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em-writes-stuff-sometimes · 4 months ago

Note

OMG no way are you going to write an AU of Daemon's visions at Harrenhal??? I know its AAAAAGES away from where you are in the current story but desperate hos wanna kno ;)

Ask, and ye shall receive!

until i bleed myself dry

Note: This is technically using the characters/characterisation I have established in my terms of endearment series, but really you only need to know that the Reader is Rhaenyra's younger sister and that, instead of marrying Laena, he spent a decade ho-ing it up in Pentos before coming home and getting dazzled by his niece before deciding to wife dat gurl.

WARNING: Please note this is dark, dark stuff. Discretion is advised. Please use your judgement wisely before engaging.

Triggers: graphic depictions of violence, violence against children, character d*ath, MAJOR hallucinations, sexual scenes including visibly underaged character/s.

There is something fucking wrong with this place.

Daemon feels like a skittish child as he withdraws to his chambers, covers drawn up to his neck like the fabric will keep away the very worst of midnight evils. He does not know if the steady drip, drip, drip he hears is in his head or if the stone ceiling is cracked enough to let through the rain. Knowing Harrenhal, he would hardly be surprised by the latter. Still, the noise only serves to speed the racing of his thoughts, turning them fearful as he has not felt since the weakness of his youth.

In this moment, he curses his own doings. If he had stayed his hand—if he had held his tongue—the boy would not be dead, and mayhaps you would not be so wroth with him. He would not be alone in this shithole of a keep a world away, chilled to the bone and miserable as he thinks of you warm and safe in your bed with the children. Without him.

When he finally falls asleep, he dreams.

He knows it is a dream, for he can hear your humming. Soft, sweet, the kind of tune you sing to Daeryx after one of his tantrums. His head lifts from the pillow and he finds himself back in your shared rooms on Dragonstone, eyes finding you in the chair by the hearth. Your hair, unbound, shines like molten amber in the firelight, swaying softly as you tend to business that is concealed from his gaze. Enthralled, he rises, making his way to you.

Drip, drip, drip.

He pauses. That sound… it doesn’t belong here. He calls your name. You ignore him. He moves closer, tentative.

“Come look,” you murmur suddenly, startling him. “Come, kepus.”

His feet move unbidden, out of his control.

Bile pools at the back of his throat, gut curdling at the sight of the boy—the boy—cradled in your lap. You and he are wet with blood, and it drip, drip, drips to the floor, echoing eerily. His eyes are open, face petrified, and Daemon realises that the dark at his neck is not in fact a shadow but a gaping wound, made jagged by the weapon used.

You look up at him, skin shining with sweat and expression exultant. “Look at him, kepus. Look at what you made.”

Memory flashes—he brings his son back down to rest beside his daughter on your lap, two moonshine miracles side by side. “Look at them, kepus,” you whisper, spellbound. “Look at what we made”—and his lungs constrict. You make to lift the child up, but the movement jostles his head off its perch, and it rolls to the ground to stop by his feet. He cannot move. He is frozen, horrified.

You smile, tucking the headless corpse under your chin. Gore pulses against your throat as your chin settles to the yawning maw of the child’s open neck. You rock in your seat, a faint squelch each time your shifting weight disturbs the sodden cushion beneath you.

“I love him,” you whisper, lips pressing to where flesh meets innards. Your mouth comes away red. “I love him so much.”

Daemon awakens with a yell. He swallows once, twice, and then—

He leans over the side of the bed, retching violently. When it is over, he curls up on his side, shaking, staring at his hands. They are wet with blood.

It does not take long for terror to settle in his bones like a longtime companion. It follows him each day, in every waking moment, manifesting in strange visions that he knows—he knows—must be untrue, cannot possibly be real, and yet… And yet. There is a sort of verity in them.

Dark Sister feels like a leaden weight at his hip as he stalks the keep, a reminder of his earlier encounter with Rhaenyra. Only she was not the Rhaenyra he knows, and instead a strange sort of blend of child-queen, the face of the girl peering out accusingly from under her father’s too-large crown, exclaiming all manner of hurt as she stepped from the Iron Throne upon which she perched.

“You put me on that throne. And you love me, and you hate me for it. You created me, Daemon. Yet you are now set on destroying me. All because your brother loved me more than he did you.”

And, without warning, he had taken his blade up in arms and struck off her head, a puppet on strings pulled by another. As her body fell, it morphed into the boy again. Jaehaerys. The child he had murdered. He heard your humming even while Simon Strong’s voice filtered through his unconscious mind, alerting him of the raven that just arrived.

The healer woman’s concoctions have helped little. He still wakes to strange noises, still finds himself stalking after his monstrous one-eyed nephew down the halls, only to find that it is himself he is pursuing. He hears the words you yelled at him in that last great quarrel— “get away, leave before you turn on us and murder us like you murdered that boy”—interspersed with the sound of your screams, and perhaps they are the screams you let out when birthing his children, or perhaps they are screams of a different kind, a version of himself making good on the implication of your words, steel in hand and pursuing his love, his life, his blood—

These figments blur with reality to the point that he becomes unsure of what is before him and what exists only in his head to haunt him. He comes to dread the resting hours, only to find their horrors bleeding into daylight. Whatever strange power has come to roost in his mind serves only to bring him torment.

Perhaps this is why he is not immediately suspicious when he comes face-to-face with you once more.

You stand by the window, the dim light filtering weakly over your bare form. Your back is to him, curls spilling to brush the tops of your buttocks. Their gentle sway—the barest kiss to your skin—is tantalising, and his mouth dries even as he watches your neck crane, sly smile tossed back over your shoulder at him.

“Daemon,” you beckon. Like a cuntstruck fool, he is helpless to resist the call.

His hands settle to the familiar divots of your waist, up and up and up to cup the fullness of your tits. You lean into him, a quiet huff of pleasure escaping as his fingers squeeze and his lips fall unbidden to the slope of your jaw. He inhales deeply, stirred even now by the simplicity of your scent, a throbbing line straight to his groin. You turn in his hold, nose nuzzling against his chin.

“You were right,” you say, eyes shining. “You were always right.”

He is under some enchantment, surely, for he is incapable of coherent speech. All he can do is feel the satisfaction heat his veins, allow it to tug at the corner of his mouth. I knew it, he thinks. I knew her will would bend eventually.

You speak still, even as he backs you toward the bed. “Papa was weak. Rhaenyra is weak. Only you are the true blood of the dragon.”

You shift backward onto the mattress, legs parting invitingly. The split of you opens, revealing flushed folds and the teasing glimmer of want, shining slick for his hungered gaze.

“Fearless”—your hand trails down your belly, fingers tracing around your pearl—“brave”—you venture lower, pressing teasingly at your cunt, your lip caught between your teeth—“strong.”

Daemon drops to his knees before you, tongue licking through the spill and catching on your finger. He bullies it out of the way, arms locking around your thighs as he gluts himself on the sweet tang of you, senses clouding and narrowing to a singular point of existence. You grip his hair, the arches of your feet digging against his back.

“It is not my place to question you,” you breathe, twisting and writhing with his ministrations. He watches your face, enraptured by the toss of your head and the shape of your lips as they form moan after moan. Your release is quick, a final sobbing yelp followed by a flood of slick warmth. When your eyes reopen, they are blazing with reverence. Reverence for him. Your knees flex up, your lower half folded almost to your chest. Your cunt contracts, fluttering like the wings of a butterfly. “I live to serve you, my king.”

