#your-exalted-grace

[bitegore]

Drag Strip and 7; give me his shoes :)c

7. Describe the shoes they’re wearing. (This is a big catch all, gets into money, taste, practicality, level of wear, level of repair, literally what kind of shoes they require to live their life.)

I've mentioned in passing my androidformer Drag Strip's very stupid heelies before.

Thing is, Drag Strip has like two "dominant modes" of clothes-wearing; there's work clothes, and there's non-work clothes. Everyone's got this to some degree, but Drag Strip's job is (at least as I do it) to fight and kill people with guns and knives and stuff. So I'll split this one in half.

In terms of work clothes: Drag Strip has a pair of lace-up tactical boots. They were standard issue and all five of the Stunticons have the same kind of boots. Because the Decepticons manufacture their own supplies in-house when it comes to tactical armor and stuff like that, they did get to color-customize them to some degree. Drag Strip's are yellow with red accents. They're pretty worn, but not in any real state of disrepair because, again, in-house manufacturing means that if they're actually falling apart he can just requisition new ones and get them delivered.

He thinks of them as the ugliest fucking shoes ever and he hates them. He wears them exclusively when on-duty and even then, if he can get away with it, he wears something else instead. This is not actually because they're bad shoes but he can't stand looking just like everyone else. Even if his shoes are differently-colored than most other Decepticons, he's still not fond of being like a yellow version of the cookie-cutter Decepticon image (and this comes out in his other clothing choices as well; Drag Strip is constantly getting dress-coded because he shows up to fights with, say, earrings that can get yanked out of his ears, or not wearing body armor that will keep him from getting shot in the chest.)

In terms of non-work clothes...

so Drag Strip likes to go fast and Drag Strip likes to look cool. Obviously the Cool Shoes are high heels and the Fast Shoes are Heelys (with the little wheel in the heel) or roller blades. Walking around in roller blades is embarrassing and cringe and no one does it, so he's not doing that, but he still wants to be extra fast, and Heelys are like kind of normal, sort of. But also he wants to have the Cool Shoes.

Introducing: five-inch high-heel Heelys. This is not a good idea.

I've said in other places that I don't think Drag Strip can actually walk in these, but I do have to walk that back. I think he can walk in them, because otherwise the embarrassment of eating shit in front of people constantly would make him just stop wearing them entirely. Crucially I do still think he falls over in them on the regular but not, like, that often. He can function in them. He's not very good at wheeling around in them, but he can do that, too.

But like, if you shove him on the shoulder then he's going to flail and fall.

Which meaaaaans.... he's not wearing them around his teammates, and he needs different other stupid shoes to make him look "cool", since the Stunticons are basically incapable of keeping their hands off each other and I fully believe they enact stupid slapstick antics on each other constantly. High heels in general almost certainly aren't stable enough, but I don't think that'll actually stop Drag Strip; he'll sacrifice stability for Rule-of-Cool any day. They just have to be, like, slightly more stable.

And I don't think anyone but me actually only wears one pair of shoes, so he probably has a few- especially for someone as image-conscious as he is. All some variety of impractical and most some variety of yellow patent leather. He probably gets them from cheapass online shops or through actual robbery, so the quality varies significantly. He has aliexpress pleasers that he keeps having to get his ankle stabilizers replaced after wearing because they're so slippery and tread-free and he keeps accidentally snapping his ankles every time they slide sideways too fast on him, and he has five-hundred-dollar designer shoes he got at gunpoint that are scuffed to hell because he wears them to walk down to the seven eleven to get bubble gum.

His casualwear shoes are definitely in worse states of disrepair sa compared to his regular shoes. He is not keeping them maintained and he constantly wears them to places and events they shouldn't be worn in, like demolition derbies, or chasing Wildrider through the yard and down the block because he wants to hit Wildrider in the face over something. He can't just go out and replace them when they start to fall apart, and he is also a lot more attached to them, so while they last longer than the work boots on the whole, anything he's had too long is going to start looking shabby and falling-apart.

in conclusion: yellow

You can find the questions here :D

[yzzart]

DARLING, AND I WILL BRING YOU HOME ── KENJI SATO

── summary: While Ken and Emi trained, played together, you were in the stands, cheering them on; unearthing a memory from Kenji's mind.

── content warnings: F!reader, fiance!kenji, scenes of Ken and Emi playing together, mention of Emiko and Professor Sato, a little angst but with comfort in the end!

── word count: 899!

"Lets go, girl!"

Kenji's voice exclaims, in a high and benevolent tone, highlighting a magnanimous animation and excitement for the peaceful environment, so serene and enchanting; hearing the return of his voice through the stillness of the place. — A lovely place, capable of leaving anyone speechless. — A space to call his own.

Fixing and comfortably positioning the cap, Sato takes two steps back and raises his hand for the second time. — Waiting for the attention and focus he were looking for.

“You can do it, you know that, don’t you?” — He questioned with support, helping the big baby lizard; who, in response, grunted gently, without lacking her tenderness, and shook her small, and immense, arms. — "Of course you know!" — Exprimiu, orgulhoso.

“Go, Emi!” — Claps, associates of euphoria, entering into a condition of encouragement, from you; earning affectionate glances and admiring expressions from Sato and the baby. — “Make me proud!” — You got into the rhythm, feeling the wave of encouragement, content in the crowd. — Like you did every time you watched Kenji's games.

Sitting in the stands, made, technologically, by Mina, which easily reproduced a real and authentic Baseball field, containing all the tiny and relevant details. — Including the fact that that field was always chosen by Kenji. — You watch them play.

Moments, scenes, like these had already become routine between you; bringing cycles of leisure, distraction and a way to teach practical notions to Emi. — Which was, faithfully, important and approved by Professor Sato. — In addition to directing, training and, again, further preparing Kenji's passes for the championship; you advised him, agreeing that it could help him.

