excitement through her. The bath water begins to sway with the undulation of his hips as they thrust languidly up into hers. His pace is lazy, unhurried, yet every stroke is achingly deep as the head of him brushes against the rough patch inside of her that causes her toes to curl involuntarily. He is like a cat playing with a mouse, his eyes never leaving her face, studying every slackening of her jaw and slight scrunch of her nose as he fucks himself into her.

As he coaxes her towards her peak, she feels a familiar pressure building inside of her. It crashes over her in white hot waves, causing her to slump against Daemon’s chest with a cry of ecstasy. She feels boneless, weightless, but he is far from done with her.

Seizing her incapacitation as an opportunity, he grasps her hips, quickening his pace and pulling her downwards to meet each snap of his pelvis, the force of his movements causing the water to cascade over the sides of the wooden tub and onto the flagstone floor as he chases his own end. He grunts in satisfaction as he spends inside of her, and in the back of her pleasure-addled mind comes the hazy thought that she will need to drink moon tea in the morning.

They lay as they are for a few moments longer, as Daemon catches his breath, what remains of the bathwater rapidly cooling around them. When she finally has the strength to lift herself from his chest, she sees fire in his eyes once more, though it is not derived from fury. There is warmth behind his gaze, a fondness that she has not seen before.

He strokes her back absentmindedly, his fingers plucking at the wet shift that sticks to it. “Take this off,” he whispers, “and go to my bedchambers. We shall see if you are as good at warming my bed as you are at making my bath go cold.”

Read on AO3

More Daemon fics

[myleelovesfood]

Say please, pt.2

Pairing: Jey Uso x Fem! Oc (Fantasia Nicole)

Genre: slight angst

Face creds: Kiana ledé.

Word count: 999 million..

Authors note: Y’all cut ya girl some slack! I think I’m sick cause of this weather!😒 But hopefully y’all enjoy because it’s about to get messy chileeeee.

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It had been weeks since me and Jey last spoke to each other, which is quite reasonable I mean he’s busy preparing for the Wretlemania and trying to get his life together for his match against Gunther. However every time I tried contacting him it said delivered or read, I couldn’t talk to Trinity about it because she was already dealing with a lot after that fight with Jade, so she was the last person I wanted to bother with this mess. After training at the gym I made it home, exhaustion washing over me as I threw my bag down and went to my bathroom to take a much needed shower to ease the stress that had been going on for these last couple of weeks. I threw my cardigan off along with all my other clothes and turned on the shower whilst stepping inside.i let the hot water run over my limbs as I slowly let my mind drift off into an endless pool of thoughts. I grabbed my loofah and my strawberry bath soap and began lathering it all over my body. I washed every inch of myself, trying to get his spicy amazing smelling cologne and hand prints off of my body. I was so furious that he had ghosted me like this, this is what I get for thinking I had a shot with Jey uso. I was so caught up in my thoughts that I didn’t even notice my phone started to ring and blow up with calls and messages. I didn’t realize until after I had got out of the shower. I picked up my phone and read the message and notifications it was from Trinity, even though she was still recovering she told me that I would always be hearing from her, even when she was in the hospital.

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Day one🤞🏽: Girl have you seen Rhea’s story?

Day one🤞🏽: Fantasia! What is going on?!

Day one🤞🏽: Fantasia Nicole you better answer me right now!

5 missed calls from “Day one🤞🏽”

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That’s when I started to get worried that something serious had happened I immediately started a FaceTime call to her. “Fanny! Rhea lost her title and now she’s all cuddled up with Jey at his house talking bout needed someone to comfort me for the loss of my title!? Fantasia you need to check her story right now.” Trinity said in a hurry. “Trinity, now you know you are not supposed to be on your phone while you’re healing, and you better not get ME in trouble with Jon! And I’m checking her story right now but it won’t let me view hers or Jey’s page, I think I’m blocked.” I said as I continued trying to scroll and looked at either one of their pages. “They are planning something, I can tell and I’m letting you know right now it’s not going to end well. But luckily for you I did take screenshots so I’m sending them to you right now.” She said as she started to send the screenshots. “You know what I’ll view everything tomorrow mkay right now is just not the time and you better get off this phone if you don’t want to get caught Trinity!” I said laughing as I threw on my robe and eased into bed. “yeah yeah whatever I’ll FaceTime you tomorrow girl.” She said whilst she chucked. “Mkay love you.” I said as I blew her a kiss through the phone. She blew me one back and told me she loved me too before hanging up before Jon could catch her. I looked out my window and sighed I realized that there was going to be a fight and I wasn’t assigned to fight anyone at wrestlemania yet so I was already on a cliffhanger there. In the end I decided to just sleep it off because everything would be better in the morning, right?