His head feels heavy as he rises just barely to crawl over you. He frowns. When he lifts his hand to extricate yours from his hair, he finds not flesh, but cool metal. A crown.

“My king,” you coo below him.

Your surroundings are changed. It is not the meagre offerings of Harrenhal that frame you now, but the sumptuous trimmings of the king’s chambers in the Red Keep, only brighter, more lavish than they ever have been. Jewels sparkle at your throat, in your hair, at your wrists. The sheets are molten gold against your silver-pale, and you wind your hips up at him provocatively, catching his cockhead against your opening.

“You belong on the throne, husband,” you say, fist closing around his shaft and pumping once, twice. You lead him back to the core of you, nudging him just inside. “Uncle. My love. And I belong at your side—at your feet—under your body.”

“My queen,” he gasps, driving forward with a grunt, and oh, he has missed you, missed this, missed the clutch of your walls like a mother’s embrace and the sound of your breathy cries as he plunges deep. Plunges home.

“My king,” you call out, rising into him with unrestrained abandon, precious gems clinking frantically with each fevered hitch of his hips against yours. “My lord. My master. I was made for you.”

“Yes…”

“Chain me to this bed, my king.” Your spine arches toward him, hands grabbing for his own and leading them above your head. He takes this for the encouragement it is, pinning your wrists to the pillow and rutting harder. You shout, elbows flexing to no avail. “Give to me my purpose. Give me your heirs.”

He is helpless to stop the noises escaping his mouth, feral and uninhibited, fucking with near painful intent. You take it all, curving yourself deeper, holding yourself more open so that he may lay claim to his conquest. As only a king can.

“And when I have birthed one,” you say, though now it is more a prolonged keening sound, “give me another. Never stop. Oh! Make me—make me take it—”

He does not know if he is imagining it or if it is happening before his eyes, but he can see it: ruling the Seven Kingdoms, sitting the Iron Throne the way his brother never could, striding down the halls of the keep as the commons bow and scrape to their sovereign, bursting into his chambers after small council to find his queen, to find you where you always are, naked in his bed and belly round and leaking milky white between your thighs, for it is his kingly law that the only part you play here is this, waiting for him to find you and fuck you and fill you and keep you, his little niecewifequeenpet—

He snarls, pulsing and burning. You squeal as he pushes past onslaught and straight to violence, bodies colliding so forcefully that his bones ache and his brain feels like jelly wobbling in his skull. What leaves his mouth can only be bestial in nature now. “I’ll make you—”

“Yes, make me take it until I cannot. Until my cunt is ruined by you.” He feels his end rushing up with every word you wail, his joints locking and grinding and gut roiling with the anticipation of it. “Until my womb is destroyed. Until I bleed myself dry, my king. Only for you.”

“Wha—”

The horror of it escapes him, for it is too late: the release crashes on him like a tidal wave, shoving him below its surface and imprisoning him in its current. He makes a noise like a wounded boar, chasing through the high despite the alarm in his mind, so at odds with the soaring rhythm in his loins.

You laugh, tilting welcomingly to receive him. “Make me bleed, my king. Make me bleed like my mother.”

It is enough to chill the heat in his blood to ice, destroying any semblance of enjoyment. But he cannot stop the unsteady eking out of what remains of his peak. He tries, but he cannot stop.

“No,” he says, a contradiction to the enthusiasm of his flesh prison. “No, no, I cannot. No—”

“What do you mean?” you ask, a strange quality to it. A duality. It crystallises into something comprehensible with every word that comes from your lips. All at once, it is not your voice he hears, but something much higher, younger, blending and overlapping with the cadence he recognises. “You already have.”

He looks down as he makes his final groaning thrusts, only to feel his stomach drop through the floor. Your thighs are soaked in blood, his cock sluicing a path through it all the while. All that flesh covered in red, and he glances up, only to see that you are gone, you are replaced by someone so small, so frightfully small, and he realises you are not replaced, it is you, but it is a you he has not seen for well over ten years, eyes wide and frightened and gleaming like game stuck through by an arrow and taking its final breath.

Daemon rears back, but it is too late. You begin to cry. A dark patch spreads out from underneath your broken body, from where he had torn your fragile opening apart. What have I done? he thinks.

“It hurts, kepus,” you say. “It hurts.”

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, fixed to stillness by revulsion. “I’m sorry. I never meant to—”

“But you did,” you insist, childish pout despite your obvious agony.

Your hands reach out, and he leans away, too horrified to touch you—and he doesn’t know if it is you or he that he is more afraid of in this moment—but you are not searching through the air for him, no. Instead, a bundled weight is settled in them, and you bring it into the crook of your arms, gripping it as though it is the most precious of objects. You smooth the fabric from the top of it to reveal a tiny head of silver hair. The babe gurgles and roots at your flat chest, absurd and awful.

“This is what you wanted,” you say, eyes filled with betrayal. “Am I going to die now, kepus?”

Your Grace…

He shakes his head, but he is no fool. You are too little to withstand the sheer volume of blood you have lost if the bedding is anything to go by. He feels it stain his legs. He feels it drying on his cock.

“Your Grace?”

“I will, though. I’m too young. You’ve killed me.” The babe begins to suckle, and you cry harder. Your body isn’t built for this task, not yet, not like this. He wants to protest, to tell you that this is not his work, cannot be, for he has and would never do something so foul, so wholly inhuman, that the you he has gotten with child has only ever been a woman grown, but it is like you know his thoughts for you scoff and say, “You’re lying to yourself. I was always too young. You just refused to see it.”

He stares down at you, immobile, unable to even think. The metallic scent of your life leaving you fills the air, floods his nostrils with stinging heat.

“… Your Grace?”

Daemon jolts, blinking. Ser Simon Strong looks back at him. “Is the duck not to your liking, Your Grace?”

All at once, you are gone. The king’s chambers are gone. He is not even within his dank chambers at Harrenhal. Instead, he sits at the table in what passes for the dining hall here, a plate full of food steaming before him. The smell makes him ill.

“There’s also goose, if you’d prefer…”

He swallows, trying to ground himself in the present. Voices waft all around him, but he finds it difficult to pay attention.

“I’m not hungry,” he says shortly. It sounds stronger than he feels.

A pause, and then—

Simon clears his throat, turning to his companions. “I was saying, given the rather dire news…”

Daemon tries to concentrate. He does. He knows the others are speaking of matters of utmost importance. Of Rook’s Rest, of his nephew, of the war. But his mind can only turn over his encounter—his vision? His nightmare? Or is it merely truth finally unveiled to unworthy eyes?—with you, the last of your words haunting him near to madness.

“I was always too young. You just refused to see it.”

He has grown restless here, revolving between the frustration of securing an army from those who see naught in him but the very worst and the torment of these terrible visions that seek him out at their pleasure, heedless of his duty or desire. Tedium or terror—when he is entrenched in one, he wishes for the other, and there is always a sick sort of irony in the granting of said wishes. In truth, he is able enough to tolerate the resistance of these riverlanders, insulting as it is. The phantasms that pursue him have almost become too much to bear.