"Did you hear her?" — He tilted his head toward you, earning an excited squeal and a blink, with precision, from Emi. — "Pay attention to the ball, like last time." — Kenji swung the small ball, attracting her concentration, and smiled when he realized he was reaching it. — "There you go!" — With a strong throw, intending a stable impulse, Kenji threw the ball towards the adorable creature.

With the basic reflexes, which, by the way, were being amplified, upon seeing the small object heading towards her, Emi, holding the huge bat, easily bounced the ball and shot so far that it disappeared into the programmed sky. — Being worthy of an incredible play.

"That's right, baby!" — You shouted, standing up, quickly, with enthusiasm, burning with exaltation and vibration, raising your arms up. — The baby lizard, finding your voice, directed her head towards you; smiling, dazzled by her celebration and, even though she didn't understand so many things, she happily got excited.

It was not possible, much less plausible, to counter the emotions, and old sensations, that came from Kenji's chest; conceiving an ardor of passion, bonds of fascination upon hearing their cries of celebration. — In addition to your claps, the way you had gotten up and approached the field, wanting, in some way, to capture every little point of the play. — He remembered, with such grace and delicacy, the moments when his mother watched him play.

Not missing any matches, even training, she was present; shouting, clamoring, cheering for little Kenji. — Recording all the games, leaving them as souvenirs and secretly sending them to his father; Ken wasn't aware of that, he wasn't that. — Emiko was always there for him and with him.

And watching, witnessing you accompanying him, lifting him, supporting him and guiding him for so long — now, caring, by his side, for a young Kaiju — guides Kenji towards a light, deeply, pure and loyal to all the love he could feel in his heart. life. — The same light that guided his father to his mother.

"Now, run the bases, girl!" — He warned, smiling and ecstatic about the result, and signaling Mina to follow Emi, who quickly flew towards her. — "I'm proud!" — He exclaimed and was responded to with a loud and cheerful, and slightly breathless, scream.

Moving away from where he was, leaving Emi running across the field, Kenji took steps towards you, never stopping to smile, even more so, hearing the baby's amused grunts and seeing the adorable and charming expression on your face. — Also, influenced by the fact that you are wearing one of his caps. — Contemplating you once again.

"She's getting better and better." — You said, biting the lower part of your cheek, bowing your head, looking at the young man and raising one of your hands to his t-shirt, repairing a small and insignificant dent.

"That's good, however…" — He looked up, acting as if he were thinking about something convenient, promising. — "…i feel like our girl could surpass me at any moment." — He joked, in a mix of drama and suffering.

Taking you by surprise, even though you were so used to his comments, you couldn't contain a beautiful and melodic laugh, shaking your head, refusing to believe his words; but, feeling your heart warm when you heard the magnanimous and dazzled way in which Kenji recognized Emi. — Letting that phrase repeat itself in your mind.

Kenji was right, you hadn't, and wouldn't dare, disagree about what he had said; no one could.

"Our girl…" — You murmured, conveying tenderness and softness in the small words. — Resting your head on Kenji's chest, being able to hear his heartbeat, and feeling one of his strong and safe arms around your waist, bringing caresses to the area, you and Sato saw Emi running through the large and beautiful field.

[eraenaa]

Gold Rush

Aemond Targaryen x Lannister Reader Tag List

Synopsis: Everybody wants you, and I don’t like a gold rush.

Warnings: Enemies to Lovers, Mutual Pinning, Jealousy ¿Simp Aemond?, Mature, 18+, Oral Sex (F & M receiving), Fingering, P in V sex, Face Sitting, Not Proofread 

Word Count: 7, 912 (I may have overindulged) 

Beauty worth their weight in gold, and it’s the greatest blessing from the gods that you have both. The only child of Lord Lannister. Spoiled and sheltered, you had never known hardships or troubles. Pampered in the halls of Casterly Rock or anywhere you go. You leave a trail of mystification, enchantment, and adoration. Suitors line up and beg to pay you tribute. Songs and sonnets are made just to entertain and encapsulate the beauty and purity you have for centuries to come. Commoners and Lords offer their lands, riches, and allegiance just to have your hand, and now, a certain prince dared to join. 

When the words slipped out of your uncle’s lips that you should join your father in his visit to the capital, the Red Keep was abuzz with curiosity. The Golden Beauty of the realm shall grace their presence. They shall finally see and admire the being that has been coveted and praised for years. Prince Aegon was excited, to say in the least. He has been curious and titillated by your said charms ever since poets decided to write nothing about the allure and trance you placed upon men by just one look of your emerald eyes. His brother found it as a hoax. He frowned at how they exalt your name and praise you as if you were The Maiden Herself when, in reality, they only read or hear of you. He would scoff to himself every time his brother would reread the songs made in your name. He would roll his eye every time he heard gossip and talk about you from the maids and knights. He was certain that this popularity and recognition had only made you egotistical and vain— a judgment made and solidified in him despite not having known or met you. 

When the day of your arrival came, his older brother was the first to greet you, whilst Prince Aemond stood by the window and watched from afar. He frowned upon Aegon’s actions greatly, paying recognition to a girl whilst ignoring his wife, but alas, his brother could not be reasoned to nor be persuaded to do his duty. Aegon was always easily swayed and distracted by a pretty face, and with beauty such as yours, the queen’s first son had turned simple. Aemond rolled his eye as he stood by the balcony, watching his brother tour you through the gardens. Aegon displayed a beaming smile and an odd blush on his face as if he were the maiden and not yourself. You simply kept a small, pleasing grin on your lips as the eldest prince kept on speaking and offering you flattery and compliments, trying to ignore the feeling of a gaze following you ever since you entered the palace walls. 