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The next morning came earlier than expected but it went by normally, I got up showered lathered myself in lotion did my skin and dental care and got out a decent outfit to hit the gym this morning.

The fit that I had on was gym appropriate and it’s was quite comfortable. While in the car i listened to some high hop and r&b like I normally did until I looked down at my phone and saw I message from an unknown number. I clicked on it and started to read it.

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No called ID: It’s me Fantasia. We need to talk.

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I looked down at the message with confusion etched across my face.

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Fantasia Nicole: who is this?

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No called ID: you’ll see very soon..

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WHEW WELP IM GOING TO BED IDK WHEN PART THREE WILL COME OUT BUT ILL TRY AND MAKE IT SOMETIME SOON!

Credits to the owners of all pictures, these aren’t mine!

send help, a girl is still sick and looking like this.

Alr I’m done I promise. Gn y’all💋

[starborncoven]

DIONYSUS

Welcome to the divine assignment of the month! This February we want to celebrate with wine, in nature, wildly and with as much pleasure as possible. Therefore, here we have: DIONYSUS

Dionysus is the god of wine, madness, vegetation, pleasure, festivities and frenzy. Son of Zeus and Semele, married to Ariadne. There were two ways of representing him in art: as a middle-aged man with a beard, or as an effeminate young man.

His attributes are the thyrsus, a cup and a crown of ivy; and his sacred animals are the panther (sometimes leopard), the tiger, the bull and the serpent. He used to be accompanied by satyrs and maenads. The color most associated with him is purple.

The most important and well-known places of worship of this god are Naxos and Thebes, where his most renowned temples are located.

One of the best known myths of Dionysus is that of his birth. Zeus and Semele, princess of Thebes, conceived Dionysus. Hera, filled with jealousy, convinced the princess to ask Zeus to appear before her in his true form, in all his glory.

Zeus, obliged to comply with this request, did so, and Semele was burned to death by his form and lightning. Luckily, the god was able to recover the baby's body and sewed it in his thigh, where he could finish forming until he was born. Then, depending on the source, Zeus gave the child to Hermes, in other versions to Persephone or Rhea, and they gave it to Dionysus' aunt and her husband: Ino and Athamas. They convinced the couple to raise Dionysus as if he were a girl.

However, Hera's jealousy caused her to drive them both mad, causing them to kill their own children and then themselves. Zeus, to save Dionysus, turned him into a ram and took him to the nymphs of Mount Nyssa, where they raised him in a cave.

Nowadays, Dionysus has been associated as the patron saint of trans and androgynous people, due to the fact that he was raised partly as a woman and was associated with male and female characteristics in antiquity.

Other associations of Dionysus are theater and choral singing. In fact, during his festivities tragedies and comedies were performed, and the plays dedicated to the god had choral singing and dancing.

Dionysus is a god with multiple epithets and myths, all of them important to understand his changing character and his relationship with the other gods. Although some associations and relationships between them are more recent, such as the comparison between Dionysus and Apollo in Nietzsche's studies.

He is also a god known for driving mortals to madness, as he has myths in which his vengeance against those who go against him is shown in great detail. Such as the myth of Pentheus of Thebes or the Tyrrhenian pirates.

Now, what can be worked with this god? Mental health (please also remember to go to mental health professionals) is one of the aspects that can be best worked with Dionysus. Inhibition, the understanding of personal pleasures, the knowledge of your limits, the contradiction between what is socially correct and your vices or desires... He is a perfect god for shadow work and to delve into our wildest side and rooted to the most primitive pleasure, including leisure.

He helps you to express yourself, to find a way to show who you are in every step you take, to speak out and give your opinion no matter who hears it, etc. But he also helps with theater, acting, choral music (share with Apollo and the muses), etc.

Offerings to Dionysus can be grapes, wine, participating in plays or going to see them, being indulgent in your leisure time and in what you desire, honey, ivy leaves, cups, purple candles, hymns, handwritten prayers, one could even make a pact with him in self-pleasure (such as masturbation), purple crystals such as amethyst, and many more offerings.