What is worse? The accusations from the mouth of a juvenile Rhaenyra, full of admonishments for the way he’d so thoroughly undermined her claim before she ever got the right to exercise it? The condemnations from Viserys, a retracing of steps trod so long ago, brought to life once more and forcing Daemon to relive the very worst of his brother? The boy’s laughter darting through the stone halls, an ominous prelude to the sickening sound of steel sawing through skin and the rolling of his head, landing always at the feet of the one responsible for his fate?

They are all bad enough as they are, but for the simple fact that they do not surprise him. Monster, they call him, and he wears the name well. In most all aspects, he is a monster. But never has he thought himself monstrous to you.

He has come to despise the sight of you here, sometimes docile and worshipful, sometimes angered and raving. Sometimes you appear as a siren come to lure him to iniquity, and like a fool he always falls into the trap. Other times, you are battered, caged, a shell of yourself. No matter how it begins, the end is always the same: bloodied, beaten, fading from the world, and it is always his hands he finds the cause of it in. A new reminder every time of all the ways he has thought of taking you, owning you, keeping you. Always, he thinks to save you—to protect you. Always, he destroys you.

Just as he thinks himself finally driven to the edge of all reason, the Rivers woman beckons him to the godswood.

“When you came here,” she says, “you were a closed fist. You wished to bend the world to your will. But you’ve discovered, I think, that… this world will not be governed. There are omens here for those who seek them.”

She pauses. The air seems to whisper, to creak in the dark. Daemon suppresses the urge to shiver. Her eyes move to him, an odd little quirk to her mouth. Amusement, he thinks. Or pity.

“You do not scoff?” she asks.

How can he, after all he has seen here? He has been brought to the very edge of sanity by these omens. What irony, it is, after the great complaints he has made of superstition in past weeks (and months, and years).

“I’m no longer inclined to,” is his short reply.

She laughs. “I’m pleased to hear it.”

She stops before the heart tree and turns to him, expression solemn.

“Do you wish, then, to learn what is given to you?” The answer must lie in his face, for he cannot do anything but stare, silent, tense. “All your life, you have sought to command your own fate”—she takes his hand—“but today, you are ready.”

Gentle pressure at his wrist, and something in him knows to move past her, to take those final few steps so that he is close enough to make out the details of the face carved into the wood. His arm raises by itself, acting on its own power, or perhaps some higher power, his fingers brushing bark and the hot pulse of… blood? But he has no time to truly question it for—

He is flying—

No—

He is a raven, staring at the face of a pale-haired man with a wine-dark stain on his face and he flies into the forest, towards an army, only there is something wrong with the soldiers, they are blue and their eyes glow ice-cold and their breath is frosted with death and their bodies carry the look of corpses stood upright once more—

And then the dragons are dead, all of them, the ground wet not with water but with blood and he walks through it, falls straight into the ground and he is drowning, steel plate armour dragging him down into the depths and he looks up at the sky—

A red comet bursts through the air, hot like fire, and he sees eggs embroiled in flame, a girl sat in ash cradling the bodies of three newly-hatched dragons, a whisper of a memory on the air, “we are the only ones able to bring the fire to life… It is the secret”—

And he is before the Iron Throne, suddenly silent.

Rhaenyra stands before the seat. Viserys’s crown is in his hands. She moves toward him, down the stairs of the throne. He hears her speak.

“From my blood…”

But she does not finish. A roaring conflagration engulfs her and she screams, twisting and warping before him, burning, only not, because you step from the flames, unburnt, voice mingling with that of your sister’s, a haunting echo.

“… come the Prince Who Was Promised…”

You are before him, taking the crown from his grasp and retracing the steps your sister took, and then you are stepping over a charred body, Rhaenyra, oh gods, and ascending the steps. You sit. You lift the crown. You place it on your head.

“… and his shall be the song of ice and fire.”

He is on his knees now, right on that final step at your feet. He feels the warmth of you as you bend forward, your palm caressing his jaw. You look otherworldly in the shadow, backlit silver and gold and wearing a king’s accoutrements far better than any of your predecessors.

“You know what must happen now, Uncle,” you say gently, kindly. “You know what you must do.”

He bows his head to kiss your ring—the seal of the king—no, the queen—and then wind is whistling in his ears, chilling him to the bone and spraying his hair about wildly, so much so that he can barely hear the words yelled at him by the boy sitting astride Vhagar.

“You have lived too long, nuncle.”

—and he wrenches away, panting, body collapsing before the heart tree like a puppet with its strings cut. The world comes back to him in fragments: the scent of dirt and woodlands, the sharp sting of cold, the ache in his muscles that has since settled like sludge at the bottom of a river, ever-present and persisting. Finally, finally, he withdraws with hands washed clean, free of his many sins.

At last, he has come to the crux of it. At last, he understands.

He sits at the base of the tree, stunned and overcome, as faint words slither on the breeze, a final knell from the liminal space of prophecy. Your name. A cheer.

“Long live the queen! Long live the queen!”

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historyslittlebish · 6 months ago

Note

How would king Baldwin react to utter and complete devotion ? As in writing full pages about him etc etc

a/n: Oopsy, this was sitting in my inbox for like weeks. Sorry its been a bit but I'll humor you with some cute/funny hcs!

==========================================

Warning: fluffy, y/n is kinda a bit of a stalker, Baldwin being himself

Note: No romantic stuff is detailed but I made it so you can choose to be a friend, worker, or romantic interest

It was a simple accident!

Yet his curiosity couldn't be satiated.

Seeing you run off to your quarters in a hurry made him wonder.

What could you possibly be doing?

For once when you were off doing your duties he became a little too curious..As his servant he couldn't help but observe you observe him?

He'd often catch your gaze on him, quietly observing him do his duties as well.

Whenever given the chance, you'd always go up to your room and write non-stop. Even on the job you'd carry a little notebook and write down anything that Baldwin did.

He of course had no idea and thought you were just..odd-ish..

But of course spending days seeing you run off to your room to do who knows what, of course his mind will spin and his thoughts will wander, simply thinking what could you be doing..

These thoughts have been from just simply wanting to rest to planning a coup.

He admits its foolish of him to think such things but as a ruler it's important to be weary.

Finally his curiosity got the better of him and he wandered into the quarters.

He saw a little leather journal sitting on your bed with a discarded quill and ink cup on the stand.

He carefully opened up the journal in the same spot on the bed, wondering what he would find, simply a daily planner? Did you like to write as a hobby? Planning some sort of overthrow?

Imagine his surprise when he sees rants of how great he is, how'd you think he'd be the best king in the world, how you wish there was a cure for his illness.

As he continued to read through the pages, he came across a few sketches of him, just him, in his mask but the mask having fine details, while sitting on his throne or playing chess, and others just random doodles.

He was...surprised.

Judging by the rants and words, you felt utter devotion for him as a king, you admired his work and respected him to great lengths.

Baldwin sorta..felt his heart swell.

He knew that possibly many people, including servants, found him weak or too ill-ridden to be a king but in the same breath help him with all sorts of things.

Yet here you were, praising him for his talents, his bravery, his intelligence. He couldn't help but crack a small smile.

He carefully closed the book and swiftly left, a new plan coming to mind.

The next time he saw you, he came up to you and revealed that he saw the journal and read some of it (there was much to read but he didn't have the time).

Of course you'd be very flustered but before you could say anything, he decided to give you a new job, to be his personal scribe (and mayhaps a friend?).