You set your gaze above, catching the lone lilac eye of a second silver prince. You held his gaze, which showed contempt and agitation you did not know the reason for. When Prince Aegon had noticed your attention had shifted, he cast his eyes above only to see his brother with his brooding demeanor, almost scowling at the two of you. “That is only my bitter brother, Aemond. Pay him no mind, my lady,” Prince Aegon stated and offered his arm for you to take. Your eyes shifted between the two princes, quickly curtsying towards the one who stood above and the took hold of his brother’s arm before he hurriedly escorted you out of sight of the younger prince. 

You were soon introduced to the princess, the wife of the elder prince. The princess’ presence you then favored instead of her husband, who had a gown quite… touchy and clingy. You stood next to the princess, who introduced you to her adorable children, babes tugging at the hem of your gown and pleading with you with their big violet eyes to carry them. Your heart grew soft and took the little Prince Maelor into your arms, smiling widely as the babe clung to your neck and buried his adorable face into your hair. “My son has taken quite a liking to you… he is most fastidious to other’s presence, my lady,” The princess smiled. “He is simply adorable, Your Highness,” You say and brush the silver hair of the babe. “He is… he quite reminds me of my younger brother when we were children,” The princess mused, her voice afar with nostalgia. 

“Have you been introduced?” The princess then asked, “To whom?” You inquired, distracted by the babe who shifted in your arms. “To—Ah, Aemond! We were just talking about you,” the princess then exclaimed, the silver prince standing by the door. You turned your gaze to the prince you had not been introduced to yet formally. “Lady Lannister, my brother, Aemond,” The princess introduced, and you curtsied since more at the one-eyed prince while having his nephew in his arms. You hindered your frown as he said no word, only simply giving a nod and the action of his lips thinning. 

“I was just telling Lady Lannister how much Maelor resembles you when we were younger,” the princess smiled. You turned to the prince, who tried to give his sister a small smile but looked more like a grimace. “The young prince is quite charming,” You smiled and turned to the prince, who stood before you, stiff and brooding. Aemond clenched his jaw as his eye caught yours once more; you are not at all chaste nor demure in the presence of royalty as any young lady should ought to be. You were perfectly comfortable taking a member of the royal family into your arms as if you were equal in rank. Aemond seemed to stand uncorrected with his early judgment of you. 

“She is quite handsome… I always thought the songs they made were an exaggeration, but it seems to not do her justice,” Aemond heard his mother whisper to his sister, quite entranced by your beauty, and it would seem as would everyone present at the dinner table. Princess Helaena generously invited you to their intimate family dinner. His hand clenched around his chalice of wine as his brother shamelessly leaned closer to you and whispered something in your ear to cause a sweet, amused smile to play on your lips. “Are you not bothered by this?” Aemond could not help but as his sister. “About about what, brother?” Helaena asked, clueless and concerned by the agitated state of her younger brother. 

“Lady Lannister, we are most glad that you are finally here to accompany your father,” the queen said, not allowing Aemond to answer his sister’s query. “Thank you, your Majesty. You have all been so welcoming to my presence.” You smiled and could not help but let your gaze travel to the one-eyed prince, whose contempt had been nothing but plain and quite obvious. “Of course, the golden beauty of the realm is most welcome here indeed,” Aegon then chimed in. “But may I ask why it is only now that you join your father to the capitol?” The queen inquired; your gaze flew around the table, eyes expecting your answer, except for the lilac gaze of the younger prince, who stared steely and harshly at his plate. “Oh… it is because my father and uncle wishes for me to be acquainted with the court… for they are planning for me to marry soon, your Grace,” You said truthfully. That is when you feel a lone eye finally place itself upon your frame. 

The queen hummed and looked not at all shocked by your admittance; her children, however, shared different expressions from what you could read. The princess simply nodded with a ghost of a smile on her lips. The prince beside you seemed surprised and, dare you say, disappointed by your purpose of coming. And the prince across from you seemed… you could not decipher his reaction through his hard gaze. 

When morning came, you were pleased to receive an invitation from the princess to join her in the gardens to break your fast. You followed a squire, and you were led to a table surrounded by flowers and greenery, three children of the crown waiting for you. A pleasing princess and her brothers, one stoic, the other drunken. “Good morning, Your Highnesses,” You greeted and bowed, surprised as the young prince stood and matched your curtsy, moving to assist you to assist you to a seat across from him. You try not to over-analyze his actions; just hours before, he seemed disinterested in you— animosity was heavy around him. However, now, there seemed to be an air of civility surrounding him. 

“What are your engagements today, my lady?” Princess Helaena asked as she sipped on her tea, you stirred yours and replied. “My father was planning to introduce me to some of the members of the court,” You say and turn to acquire the last piece of candied lemon. “Some suitors?” The princess asked, her brothers not at all joining in the conversation, merely sitting around the two of you as if they were dolls. “I am not quite certain, princess,” You say and let your gaze travel to Prince Aemond, who stared at the candied lemon on your plate. 

“Do you have a favorite among them?” Prince Aegon then inquired; you frowned at his question. “I beg your pardon?” You asked for clarification. “Does any of your suitors hold great favor with you?” He said and took a chalice into his hand so early in the morning. “I have still yet to meet them, my prince… but I was told that Lord Arryn’s son was quite handsome, and many ladies of the court seem to favor him,” You answered but was turned to the princess, the topic seemingly more appropriate for the two of you. “Ah, yes, handsome Lord Henry,” Princess Helaena said in recognition, “It is true that he is comely. However, I heard he is one to wander,” The princess said delicately. Confusion painted your face once more, and it was the second prince who clarified, 

“Lord Henry is quietly known for his depravity,” Prince Aemond said, making your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Like our brother Aegon,” he added, smirking as that earned a giggle from his sister. “I think it would best if you stay far from the son of Lord Arryn,” The princess said, and you nodded along. 