And that’s the end of the thread! 🍇

[burning-academia-if]

About uh? Cosa? on an ask about the ROs "assigned" song, you said: "when the biggest red flag ro says she's the best choice of all of them tho / I don't think her male and non binary counter parts have the audacity even if they do hate the others lmaO". Does that mean that there are differences in how they act depending on their gender identity? What are those?

While that was a semi-joke ajsjsj there are slight differences between them. Most notably, it's how they react to the violence which was enacted upon them and how that violence played out. I guess you could say f!??? and nb!??? are angrier than their male counterpart because of it

You'll also see slightly different reactions to other characters based on their gender as well. I think the most notable is Rhea, honestly, although it'll slightly show up with Rook as well.

Personality wise though, there won't really be much of a difference.

[hollywoodfamerp]

WELCOME TO THE NEWBURY BOSTON

Nestled in the heart of historic Back Bay, The Newbury Boston is our luxurious home for this weekend getaway. A five-star icon of elegance and refinement, The Newbury offers sweeping views of the Public Garden, timeless design, and impeccable service. Whether you’re out exploring the charm of Newbury Street or unwinding after a full day of events, our guests will enjoy indulgent spa treatments, fireside cocktails in the Library, and unforgettable meals at the rooftop Contessa.

Below the cut, you’ll find the roommate assignments. Couples and requests have been paired together. All other arrangements were randomized via generator. If you’ve been matched with another FC that you play, just send us a message and we’ll make the adjustment right away. Please remember this is a mandatory event for all celebs with no kids. Feel free to reach out to your roommate as soon as you see the list, no need to wait for them to message you first! This way you can get to plotting :) A full itinerary will be posted soon!

Please note: roommate pairings may change due to follows, unfollows, and activity checks so please like this post to stay in the loop!

Miles Teller and Lily James

Andrew Garfield and Florence Pugh

Eiza González and Anne Hathaway

Vanessa Kirby and Josh Allen

Demi Bennett (Rhea Ripley) and Ashley Fliehr (Charlotte Flair) 

Hwang Hyunjin and Bang Chan

Travis Kelce and Taylor Swift

Kit Connor and Kathryn Hahn

Chris Evans and Naomi Scott

Glen Powell and Romee Strijd

Sophie Turner and Dove Cameron

Nick Robinson and Nicholas Hoult

Park Seonghwa and Megan Jovon Ruth Pete (Megan Thee Stallion)

Choi San and Jeon Jungkook 

Chloe Bailey and Josh O'Connor

Karlie Kloss and Oliver Stark

Rylee Arnold and Joe Burrow

Cate Blanchett and Jenna Lyons

Damiano David and Robyn Fenty (Rihanna) 

Kim Taehyung and Joshua Hong

Kwon Ji-yong and Jennie Kim 

Chase Stokes and Lee Taemin

Joe Jonas and Kelsea Ballerini

Daisy Edgar Jones and Paul Mescal 

Pedro Pascal and Sam Reid

Cynthia Erivo and Ariana Grande

Andrew Garfield and Florence Pugh

Choi Minho and Kim Ahyoung (Yura)

Lee Jeno and Na Jaemin

Kim Mingyu and Sana Minatozaki

Olivia Rodrigo and Halle Bailey

Benson Boone and Manu Rios

Sarah Paulson and Jessica Lange

Sebastian Stan and Margot Robbie

Colby Lopez (Seth Rollins) and Rebecca Quin (Becky Lynch)

Pamela Martinez (Bayley) and Mercedes Justine Varnado (Sasha Banks) 

Lee Taemin and Kim Jongin

Zoë Kravitz and Lili Reinhart

Xiao Dejun (Xiaojun) and Yoo Jimin (Karina) 

Danny Amendola and Olivia Culpo

Emily Blunt and John Krasinski

Josephine Skriver and Aaron Taylor-Johnson

Cari Fletcher and Victoria de Angelis

Kim Hongjoong and Diamanté Quiava Valentin Harper (Saweetie)

Hailey Baldwin and Luke Hemmings

Min Yoongi and Kim Namjoon

Saoirse Ronan and Jack Lowden

Nicholas Galitzine and Taylor Zakhar Perez

Lauren Jauregui and Bill Skarsgard

Elizabeth Lail and Jason Sudeikis

Stefani Germanotta (Lady Gaga) and Jessica Chastain

Kim Jisoo and Christian Yu

Dakota Johnson and Sam Heughan

Niall Horan and Olivia O'Brien 

David Corenswet and Dua Lipa

Drew Starkey and Meryl Streep

Awsten Knight and Aubrey Plaza

Gwilym Lee and Sabrina Carpenter

Tom Hardy and Adria Arjona

Britt Lower and Selena Gomez

Jenna Coleman and Kang Seulgi

Zac Efron and Renee Paquette (Renee Young)