You'd often join him in any of his activities and he'd share personal interests and thoughts he has, no matter how random, thoughts and things no one else knew about him.

You felt honored to be able to know such things and you'd often detail his words, his thoughts, and behaviors in your notes, keeping track of anything and everything.

Baldwin felt a deep connection with you.

He never really talks to many people about such leisurely things.

So to have someone to express his interests and thoughts and ideas but them being actually interested is..an idea that makes a rush of dopamine clouds his brain.

He is proud for you, and he's glad you like him so much, enough to write endless things about him.

#history blog #historical blog #history #thanks anon!#historical figures x reader #history x reader #king baldwin x reader #king baldwin iv #king baldwin x you #kingdom of heaven #koh #x reader #fluffy hcs #hcs #headcanons #baldwin of jerusalem #king baldwin iv headcanons

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youremyheaven · 9 months ago

Text

Outcaste Nakshatras: The Outsiders (part 3)

Here's part 1 and part 2

The more I study Mleccha nakshatra natives and the art they make, the more I understand how deeply lonely it is to have a Mleccha nak (Bharani, Ashlesha, Vishaka, Shravana) and I really feel for them. To live your whole life feeling misunderstood and othered is so difficult.

The movie Edward Scissorhands is a really good example of the "outcast" trope. The titular character is played by Johnny Depp who has Ashlesha Rising and his love interest is played by Winona Ryder who has Mercury (amatyakaraka) & Venus (atmakaraka) in Vishaka

I find Outcaste nak pairing very interesting because obviously you only feel like you belong/truly feel accepted in the presence of another Outcast.

Sidharth Malhotra, Vishaka Moon is married to Kiara Advani, who has Mercury & Venus (atmakaraka) in Ashlesha (if you have 2 or more planets in the same nak that energy is very concentrated even if its not your big 3)

they're both known for being pretty low-key people which is unusual in Bollywood lmao

Sid is an "outsider" which is what we call non-nepo actors in India. imagine the extent of nepotism in cinema in India that its the exception to be an "outsider"lmao. anyway Sid is pretty reserved and introverted and is known for not fitting in with the Bollywood crowd. Kiara is also kinda like that I guess but idk too much about her personality. They both seem happy together tho

Kareena Kapoor, Shravana Moon is married to Saif Ali Khan, Ashlesha Sun & Shravana Moon

Kareena's parents are famous actors who are separated (her dad was misogynistic and abusive and didn't want women to act) and even tho she's a nepo baby she didn't grow up with the same privileges as others in her famous family. Her elder sister had to drop out of school to support the family by acting as they were raised by a single mom and had fallen on bad times. You can see how the "outcast" themes were present in Kareena's life even though she's a very privileged nepo baby

Saif is also a nepo baby (welcome to bollywood lol) but he married a much older actress when he was 21 and had two kids. they later got divorced and Saif received a ton of bad press for alleged adultery, not getting custody or visitation rights of the kids, not paying child support (the amount was absurdly high tbh) etc he didn't fit in with the other actors of his generation. The media & public went crazy when news of Saif & Kareena getting married came out bc Saif is a divorcee with 2 kids (this stuff is still taboo in India unfortunately) and Kareena is one of the most successful stars of her generation. But they've been married for 10+ yrs and have 2 kids and are as happy as ever.

Even Kareena's longterm ex-boyfriend, Shahid Kapoor was a Mleccha caste nak guy (he has Vishaka Moon)

Expanding on the outcast tropes, Shahid's parents separated when he was young and he saw little of his biological father. He had to work very hard for very long to break into the industry and even now, he's not really given his due as an actor.

Alia Bhatt, Shravana Rising is married to Ranbir Kapoor, Shravana Moon

their marriage seems hella toxic to me ngl BUT they've both had similar childhoods.

Alia & Ranbir are both nepo babies (welcome to bollywood), Alia is like a tier 3 nepo (her father is a notoriously controversial filmmaker) whilst Ranbir is like a tier 1 nepo (he is a 4th generation actor from the biggest film family in India) however both their parents had unhappy marriages, and both of them had abusive fathers. trauma bonding, mayhaps? they're both also extremely close to their mothers as well (Moon dominant people often tend to be)

Its another example of Outcaste naks bonding over their shared experiences/feelings of being the outcast.

all members of Blackpink have an Outcaste nakshatra in their chart that is prominent in some way.

Jisoo- Shravana Moon, Venus in Vishaka (darakaraka), Ketu in Bharani

Rose- Venus conjunct Jupiter (debilitated) in Shravana

Jennie- Vishaka Moon, Mars in Shravana

Lisa- Jupiter in Shravana (debilitated), Swati Moon (Swati is a Shudra nak, which is the lowest caste so the themes are similar to that of outcaste naks)

This is interesting to me because BP is the biggest girl group of all time yet they are also probably disproportionately hated for things they cant even control. they were mismanaged by a shitty ass company with very few comebacks and barely got to display their true calibre as artists and their media interactions, promos, other activities etc were severely controlled and restricted. all of this is to say that despite being the most successful group their actual experiences are far from sunshine and roses. they were treated like outcasts by their company and the industry and fans. they trained for 4-6 years, enduring a brutal and toxic system, worked very hard with what they were given, with 0 creative liberty to come this far im glad theyre pursuing solo careers now and hope to see them thrive<333

the movie Lost in Translation is a good example of two outcasts/lonely people who find comfort in each other

Bill Murray is Shravana Moon and Scarlett Johansson is Vishaka Moon

Sridevi, Ashlesha Sun & Rising and Boney Kapoor, Vishaka Sun & Mercury

So they had a really fcked up marriage that I won't get into but they were both people who felt like outcasts in their lives. Sridevi grew up with a stepfather and was pushed into acting by her mother when she was 3-4 years old (she's like an Indian Judy Garland tbh) who deprived her of formal education and a normal life so that she'd be the family cash cow. Being South Indian, she also found it hard to fit in among Bollywood folks as she initially spoke neither Hindi nor English. Boney's the ugly duckling of his family and his younger brother is one of the most famous/iconic actors ever, he had to become a movie producer since his brothers became actors and his father (who was a movie producer) thought it would be better if he stayed behind the scenes. themes of exclusion and outcast-ness crop up in their lives and in the lives of all the people I mention here.

Lady Bird is a good example of a movie about a female teenage outcast. The titular character is played by Saoirse Ronan, who has Bharani Moon

Recently I came across the content creator, Alana Lintao who often makes shorts about social behaviour. This one in particular stood out to me because its literally about one person being excluded by a group of friends or being treated like "the other".

Alana plays the excluded friend in this short as well. She has Bharani Sun, Swati Moon and Mercury in Revati amatyakaraka (Swati & Revati are both Shudra naks)

Outcaste naks are vilified and crucified for mistakes others get away with.

Janet Jackson, Vishaka Rising & Ketu

Janet's career took a hit and her life took a tumultuous turn after the Superbowl incident. She did not deserve all the vitriol she received then especially considering how so many others get away with wayyy worse

Jennie, Vishaka Moon gets hated on for absolutely nothing

Lana Del Rey, Ashlesha Moon, Vishaka Rising (&stellium)

Lana does say dumb things from time to time but she gets soooo much unnecessary hate

I have noticed how Outcaste nakshatras often tend to have really difficult childhood experiences

Jeanette McCurdy- Ardra sun, Bharani Moon & Pushya Rising

Jeanette opens up about her abusive mother and terrible childhood in her memoir. I mention her other placements as well because I've noticed that both Ardra & Pushya natives also experience abuse in their early lives

Britney Spears, Shravana Moon

she has endured so much abuse from so many people including her family. i wish her peace.