You spent the day being introduced to Lords and Ladies of the Court, but more specifically, their sons. You felt the constant drone of a gaze following you as you conversed with the prospects of your hand. Their faces seemingly merged, and their names eluded you, so you could only offer them your pleasing smile and mindless small talk and keep your hand on their arm. 

“Do you not have to train, brother?” Helaena then appeared beside Aemond, who was hidden behind a pillar, as he observed you being acquainted with the eligible sons of the court. Helaena held a cheeky smile as she caught his brother’s actions. You had only arrived yesterday, and the princess was already certain that you had caught the attention of her enigmatic brother. It was plain to her the attraction and curiosity Aemond harbored for the golden beauty of the realm, even long before you arrived. Yes, the One-Eyed prince would scoff when his eye would catch anyone reading a pamphlet containing the written songs in your name. Still, Helaena noted that he was the first one to acquire the said pamphlets, religiously reading them until Aegon caught wind of a lioness whose beauty was hidden in Casterly Rock. As a result, the one-eyed prince hindered himself from admitting that he and his brother were attracted to the same girl. Yes, the One-Eyed prince would roll his eye in annoyance whenever he heard gossip about you in the halls, yet he still stayed and listened to all of them. 

“Should you not be joining the line of her suitors?” Helaena teased, amused by the way her brother’s nostrils flared and his jaw clenched. Helaena waited for his reply, but none came. It was a rare occurrence for Aemond to not find words. “I shall see you at supper, sister,” Aemond gritted and walked off, leaving Princess Helaena amused and with new ammunition to lovingly tease her brother. 

Supper came, and to Aemond’s displeasure or satisfaction, you were there. Seated next to his sister, whispering and giggling as if you were the oldest friends when, in reality, you had only waltzed into their life just the other day. He supposed that he should find joy that his sister had finally befriended someone, but must it be you? 

Must it be you who had to join them in supper and be in his constant presence? Seducing and tempting him even though you merely just sat there— making him question himself and his honor as he watched wine stain your lush lips or the way you would let out a low moan at the taste of the pie placed on your plate. You were too much of a temptation, a trial sent by the gods to test his patience and honor, in which he was seemingly failing, for all he wanted to do earlier was cut all the suitors who dared touch you and now taste the wine on your lips. 

When supper had come to an end, Aemond was quick to stand and had a great wish to retire to his rooms, but his mother had different plans. “Aemond, will you escort Lady Lannister to her quarters? A young lady cannot be left alone in the halls at such an hour,” You turned your expecting gaze to the prince, watching as his jaw ticked and his tense form turned rigged. It was alarmingly clear that he had no wish to extend such generosity to you, but still, he obliged his mother and offered his leather-clad arm for you to take. 

You walked out of the dining hall in exchange for the corridor. Tense, suffocating air surrounds you and the second-born prince, whose reluctance was nothing short of obvious. You tried to make polite conversation with him as he walked with you through the never-ending, dimly lit halls of the Red Keep, but his replies were only a nod and a grunt. When you reached the door of your chambers, you let go of the prince’s arm, pride wounded as you were completely ignored and could feel unaccounted animosity towards you. “Good night, Your Highness,” You drawled, growing annoyed by the moment but still had the respectability to lowly curtsy before the prince. 

Aemond gulped as you curtsied before him once again, giving him a heavenly sight of your bosom that made him stiffen in his spot. He knew that your actions were a sign of respect; he should take it as a compliment that you had bowed before him lowly, but every time you did so, all you did was tempt him more. You were shameless as you fashioned a dress with such a neckline, giving every man a sight for their desires to only fester. Now he knew why every man who had encountered you had been left entranced and obsessed; you were a vixen, a true lioness. 

Days passed as you stayed in the Red Keep, and you could feel the constant and growing animosity and disapproval Prince Aemond held for you. You had no idea the reason for it; you could not recall what you had done for him to grow so callous and mean towards you. You would hear his scoffs of derision whenever someone paid you a compliment, and he was within earshot to hear it. You would catch him as he would roll his unique lilac eye whenever you spoke or offered your opinion or even when you laughed. It was such a shame that such a handsome and attractive prince was so vile and rude. You were growing impatient and irritated with him. On any other occasion, your course of action will be to avoid and not put yourself in situations that would require you to be near the prince, but somehow, the gods were cruel and had twisted fate to have you in each other’s presence constantly. 

When night finally came and offered respite from the bitter prince, you sighed in your chambers and tried to find a reason for his contempt towards you. It was an odd feeling you did not wish to fester; all your life, everyone you met was quick to grow fond of you. You were quick to leave them enchanted by your beauty and charms. You named it as your greatest gift— your greatest power was how well beloved you are by anyone… how you could wrap them around your pretty little fingers, which is why the prince’s dislike for you had left you entirely unnerved and bothered. You were growing scared that perhaps your charms were slipping and soon, all too, would feel the same animosity the prince harbors for you. You could not find rest that night, fear trickling into your system. The prince had unraveled your deepest fears with just his quiet distaste.  

You step out of your guest chambers and threaded the halls of the Red Keep, walking the darkened halls and trying to find distraction in the library. You walked straight and paid no mind if any soul was in the library because you were certain that no one else would be present at this hour. You were mistaken. 

Prince Aemond frowned to himself, thinking his mind had placed a trick upon him. The image of you haunted him even in the dead of night when he thought he could finally escape your beautiful torment. But as he heard books being retrieved from shelves and the way your scent wafted to where he sat, he grew aware that the image he saw was no apparition. You were there, with him, alone in the quiet room. 

Aemond took quiet steps towards you, the moonlight bathing you in its light. Your frame aglow, making you look more ethereal as the silver light lights your golden mane. Aemond clenched his jaw as the same prominent desire for you only bloomed tenfold. “You should not be here,” He gritted, standing at arm’s length. It was concerning that he was standing at such a close proximity and you have yet to notice. It only solidified his theory that you were so enveloped in only yourself that you care not about the world around you. Aemond bit his tongue as an amused smirk threatened to escape to his lips. You jumped in your spot and turned to him wide-eyed in fear. He had never seen a lion frightened. 