Alex Gumuchian (bbno$) and Leigh-Anne Pinnock

Sydney Sweeney and Jenna Ortega

Byun Baekhyun and Madelyn Cline

Cha Eunwoo and Brittany Baker (Britt Baker)

Choi Soobin and Emma Stone

Dougie Poynter and Jasmine Tookes

Harry Styles and Madison Beer

Lee Felix and Nina Dobrev

Shawn Mendes and Reneé Rapp

Wong Kunhang (Hendery) and Hailee Steinfeld

Aaron Pierre and Vanessa Hudgens

Gareth Southgate and Mazz Murray

Harry Kane and Anya Taylor-Joy

Jonathan Good (Jon Moxley) and Charles Leclerc

Alycia Debnam Carey and Simone Ashley

Xu Minghao and Stefon Diggs

Barbara Palvin and Ella Purnell

SZA and Rachel Brosnahan

Gigi Hadid and Elijah Hewson

[agirlandherquill]

writing share tag!

its friday, its free time (mostly - assignment deadlines aside) and that means writing! and of course, tag games! rules: share something you've written recently! and for my entry, it's something without a place, a part of a story without a name as yet, but it sure was interesting to write

“I have loved you for as long as I could bear it.” She watched him carefully, coldly, her eyes fixing on every rise and fall of his chest. She looked everywhere but his eyes. “No more.”

“…Is that what you think?”

“What?” Her eyes finally drifted to his, head tilting in confusion.

“You think that you can end this, with a word? You think we can be separated just because your heart decrees it has had enough?”

“Yes.” She had to let it be enough, she could endure it no more. It was killing her. Looking at him, hearing his voice, seeing the darkness in his eyes, killed her. It waged war on her fading strength, allowed a tremble to her knee and deepened the ache in her chest. 

“No.” His growl echoed between the walls. 

“It is not just my heart.” She whispered. “I have had enough.”

“…Is that the truth?”

“Would I lie?”

“To protect yourself? Yes.” He took a step forward. She moved back, pressing herself into the edge of the dining table. “To escape me? You would lie, and do so much worse.” Another step. He was leaning over her, a hand grazing her arm. “You would lie to destroy a kingdom should it serve your desires. Do I not serve you now? Is that why you wish to leave?”

She tilted her head back, sighing as her fingers brushed against a bread-knife on the table behind her. “You have never served me. No-one shall ever serve me. And do you know why?” She grasped his chin between her fingers, looking him dead in the eye. His eyes crinkled with wicked curiosity. “Tell me.”

“Because I serve myself.”

The knife flashed, and she silenced any answer he was about to give.

“And I always will.”

~ ~ ~

tag list time! open tag as always too!

@the-ellia-west @willtheweaver @tildeathiwillwrite @drchenquill @365runesofthesystem

@coffin-hopping @godsmostfuckedupgoblin @a-mimsy-borogove @frostedlemonwriter @i-do-anything-but-write

@r-u-living @thatuselesshuman @lead-to-code @sunflowerrosy @theaistired

@phoenixradiant @autism-purgatory @corinneglass @tiredpapergirl @patheticexcuseforawriter

@missmisanthrope @littlestchildofthemoon @morganxduinn @thebrownleathernotebook @rmhashauthor

@lamuradex @fantasy-things-and-such @glasshouses-and-stones @hattonthehatman @humbly-a-doppelganger

@ramwritblr @s-pendragon7 @thelastneuron @heartreactor @ihauntmyhouse

@shiningstars-world @scaewolf @just-emis-blog @joeys-piano @ramitola

@yrndrgn @riveriafalll @lawrencespen1777 @theverumproject @zackprincebooks

@justjariel @orion-lacroix @jupiter---daydreams @vinniehorrible @stars-forever

@thewritingautisticat @whatwewrotepodcast @anaisbebe @appleandsnow @urnumber1star

@chaotictravelerrants @andagii-projects @dragmewithyoutonirvana @a-bi-cat-with-books @fearofahumanplanet

@just-a-domesticated-cryptid @attemptingwriter @kitkins13 @ray-writes-n-shit

@theonewholivesinthemovies @rheas-chaos-motivation @bookwormclover @sunflowerrosy