Wheein, Vishaka Moon grew up with a single mother and later after she made her debut her estranged father tried to borrow money from people under her name?? there was a minor scandal about it many years ago. She also grew up quite lower middle class if not poor.

David Bowie, Shravana Rising

Bowie once said, "“It wasn’t a particularly happy childhood, my parents were cold emotionally. There weren’t many hugs. I always craved affection because of that.”

Cole & Dylan Sprouse, Ashlesha Sun

Speaking on the Call Her Daddy podcast, he explained that their mother's issues with mental health and addiction contributed to her being "financially the most irresponsible woman ever." He said that when their dad was given forced custody when the boys were 10, their mom had already spent everything they'd earned from their early acting jobs. Though their dad wanted them to be "normal kids," he ultimately decided that the boys' acting careers were a financial necessity.

Ariel Winter, Shravana Sun

Ariel Winter has spoken out about how acting wasn't her choice, but it was her mother's. Ariel shared that her mother, Crystal Workman, had dreams of being an actor herself. Ariel said that with Crystal as her stage mom, she dealt with a lot of abuse and exploitation.

Once Ariel's acting career began, she said her mom put her on a strict diet and neglected her education. Her mother also had her dress in outfits that sexualized her. Ariel claimed her mom put her in “the smallest miniskirts, sailor suits, low-cut things, the shortest dresses you’ve ever seen. People thought I was 24 when I was 12. If there was going to be a nude scene when I was that age, my mother would have a thousand percent said yes.”

Now Bollywood is an industry run by film dynasties, its very rare for someone from the outside to break in and make it big. Being an "Outsider" is very difficult, people bully you, try to sabotage your career, try to isolate you etc etc, needless to say its not for the faint of heart. So lets take a look at some of the most successful "Outsiders" in Bollywood who made it big without any family in the business

ofc we have to start with the most successful outsider of all time, Shahrukh Khan, Shravana Moon

he truly came from nothing (father died when he was a teenager, mother died before he made his debut, has a sister with special needs who he has taken care of his entire life) and became the biggest star in the world.

Akshay Kumar, Vishaka Moon, he was a martial artist, chef, waiter and worked numerous odd jobs before he started modelling in his late 20s and later started acting and today he has a net worth of $340 million

Anushka Sharma, Bharani Sun

her life is truly a case of being lucky af, she was a model and by the age of 19-20 she was cast in a film opposite Shahrukh Khan aka the biggest actor in the country produced by YRF, one of the biggest film production companies in India. its truly a fairy tale because neither can Anushka act nor is she gifted in any other way (bad dancer, heck she was even an awful model) but she's incredibly successful in every way and is now married to the (former) Captain of the Indian cricket team

Deepika Padukone, Shravana Rising

she is from a privileged background (her dad's a renowned badminton player) but she worked very very hard to get where she is today and has had more career longevity than just about any other actress.

Bipasha Basu & John Abraham, Bharani Moon

they were both a hot couple who were really popular in the 2000s

there are many other successful Outsiders but they don't have outcaste naks lol, these are the only ones i can think of rn :/

i hope this post was informative<33

#astrology notes #astrology observations #sidereal astrology #vedic astro notes #nakshatras #astro notes #vedic astrology #astrology #astroblr #astro observations #jyotish #shravana #bharani #vishaka #ashlesha

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crushedsweets · 1 year ago

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Can you draw or talk more about Toby and Eyeless Jack or even the X-Virus?

YESSSS i can. heres a lil doodle to get me started.

OKKKK the little concept in my head has slender's MAIN GOAL being to prevent any paranormal/supernatural stuff coming out to the general public. hence his proxies being made to get rid of tapes, evidence, and kill if Necessary. sometimes slender makes paranormal/supernatural ppl help out his human proxies "as payment for refuge" in his forest. SO that sorta explains how toby and jack know each other and why jack helps at all. he can't rlly go out to the public so he's stuck with these assholes. it's not really supposed to be a 'mansion' trope, moreso random cabins and shelters littered about the forest, but it could work in the mansion au too

Imma ramble abt toby n jacks friendship (in my head) under the cut + a random x virus doodle

as for toby and jack specifically. toby is impulsive, aggressive, can't feel pain, and doesn't know what's good for him, so he's forced to get help from jack a good bit. for a long while there was hella tension between them since, again, jack isn't helping these guys out of the goodness of his heart. he's helping them bc the forest their boss resides in is the only place he's relatively safe. jack has a weird mix of a inferiority and superiority complex, since he envies toby's humanity but also feels like he's 'better' due to toby's own . . violent habits. toby thinks jack is pretty cool from the get-go ('wooow ur grey..') but he gets pissed off with jack's questions and demands of 'DONT RIP UR FUCKING STITCHES' and 'u have a concussion don't fucking scroll on your phone for 5 hours a day'.

toby has no idea if these demands come from actual concern or annoyance, and frankly, neither does jack. regardless, toby's with jack a decent bit. partially since jack makes a lot of people really uncomfortable so it's easy to go hang out with jack when he doesnt wanna deal with anyone else but still wants company. eventually theyre capable of some decent banter and conversations. theyre both mamas boys so thats a very weird touchy topic that they kinda dance around but both feel very deeply and know the other relates. THEY MISS THEIR MOMS SO BADLY.. :( mayhaps one year toby helps drop off flowers to jack's moms house for mothers day. jacks way too ashamed to even get within a 10 mile radius of his mom. that's kinda the moment things really shift between them and they actually become friends.

toby also asks abt university. lyra was at community college until she passed, and toby never considered college as an option, so he gets curious on what he missed out on. he also likes to share stuff abt lyra and their old shenanigans. tim and brian have used his childhood against him multiple times before, and it's not like he's gonna trust ben or jeff with that information. jacks sort of like a void he could talk into. jack feels uneasy talking about his life before the sacrifice, since he misses it so unbelievably bad, but toby accidentally got him to talk about it while treating a burn before.

ok and to top this fucking essay off heres xvirus. i had no idea he existed until this year and someone sent me an ask about his updated design, so he's some scribbles for him :9 his concepts super cool tho so maybe ill get more into him later on

#THEYRE BEST FRIENDS UR HONOR...#but seriously thank u for the ask #i love getting to ramble. im still working on the confidence to just post headcanons unprompted LOL #ok i gotta go to class now byyeeeeeeee #eyeless jack #ticci toby #ticcijack #eyeless jack headcanon #ticci toby headcanon #creepypasta #creepypasta art #creepypasta headcanon #xvirus #toby rogers #jack nyras #sweetart #chatterbox #creeped

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anneapocalypse · 11 days ago

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On Urianger in ARR.

I'm not sure I agree with what seems to be a popular opinion that Urianger is more cryptic in ARR. I think he's actually just not as cryptic as the reputation the precedes him, period. Pretty much everything he says in ARR has a pretty clear intended meaning when you understand the language he's using to say it.