“My prince… I— I apologize, I did not know that the libraries are restricted at these hours,” You said and closed the book in your hand. “It is not,” comes the reply of the prince, making a frown of confusion paint your face. You turned your entire frame towards him, peering up at the prince who looked at you with nothing but resentment in his cold lilac eye. “Then why shouldn’t I be here?” You asked with a tilt of your head.“You should be in your chambers.” Aemond gritted and removed his gaze from you because looking at you illuminated by the moonlight made him feel too much. He stepped back, but you matched his actions and stepped forward. He took a step back again, and you only mimicked his steps. It was an odd scene, a dragon being toyed by a lioness. 

Watching Prince Aemond’s nostrils flare and his jaw tick again made you smirk, as he was clearly annoyed by your presence. “You do not like me,” you suddenly announced, making his shielded gaze cast itself upon your eyes again. “You do not know me, yet you do not like me… why is that?” You asked and stepped forward once again, leaving just a sliver of space between you and the prince. Aemond gulped thickly as you were just a breath away from him. Your scent evading his senses, your enchanting eyes assessing his every move. 

“Oh, I know you,” He spat but felt his knees weaken when you raised your brow, painting a fake confused look on your pretty face. Siren eyes mockingly turned into doe ones, and plump lips parted in fictitious shock. “You do?” You asked. “You know me? I apologize, my prince, but I do not recall our first encounter. Please, tell me how you know me,” you rolled your eyes and finally let your annoyance slip, for you had enough of the prince’s judgment. The prince and you stared each other down, him not finding words as you had your expressive, scathing gaze upon him. He did not know how to handle himself— he was always silver-tongued and quick-witted, never one to be speechless, but apparently, that changed when it came to you. When pitted against you, he felt like the quiet, dragon-less little boy he once was. His raging fire weakened and turned to mere flickers. 

You scoffed and shook your head, not wavering or stepping away from the prince, ready to retire back to your room, but he took hold of your arm and pulled you even closer to him. “I know you. You’re a spoiled… vain… flirtatious little brat,” He spat, and watching your eyes widen and fill with offense brought back Aemond’s confidence, and he once again gained his silver tongue and towering, imposing demeanor. He watched as your cheeks flushed and wondered how it would feel to touch them. Would it be as hot as the fire that burned in his veins? 

“My father and uncle used to always speak highly about you… about how cavalier, genteel, and dutiful the second prince of the realm was— it is disheartening to be faced with a mean, calloused boy who had shown me nothing but animosity since I’ve arrived— animosity which I do not understand the reason of!” You retaliated and pried his hold off you, Aemond trying not to grow amused as you said the words with a stomp of your foot as if you were throwing a tantrum. “You want to know the reason?” Aemond hummed as you glared at him. “Yes.” You said and crossed your arms across your chest. Aemond caught the action and reminded himself not to let his eye linger upon the deep live between your bosom. He was certain you did that on purpose. You were calculated; you did each of your actions, knowing fully well that it would elicit a reaction from those around you that would only selfishly serve you and your vanity. 

He could see it in how you interacted with the lords and other men, flashing your coy smile, batting your eyelashes, and seducing them with just a mere movement from your graceful frame. He could see it in how you toyed with Aegon, letting him whisper things to your ear, leaning in closer when the older prince spoke, and laughing at whatever meaningless word came out of the prince’s wine-smelling mouth. And you did it with him as well, the way your eye would hold his gaze, seeking him out during dinner and distracting him whilst in training. You were a shameless flirt. Someone who craved attention, and everyone seemed to be grateful to give you what you sought— except Aemond.

“Because you are a flirt— a tease. You toy with men because you were gifted with beauty,” Aemond seethed and that only brought a deep furrow on your brows. “I am no such thing!” You defended yourself, and the prince only scoffed and rolled his eyes. “You are. It is plain. You have them wrapped around your fingers— you know how easily an attractive face persuades them,” the prince said but frowned as he saw your lips twitch upward. As if his words and insults were a jest. “Tell me, my prince… do you agree with their sentiments? Do you find me attractive as well?” You asked and tilted your head, smirking to yourself as the dragon’s fire stuttered and backed away once more. It was a battle, each opponent taking their hits and reloading in time just to fight with the other again. 

The prince gulped and felt heat rise to the tips of his ear; luckily, the reddening flesh was covered by the curtain of his silver locks. “I— I don’t,” He said and stood his ground, forcing his voice to be steady and scathing though he told a plain lie. “I do not find you attractive,” He said more firmly and slightly more convincing this time. “You don’t?” You asked and watched as he curtly nodded and thinned his lips. “That is good,” you mused and backed away from the little space you had given him. The prince’s brow twitched as you said your sentiment, as he heard relief from your voice. “Why is that?” He curiously asked his turn to step closer to you. 

“Because your mother had proposed to my father that a union between us would be well suited; well suited to whom I do not know, but that is what she had proposed. Telling my father that she had needed to bring the subject to you to see if you agreed.” It was a nice scene to see the prince’s whole body turn to stone in shock. His thin lips parted, and his eyes held cluelessness and disbelief. You took the moment of silence from the prince to speak once more. “Well, it is most fortunate that you clearly don’t agree— it would save me from having to be in the presence of such a… prejudiced and bitter prince.” You relished the way you caught his hand clenched around nothing and the way you were certain he was ready to turn violent by your words. However, you still continued to speak.  

“Though the title of princess is quite tempting, and I am certain I’d look exquisite with a tiara— I’d rather run off with the stable boy and live in squalor than live in a place with you.” You finished with a satisfied smirk on your lips at the murderous look on the prince’s face. When his lips parted and tried to speak, he flailed on what to say. That only added to your triumph. “Good night, my prince, Aemond,” You said in a sickly, sweet tone and lowly curtsied again before walking your way back to your chambers. 

It should greatly shame the prince. His actions would haunt him for moons to come, but the moment you exited the library, and he was once again left alone, he succumbed to his desires and undid the laces of his trousers. Pulling his painfully hardened length and pleasured himself with the thought of you. Your scent still hung in the air, and your voice still rang in his ear, but what pushed him over the edge was the image of you curtsying, almost going to your knees before him. His mind was made then. Whatever act he had portrayed the past few days will quickly come to an end for he shall certainly agree with his mother that a union between him and you would be most suited. 

You sat in disbelief and utter confusion as your father announced to you that a union between you and the prince shall take place. “Why? Wh— did the queen ask his thoughts on this? Or was it just your and Her Majesty’s decision?” You questioned as you recalled the night in the library with the prince. It had only been two days since the heated and angered scene transpired, and you had done your best to avoid him and his raging lilac gaze. “The prince came to me and asked for your hand. And given the conversation I had with the queen, I assumed that his proposal has her blessing.” Your lips agape, and you try to work out your objections, but your father cupped your cheeks. “You, my darling, will be a princess just like you had always dreamed of.” He said softly, recalling how you ran the halls of Casterly Rock with a tiara atop of your head when you were younger— always begging your septa to tell you stories of princesses and their princes finding 'happily ever after.’

“I shall leave you to get ready— it will be announced to the court later today, and the wedding shall take place in a week’s time.” He announced, making you stand in utter surprise. “What?! Father— Why so soon?” You asked in disbelief. “The queen wishes his son to be married before the king meets his demise. He wishes for the king to witness Aemond joyously with his bride,” You were stunned and were certain that joy would not appear from a union between you and Aemond, making the Queen’s wishes moot. “Now, make haste as you shall be presented with your betrothed!” Your father smiled and kissed the top of your head, and hurriedly left the guest chambers. 

Aemond observed as your proud gaze was planted on the floor as they announced the upcoming union between the two of you. He was certain that news had left you in quite a state of confusion. The prince passed his eye at the sea of people, mostly on the men who had lined up for years and courted you, only to witness that the beauty they coveted was then promised to the dragon prince. Aemond’s look turned to his brother, whose jealous gaze was upon him, and Aemond couldn’t help but smirk. He then returned his gaze to you again, finally having looked up and locked your eyes upon him. Nothing but confusion in your orbs, and perhaps anger that Aemond simply found endearing. 

“I do not understand.” You gritted as you and Aemond were given a chance of privacy to get to know more about each other before the wedding. You two were in the room of the small council, the queen, your father, and the lord commander standing by the other side of the door lost in discussion as you and your betrothed were about to thread towards an argument. “You and I shall marry each other; what is so hard to understand?” The prince retorted. “I suppose the saying is true… the more comely the woman is, the more she is simple,” Aemond quickly added, grinning at how quickly you were to grow red in rage. Your cheeks match the scarlet of your gown. 

“Why, in the name of the seven, would you agree to this?! You and I are not suited for each other!” you whispered harshly, not wanting your parents to hear you quarrel. "And what makes you think so?” The prince hummed, stepping closer to you, tightening in his trousers once more as your plump lips were agape. “I haven’t had a civil conversation with you. All our interactions have been arguments— do you truly think that a marriage between us would work?” You asked incredulously, mind spinning at how abrupt, incomprehensible, and inexplicable the fates were. “You wish for a civil conversation? Let us have one then,” he simply replied and took a seat in one of the chairs housed in the long table separating the two of you.

You took in deep breaths and studied as he sat calmly, his hands placed atop the wooden table. You eventually took the seat across from him. “Why did you agree to this union?” You asked, your mind still replaying the scene in which he stated plainly that he dislikes you greatly. “Because I am in need of a wife,” he answered. You licked your lips and shook your head. “Why me, then? When you are perfectly aware of our shared… distaste for one another,” You said and watched as the prince shrugged. “Because…” the prince trailed, licking his lips as he was certain you would not believe what he would utter because he himself would find it hard to believe as well at how he had treated you since you had come. “I want you.” He finally said after a long moment of steely silence. The prince clenched his jaw as he heard you scoff, and a sardonic, melodious laugh soon followed. “You want me?” You asked, “What? You want to punish me? Make me miserable with a union with a man who hates me?” You added. “I do not hate you,” the prince sighed and rolled his eye as you stubbornly shook your head. 

“Ever since I have arrived all you had done was glare at me, pick quarrels and squabbles. You had offended me right to my face, and now you say want me?” You asked incredulously. “They say Targaryens are mad… but I had hoped your mother’s blood had leveled your and your sibling's heads.” You mumbled and did not expect to see an amused look on the prince’s face. A beat of silence surrounded the two of you, staring each other down. A lioness with a confused scowl on her face, and a dragon who had amusement and content on his. “I still do not understand,” You said, and the Prince sighed once more.

“It was all an act,” he sighed. My animosity towards you—all of it was an act. A facade to protect me because when I saw how you interacted with the other prospects for your hand… how obliging you were with them, I could not stomach the fact that you would not be mine,” he admitted, letting himself be vulnerable for the first time in years. I… I do not like sharing,” he then added. 

“I was five and ten when I read the first poem written for you,” he started. “I have not seen you… I have not a clue of who you were except that you were Ser Tyland’s kin, and you were of great beauty as they have written, and you already managed to make me grow curious,” You stayed silent as the prince continued on to explain. “I waited every week for new poems to be published… the songs in your name still did not receive much recognition— you were still unheard of by the others. I was certain I was the only one who bought those pamphlets; you were a secret for me alone.” You nodded along and rested your back against the chair, observing the prince intently as he spoke. “Aegon found the pamphlets and began to grow curious too… along with the entire kingdom, and I just did not enjoy the thought that I have to share the desire to know you— to be with you with other men,” He finished, and you bit your tongue as you did not know how to take the prince’s explanation. Was it flattering or puzzling? You had no clue. All you knew was your heart was beating loudly in your chest and your stomach was filled with butterflies. 