The times I think he truly comes across as cryptic (as in, what he's saying does not have a clearly discernible meaning and is open to some kind of interpretation) is when he's quoting someone. When we first meet him in the Waking Sands, he greets us with a quote from Louisoix, which while maybe a little overly formal or socially awkward relative to the other Scions, isn't really inappropriate to the situation. Nor is the quote he chooses especially cryptic, though he doesn't get through the whole thing because Minfilia gives him a Look and he swiftly course-corrects and says, "The words of a dear friend. I am glad of our meeting," which is a pretty straightforward greeting. His diction is archaic and poetic, and sometimes a bit verbose, but that's not the same thing as cryptic. (Compare this to the verse he quotes in Stormblood to see the Scions off the Far East, which is far less clear in its meaning and how exactly it's supposed to aid you.)

When Urianger is indirect in his own words, there is usually a reason for it beyond just trying to sound mysterious. I think a good example of this is his dialogue in the Waking Sands as the Scions are preparing to leave for Revenant's Toll, and Urianger will be staying behind:

Urianger: Thou art ever welcome, Forename, but I require no assistance. Pray take thy leave unburdened by concern for my well-being. Urianger: Verily, thy countenance bespeaks a desire to quit this place without further delay. Hm. Mayhap thou thinkest this chapter of our tale concluded─that these halls should rightly be consigned to the annals of history...? Urianger: In man's eagerness to seize the future, how readily he doth set down the past. Urianger: Full many a proud pioneer hath bravely stridden into the great unknown, only to find there the banner of his ancestor, faded by the eons. And still man glorieth in his discoveries. 'Tis through his pride that wisdom doth ever give way to ignorance, while they who lurk in shadow remain hidden, lost no sooner than they are found. Urianger: <sigh> Be not offended, Forename. Thy conduct hath ever been beyond reproach. Despite thy surpassing strength, and all thy many victories, thou hast never been so convinced of thine own greatness as to imagine thyself above the failings of thy forebears. Mayhap it is the Echo which hath opened thine eyes to the lessons of history. Would that the same could be said of��

Here, he is concerned that the Scions are ignoring the lessons of history and heading down the wrong path, though he assures the Warrior of Light that he finds no fault with their actions. The object of his criticism is pretty clearly the decisions being made by Alphinaud and Minfilia--both of whom he respects too much to directly tell them he thinks they're fucking up, and yet he comes really close to saying it directly to the Warrior of Light here, before he's cut off by the scream from the Solar. I don't see this moment as him being cryptic nearly so much as him wanting to share his concerns directly but stopping just short because he feels it improper to do so. That he confides even this much to the Warrior of Light to me really speaks to the fact that he already places a lot of trust in them.

But beyond that rare moment, most of the time in ARR, he's just... answering questions, providing information, or asking the WoL to do stuff.

Urianger's writing in parts of ARR and particular the early primal quests has some oddities in its own right--there's multiple places where modern English conjugations slip in, and a rare instance of Urianger saying "Yes" rather than "Aye" (if you know of others, I'd love to see them!). And the writing is really inconsistent about using "thine" before a vowel instead of "thy," sometimes even within the same paragraph. It's kind of all over the place when you really look closely at it. I can only assume the English writing team at the time was shaky on Early Modern English and whoever was writing him wasn't getting consistent direction and editing.

But what I wouldn't call any of it is cryptic. His dialogue about the primals tends to be a bit long-winded, and peppered with effusive praise for the Warrior of Light, but it's not cryptic; in fact, it would be counterproductive for him to be cryptic, because he's trying to give you intel. He doesn't even really do much prophecy quoting at all; he likes to cite that particular Louisoix writing about "primal desires" and the "blade born of light," which I think he definitely sees as prophetic and the Warrior of Light as fitting that appellation. But his meaning is never obscure or ambiguous. Frankly, I wonder if the writing team was struggling with what to do with him now that the mysterious doomsayer persona he was playing in 1.0 was no longer necessary for the story, and the new role chosen for him was one of conveying fairly straightforward information. Perhaps this is what led to the idea of having him play a deceptive role in post-Heavensward, in order to bring some mystery back to the character, though I can only speculate.

If he seems more straightforward in later expacs, I venture to say the reason is twofold. First, you're just more used to hearing him talk; you've picked up on some of his speech patterns if you were previously unfamiliar with them, and his meanings are easier to parse. And second, as the story proceeds, Urianger's role in it grows both larger and more personal. While his dialogue in ARR isn't actually cryptic, you might not have much investment in it and be inclined to hastily click through without reading it as carefully, leaving the impression that it was more impenetrable, while in later expacs, you might be more invested in him as a character and thus listening more closely to what he has to say.

#urianger augurelt #ffxiv meta #afk by the aetheryte #idk this is one of those things i see repeated a lot and i'm like #but is he though #is he actually #arr spoilers

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mint-8 · 4 months ago

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Yandere Fisherman x GN! Reader

Content/Trigger warning: Mentions of sexual themes.

- Yandere Fisherman who lives in a coastal town, enjoying life leisurely and hunting for different fish so they can sell it at the market. They are considered the chill, cool uncle of the village and are well-liked by all the townsfolk, plus they work part time as the designated tour guide for the town visitors that may wish to enjoy the sun, the beach and some good sea food.

- Yandere Fisherman who first met you when you visited their hometown. Perhaps you are here as an order from your doctor to breathe some fresh air and relax? Or mayhaps you are here to study the vast aquatic life on the town's ocean? Doesn't really matter why you are here. The important part is that you are here, and Yandere Fisherman can't deny that you sure are quite the looker for someone they've just met. Sure, they have had some adventures here and there with locals and tourists, but they never felt such a thrive to keep them by their side. Forever.

- Yandere Fisherman who approached you as they would always do whenever a new face is around town. A nice introduction, some flirting here and there, and an offer to show you around the plaza. Won't you accompany them to get some ice cream? There's this one place with killer shrimps if you want to try it out! Oh, don't worry! Their treat! Please, they insist ;)

- Yandere Fisherman who will invite you to go fishing with them. Whether it's in their boat or in the main bridge far away from the popular coastal area, they'll make sure to teach you anything and everything there is about it! You don't even have to fish if you aren't into it! Simply being by their aside and having a nice conversation is good enough!

- Yandere Fisherman who will keep things chill and easygoing. They won't force you into anything. Yet. They don't wish to scare you off! You are their adorable little angel, but... if you wish to escalate... well, they will try not to be rough, but no promises ♡

"Tired, darling?"

"...How come you have so much stamina?"

"Heh, I guess working out in the sun will do that to you. But sweetheart, you barely lasted 1 hour, next time I won't be as easily satisfied ;) ♡"

- Yandere Fisherman who dreams of domesticity with you. The idea of having a baby in your hip while preparing dinner... oh, dear! It makes them feel butterflies! And... other stuff ♡ They would love to keep you as their stay at home spouse. With you keeping the shared home warm and clean, while they go outside and get the bacon!

- Yandere Fisherman who will make sure to get rid of all and any other competition for your heart. It's as simple as getting some poisonous fish and later dumping their bodies in the ocean! Accidents happen all the time, no need to worry!

- Yandere Fisherman who will make sure to put a ringer on your finger and plan for a few little blessings in the near future! It's scary, they know. That's why they will by your side through it all! They have your back! Won't you have theirs?