“My uncle often shared stories of you and your siblings…” You spoke, your turn to share an anecdote. “As a child, I have always been enthralled by the idea of royalty. So he would oblige me and tell me stories of the Dragon Princes.” Aemond nodded along as your eyes were cast upon the wooden table. “He would always go into great detail about your brother, Aegon… seeing he will be king, but I was always more curious about you,” You admitted. “But he said you always kept to yourself, so he could not truly tell me stories about you, so I would make him repeat the anecdotes already told time and time again. On how kind you were with your sister and how dutiful you were to your mother… how you were brave and determined— ceaselessly training with the sword even if you had lost your eye. And if you were not training, you were adding to your scholarly knowledge.” You turned your gaze to the Prince’s exceptionally beautiful lilac eye, “I have been fond of you long before I have met you, my prince. Ask my father and uncle… or anyone in Casterly Rock, for that matter,” You said truthfully, watching as Aemond’s lips twitch into a smile

“I would admit; I came here with the hopes of getting to know you… that perhaps a match between us would fall organically and not one that our father and mother made.” You said and fisted the fabric of your scarlet gown as your heart beat loudly at your admittance. The prince licked his lips, “Should it matter how this union was made?” He asked, “Either way, in the end, we’ll still get what we both want,” Aemond stated, his whole being satisfied as he was not the only one who pinned over a person he was still yet to meet. “I suppose not,” you smiled as your impending nuptials with a prince you had dreamed of since you were a child was to come. The door then swung open, revealing your father along with the Queen.“I hope the both of you had gotten the chance to grow more acquainted with each other,” The queen smiled, already excited with the prospect of your marriage and for you to be her daughter. You were most fitting to their family; not only will her son gain an incredibly charming and comely wife, but her daughter too will gain a friend. 

“We have, your grace,” You said with a small smile. She gave a pleased nod, and her smile widened, “That is good. Come with me, child. Plans have to be made, and you still have yet to be fitted for your gown!” She said and held out her hand for you to take. You stood and turned briefly to your betrothed; you once again curtsied before him. Now, a smile intended for him was placed on your pink lips, and Aemond’s longing gaze followed you as you walked out of the room with his mother. 

The day of your wedding was quick to come, and you felt entirely giddy and excited about marrying Prince Aemond. Your father escorted you down the aisle, the eyes of the kingdom following you as you gracefully walked to your soon-husband, who had a rare smile on his lips. When your father gave your hand for the prince to take, you felt gooseflesh scatter throughout your entire body. Aemond looked at you adoringly throughout the entirety of the ceremony, not at all paying attention to the Maester who blessed your union. 

Aemond was entirely impatient for him to announce you as his wife and for him to finally be able to kiss your lips. To mark you as his in front of the gods and the entire kingdom. And when that moment finally came, the desire that burned brightly inside the both of you only grew. Aemond was not one to show affection publicly, but he could not hinder himself as he cupped your cheeks to deepen your kiss that was witnessed by all present in the hall. Their screams and cheers faded and turned mute as both of your lips intertwined. 

Suppressed desires could not be contained any longer as you and Aemond had finally had a taste of each other. There was supposed to be a banquet to celebrate your union; the Queen had organized the feast to perfection, and your father spared no expense for the celebration. But it was unfortunately missed by you and your husband as Aemond quickly led you to your shared bed chambers, both of you unable to wait for nightfall to be in each other’s arms. 

“Aemond,” You mewled as he pushed you up against the stone pillar in your chambers. His lips kissed your neck, leaving his mark with every kiss, and his hands quickly untied the laces of your gown. You hear him growl as you boldly move your hand to cup his hardened length against his trousers, hesitant as you move your hand. “We should be in the feast,” You said but made no move to halt your pleasurable actions. Aemond shook his head, “Do you want to attend the feast, or do you want to be pleasured, wife?” He asked and watched with dark eyes as the sleeves of your dress draped down your arm and revealed more of your milky skin. “I want you, husband.” You breathed, and Aemond let out a pleasurable sound as your hold on his length tightened. 

“Kneel,” Aemond gritted, and your eyes widened at his command. “Kneel and show your devotion to your lord husband,” Aemond demanded and clenched his jaw as you did as he asked, slowly going to your knees, your eyes still locked upon him. You licked your lips as you were eye-leveled with his bulging length, “Take it out,” Aemond commanded and tightly closed his eye as you did the action, your skin finally touching his. You bit your lip at his massiveness, at how well-endowed he was and how beautiful he fully was. You swallowed thickly as you recalled the books you had read in the dead of night, detailing how man and woman should be. 

Aemond let out a strained sound as you placed a ghost of a kiss upon the tip of his cock, your name spewing from his lips as you peppered light kisses along his length. “Stop being a tease, little wife,” he gritted and felt his stomach tighten at the smirk on your lips and the view of you kneeling before him. Your dress had dropped lowly, and he could see most of your bosom that had been tempting him for days on end. 

You let out a breath and to him to your mouth. You half expected yourself to be repulsed, but with each moment you had his length between your lips, bobbing your head, sucking harshly, hearing the moans your husband spewed, and looking at his pleasured etched face, you felt your cunt drip with want and anticipation. Aemond groaned louder as you fondled his other parts, thanking the gods for blessing him with you as his wife. Thanking them for their favor to let him be bound to the Golden Beauty of the realm. The prince breathed in harshly as the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat, the need for release in him loudly pronouncing itself, making him abruptly pull out. He could not be so selfish and let himself succumb to pleasure whilst you were still filled with need. 