#yandere x reader #yandere x darling #yandere x y/n #yandere x you #gn reader #gn!reader #x reader #yandere x gn reader #romantic yandere #yandere romantic #yandere x gender neutral reader #x gender neutral y/n #x you #x gn reader #x gender neutral reader #x gn y/n #x y/n #yandere fisherman #yandere writing

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totoochristianwolff · 11 days ago

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ABU DHABI - POST SEASON [source]

I wanted to share the little story that the original poster shared in their post regarding their interaction with Toto ad well bc I think it's so precious and I hope y'all will appreciate it (I will 100% delete this whole post if y'all think mayhaps I should though cuz I'm kinda uncertain when it comes to LinkedIn stuff):

"This morning I went to the beach for an hour to rest from this excitement and my neighbor on the deckchair was Toto Wolff. Toto is a legend, he is the president and shareholder of Mercedes-AMG PETRONAS Formula One Team . He is Lewis Hamilton's boss, he is the most respected man in F1 and he is a demanding billionaire. What does he do on a Monday morning at 11am, after the F1 season ends? He is building a sandcastle with his son. We share this interest in sandcastles. He agreed to give me some time to talk about stress, pressure, and how he manages to be everything at once. It's about passion, respect, trust, and discipline. He talked to me about his divorce, family balance, and the ambition that drives his professional life. Toto is disconcertingly simple and kind behind his bossy shell. I found it incredible to meet him here, on the beach in Abu Dhabi. He was drinking a coconut. Carrying his son's things. Doesn't have a bodyguard or assistant. A simple guy."

#toto wolff #torger christian wolff #abu dhabi gp 2024 #tcw.posts #HOW FUCKING PRECIOUS 🥺#like toto building a sandcastle w little jack 🥺#this story genuinely made me love toto even more than I already did 😭

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augustinewrites · 2 years ago

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ayoo... mayhaps we get a moment when Kaeya finally realizes he's ready for kids??

i have been hoarding this ask for way too long and i know in my heart of hearts that kaeya would want to adopt a child

every saturday afternoon, on what’s meant to be your day off, you and kaeya teach a swordsmanship seminar.

when kaeya had first been given the responsibility by the acting grand master, you’d only tagged along to watch. you handed out water and pretended not to swoon whenever the sun reached its peak and your husband undid a few more buttons of his shirt.

you’d only started helping out after the incident where bennett had somehow cut mika’s finger off. the seminar had grown so popular that it was hard for him to keep track of all the attendees and all their limbs, apparently. not just amongst the knights and the members of the adventurer’s guild.

“captain kaeya!” the kids shout, almost trampling over bennett as they rush over to their favourite knight. he greets each one of them by name, patting their heads and ruffling their hair as they gaze up at him, excited for today’s lesson.

he outfits each of them with a wooden training sword, making sure they’re all arms-length apart before beginning. like always, he starts with leading them in a battle cry.

“knights use battle cries to rally their spirits and remind themselves what they’re fighting for before a battle,” he explains, pointing his sword up high, prompting the children to do the same. “what are you guys passionate about? what are we fighting for today?”

“for sticky honey roast!” a girl with twin pigtails cries out with a passion you think might rival jean’s.

“alright,” he laughs, flashing you a smile when you giggle from the sidelines. “today we learn to fight in the name of sticky honey roast.”

each stance and swing of his sword, the children copy. their footwork is a little wobbly and their sword swings a touch hesitant, but it’s nothing that kaeya can’t fix, squatting down to adjust their footing or their grip. he always seems to know what each child needs, offering gentle words of encouragement and always praising them for a job well done.

the children look at him like he hung the moon and stars, and kaeya, of course, preens at their attention. they crowd him when they’re done with their lesson, when he rewards them with candies and little trinkets.

“thank you, papa!” the girl with the pigtails exclaims, throwing herself into his arms. the look on kaeya’s face is priceless.

the sun is setting by the time he’s finished, his arm slung around your shoulder as you walk to angel’s share.

you glance up at him, nothing the soft remnants of a smile still gracing his face. “you’re in a good mood.”

“of course i am. i have a good life,” he answers, pulling you closer. “and i had a good day, hanging out with those kids.”

“you’re really good with them,” you nod. “they really love you.”

you’re not surprised, because kaeya is good with everyone. all of mondstadt adores the calvary captain.

“after i walked them back to the orphanage the headmaster said—” he pauses, seeming uncharacteristically hesitant. “she said i’d be a good father someday.”

“you’d be a great dad,” you murmur, reaching up to pat his hand.

“do you think about stuff like that? with me, i mean.”

“no, with huffman,” you tease, causing him to scoff and turn away. you simply laugh, resting your head on his shoulder. “kaeya, of course i’ve thought about starting a family with you someday.”

he perks up a little, pausing mid-stride in front of the tavern. “why don’t we start now, then?”

you gaze flicks toward the door. “is diluc’s future niece or nephew about to be conceived in the back room of his tavern?”

he rubs the back of his neck a little sheepishly. “i mean they could be…but - only if it’s alright with you - i’d actually like to go back to the orphanage. there are a lot of kids here who need parents. and when i think about what crep— about what my father did for me, i want to do that.”

_____

on sundays, everyone gathers at the alberich household for dinner (where the main course is always a sticky honey roast, as per a special someone’s request.)

kaeya’s gaze is pulled in your direction when he hears you laugh, conversing with diluc as you weave twin plaits into your daughter’s hair.

the little boy in his arms (with your eyes and his nose) is restless, eager to be let down to play. so kaeya sets him on the floor, pressing a kiss atop the crown of his head and making sure he’s steady before letting him toddle towards his sister. you coo when she pulls him into her lap, hugging him tightly.

kaeya leans back in his chair, watching the scene before him unfold with a quiet smile on his face. he’s always felt a little split on the inside, unsure of his place in the world.

but now he knows that it’s most certainly right here.

#kaeya x reader #genshin x reader #kaeya alberich x reader #kaeya x you #genshin fluff #genshin drabbles

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puppyxaegon · 2 years ago

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Hi legend I saw you were taking requests and also enjoy subby Aegon; excited to see your work✨

Mayhaps a request for a blurb/hcs on Aegon getting riled up in public??? His lady just teasing and rubbing him under the table or alcove bj in the red keep. Poor baby egg can’t keep quiet either. IF YOU SO DESIRE- soft mean dom just loving every second of it. Both of them definitely about to go feral at the idea of being caught 😈😈😈

Love love LOVE this request and apologies for just now getting to it!! Very glad to be posting more subby Aegon and I promisee something more is coming soon for him I'm very excited to share it. Here's a few blurbs on these concepts for your viewing pleasure, please let me know your thoughts! Btw we have a wife reader here ofc but I'm open to writing any gender and requests are open!!

She Says

Sub!Aegon ii Targarygen x Wife!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Tags: public setting, OC, openish relationship, a little fluff I suppose? They're whores but they love each other.

Aegon is definitely a sucker for public stuff, and there are few greater pleasures on earth than watching him squirm and bite his lip trying to keep quiet.

I mean, he loves what you do to him and he hates attending to his responsibilities so interrupting an uninteresting meeting or tournament with a bit of discreet fun seems like a win win.

Whenever you attend events together, you're steadfast by your husband's side, and it's something you enjoy taking advantage of.

Sometimes it starts when you're both bored or just in that particular mood or one reason or another.

Like at the jousting tourney when you'd noticed him almost nodding off, more than likely nursing a hangover from the previous night. Objectively, this was an embarrassment. The two of you sat in the very front row of the upper observation gallery behind the barrier, so although you were only visible from the chest up, anyone who glanced over could see the next in line to the throne struggling to keep his eyes open. It should have been an embarrassment, but you often found it was difficult to see Aegon's behavior as anything but endearing.

When it was time for the two of you to give your favor to one of the knights, you had to nudge him and he'd startled awake, clearing his throat and quickly taking your hand. The two of you stood to look over the edge of the balcony, where four knights sat atop their horses all in a line with their lances held high in waiting.

You could feel Aegon squeeze your hand and when you glanced up to him you noticed that he was locked in a stare with Ser Corryn, the young handsome knight who he'd first pointed out to you just about two months ago.

At another equally dull tournament, Aegon's attention had been caught on the man, and he told you offhandedly later that day how he wished so desperately that those knights weren't sworn to celibacy. You were sure to take note of that, and a few weeks later you surprised your husband with that very knight in your shared bed.

You'd run your fingers through Aegon's hair and kissed his forehead as he laid back in your lap, all while Ser Corryn fucked him senseless. As you listened to his gasps and moans while he squirmed against your body, you knew this was a gift he would truly appreciate. You'd seen him cum three times that night, and you cherished the taste of the tears you kissed away from his cheeks as he cried from the overstimulation.

Now almost two weeks later, Aegon blushed and gave a coy smile as he threw the floral wreath onto the knights lance. He looked between the two of you, smirking playfully before blowing a kiss and trotting away to begin the game.

Aegon was certainly awake now, nearly leaning out of his seat with his elbows propped up on the barrier to follow Ser Corryn with his eyes.

You placed a hand high on his thigh and squeezed, leaning in. " Be careful Egg, if you can't even meet the man's eyes without giggling like a maiden you may raise suspicions."

He shot you a look of faux irritation, rolling his eyes dramatically before sinking back into his seat again. his eyes wandered the space absently, but you noticed how his knees fell open a bit wider as he relaxed into the chair, granting you access.

You continued rubbing small circles into his inner thigh, pretending not to notice how he tried to suppress the twitch of his mouth as he shifted in his seat to and his breath began to hitch in his throat.

You kept your eyes forward as you ever so slowly slid your hand the rest of the way up his leg, over his stomach and down the front of his trousers and finally wrapped your flingers around his leaking cock.

Out of the corner of your eye, could see his jaw tense as he clenched his hands around the arms of this chair, nails digging in.

Poor baby, that probably hurt :(

It's a wonder that the crowd was so lively, otherwise someone would surely have heard Aegon's poorly concealed whimpers and moans.

You'd managed to string him along for the entire remaining length of the match, which had to be close to an hour. By the end, you watched him bite the inside of his cheek as he bucked his hips up into your hand and made a mess beneath the layers of clothing that concealed the two of you.

At other times, your fun was more of a tool to keep your husband in line.

You had been at a grand feast, part of some festival honoring one god or ancient hero or another. You hadn't yet gotten quite familiar the never ending fanfare and pageantry that the Westerosi clung to.

Though as the eldest son he probably should have been seated toward the middle of the long table, Aegon occupied the chair at the far left end of the setting. He always wanted a clear escape route at these things, and you of course found your space directly next to him.

This position also effectively cut him off from the rest of the table; and this combined with the heavy cloth which draped all the way to the floor made it an incredibly opportune position to stroke your husband beneath the table until he begged and whispered curses under his breath.

Aegon stared straight down at his plate, trying to keep his hands from shaking as he rolled his hips back and forth, cock rock hard and slick with sweat and precum and it slid against your hand. Suddenly you withdrew, pulling back quickly and wiping your hand discreetly on the napkin beside you.

"Be a good boy and go wait for me in the hall."

He'd looked to you with wide, disbelieving eyes. "Like this??" He hissed back, shifting in his seat and glancing down toward his lap.

You tilted your head and gave a mock sad expression, poking out your bottom lip. "Oh pity, is my boy so bashful now?" You leaned in a bit closer, assuring that he would feel your breath ghost over his ear. "You might have thought about that before contradicting me in front of your sister, love. You know how important it is that your family respects me and accepts my place here."

You could see him clench and unclench his jaw, he'd probably forgotten all about the little incident but you'd warned him about mouthing off in the company or others a hundred times. This was his punishment, and as he sighed and rubbed the crease forming between his eyebrows you could see that he understood.

"Right." You said flatly. "Now run along husband. Be careful not to embarrass yourself in front of all the guests." You ran a hand down his cheek before placing a chaste kiss there and giving him another soft smile.

He looked worried, but you could see him swallow the emotion as he reached down again to adjust himself. Just as he'd begin to push back his chair and leave the table you stopped him gently, placing a hand on his arm.

"Oh, and Aegon?" He looked to you nervously, blinking fast. "No touching until I get there."

With that you gave his arm a squeeze and turned your attention back to your wine and the chattering crowd before you. Soon enough you could see Aegon weaving his way through that crowd, eyes cast down and hands dutifully clasped in front of his body to conceal any evidence of your activities. You watched with amusement as he gradually sped up as he walked, nearly breaking into a run as he approached the door.

Not long after you saw Lady Baela break away from the crowd and approach, giving you a small bow. You'd intended to take your leave fairly quickly, not to be too hard on your boy but it looked now like he might have to be a bit more patient. "May I sit my Lady?", she asked, gesturing Aegon's empty seat, and you gave her a polite nod.

"I do hope you're enjoying the party, we're all so happy to have you at court." "Is your husband feeling well? I saw him rushing out of the room a few moments ago."

"Oh yes, he's fine just a bit tired" you lowered your voice and whispered playfully "and you know him, possibly a few too many plates of food and a few too many cups of wine". Baela giggled, nodding "Yes, to be quite honest I was a bit worried he might be sick there on the dance floor. I'm thankful you keep such a caring watch over him."

You gave her a small thank you and smile, but when she shifted slightly closer and placed a hand over your own, her face was just that more serious.

"I truly mean it, my Lady. If you don't mind my saying, my cousin was in a bad way before he had you. I'm sure you must know that, but we all saw him straying down a dark path. Now that you're here it's.." she paused, searching for the words. "He's a better man, we can leave it at that. That means something to us, our families won't forget this."

You smiled brightly and gave her hand a squeeze. "Well I'm sure you know Baela, some men just need the right lady to whip them into shape.", you remarked, winking.

That earned a heartier laugh from the silver haired woman, and you felt a glow of pride in your chest as the threw her head back and swatted at your arm.

You joined her in idle gossip for a bit longer before deciding it was time to go attend to your prince.

"If you don't mind my Lady, I think I'll go and check in on him now."

When you escaped the overwhelming chatter and footsteps which filled the ballroom, it wasn't hard to follow the echoed heavy breathing that travelled through the silent stone halls.

You made sure your footsteps clicked slowly and loudly against the floor as you approached, and you couldn't say you were surprised to find him tucked into a windowsill, eyes closed and mouth hanging open as he rubbed at the bulge in the front of his trousers. He always was a glutton for punishment

"Oh dear Aegon..." you pouted crossing your arms and shaking your head slowly. "It looks like someone still hasn't learned to follow instructions as they're given. What will we do now?"

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