Aemond pulled you to stand, fervently meeting your lips once more, and guided you to bed. Your dress finally fell, and Aemond greedily took one of your tit into the hot cavern of his mouth. He bit the bud and elicited a sweet whine from your lips, and he quickly soothed it with his tongue and felt you clung to him tighter. Taking his other hand and guided it to you other needing tit to pleasure it as well. Aemond smirked upon your bosom at how in need you were of him. Aemond moved his lips to your neglected tit, and his hand trailed down south, your eyes rolling back and your hands fisting the back of his head as you finally felt his cold hands upon your needing heat. 

“So desperate for me, little wife,” Aemond hummed in satisfaction. Your moans echoed throughout the chambers, along with the sound of your wetness as Aemond slipped his finger in you, his thumb circling the pearl of your cunt, earning more of your sweet moans. Aemond moved to kiss your lips again, feeling how tightly your cunt clenched around his finger. You parted your lips as you felt climax nearing, your wide, lusted eyes locked in with your husbands, but before you could even succumb to ultimate pleasure, Aemond stole away his finger. “Aemond,” You whined, but your husband only smirked and pecked your lips. Making you watch as he brought his coated fingers to his lips and sucked the essence of you clean. 

Your mind was dazed and frustrated as he denied you pleasure. Your eyes followed him as he removed his tunic and lay nakedly on the silk sheets of your feathered bed. “Come here,” He ordered, and you hesitated for a moment. You took your bottom lip between your lips and did as told, moving to straddle him as he lay. His hands found home on your hips, urging you to move forward, and you furrowed your brows in confusion as your core threaded farther away from his length. “Aemond, I—“ Words were lost as the prince’s lips were met with your cunt. His hands forcing you down upon his face. Your head tilted back in pleasure as you rolled your hips upon his face, his prominent nose perfectly aligned with your nubbin and his tongue darting in and out of your tightness. 

“Aemond,” You cried as your thighs were quick to shiver; release was finding you once more. “Aemond… Aemond…” You uttered his name like a prayer. With one flick of his tongue, you came undone, your moans ringing loudly that you were certain that it was heard in the halls but could not find care. Aemond had a slight smirk as he moved you closer to his length. Your eyes were still glazed from your climax, and your mind was so disoriented that you did not even realize that Aemond had positioned his length at your entrance. The sharp pain of your maidenhead being taken was the only indication you had that you had now sunk upon his cock. 

Aemond relished at the sight of you atop of him, your cunt taking and squeezing his cock. Your breast was heaving, and your eyes were welling with tears. Aemond reached out and took your bosom into his calloused hands, kneading the taut, soft flesh— earning a pleasured moan through your pain. Aemond gave you the liberty to move whenever you felt comfortable doing so. He was an impatient man, but he savored every small movement you made as you clenched along his cock. 

Your furrowed brows dissipated, and your mouth parted as the tip of cock perfectly hit the spot inside of you that made you see stars. Aemond’s breathing labored as you rolled your hips, seeking further friction. He moved his cold hands to your hips and guided you to bounce upon his cock. “Aemond!” You cried, and Aemond could only marvel at your pleasured face and bouncing tits; you squeezed him so tightly that slight pain mixed with his delight. “Are you going to come, my wife? Will you come at your husband’s cock?” Aemond hummed and sat up, placing his head between your ample breasts, greedily inhaling your scent. “Yes… gods, yes!” You cried as he harshly thrust inside you. Both of you meet your peak, Aemond spilling his seed deep inside your cunt and you clawing at his bare back and leaving your own marks. 

“My wife,” Aemond hummed in satisfaction and nuzzled his nose against yours, a smile on your lips as your foreheads pressed as the cheers from the feast that you two disregarded were lowly heard in your chambers, “My prince,” You smiled and kissed his lips, your heart full. Your being wholly satisfied as you were bound to the prince that your young heart had wanted long before. 

[ozzgin]

This is something I decided to do on a whim, but I'm very fond of the idea! The Ten Commandments in reverse, featuring an obsessive Angel and the ways in which it's breaking said laws. Part 1. content: gender neutral reader, religious themes, blasphemy, NSFW, horror

They are embedded within the very fabric of creation, holding together the molecules, the neurons, the existence itself: the Ten Commandments. They have been bestowed upon humans for guidance, yet angels are different. Perfect machineries erected from spoken word - they do not have the choice of receiving these laws. It is their fundament, their core.

Thus, one would be inclined to think that there is no such concept as a disobedient Angel. Like the one sent to guard over you. The one who's been watching you from the very beginning, who loves you so dearly. It would do anything to protect you. Perhaps even go against its Father's word, against its purpose.

10. Thou shalt not covet

It stalks your movements with a pained grimace. The way you smile at your friends, the way you lean against your partner. Why, oh why, must you torment it like this? It yearns to be the one holding you instead. To be the one graced with your joyful laughter, to be the one blessed by your soft, loving voice. There is nothing fruitful to its distant benevolence.

It cannot remain hidden any longer.

9. Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbour

"No one loves you as I do", it wails, wicked tears streaming down its face. The holy water burns the skin, leaving trails of raw flesh behind. "They're vile, these humans, their hearts impure. What need have you for deceit and barren promises?"

"I am the only one you can trust", the Angel declares, gazing at you. Its face resembles a broken marble statue, its soft features caressed by scars and wounds. Only you can mend its anguished heart, only you can soothe its mechanical soul.

8. Thou shalt not steal

One by one, your friends abandon you. Or maybe it's you who's grown distant. Their familiar cheer is now tainted by cold monotony. You've no need for shallow affections. You have your partner, and your guardian Angel.

Almost, the sacred creature grins. Its chest throbs with selfish delight, and the envy succumbs once more. Soon you will belong to no one else. It never felt such exaltation, such ardent, burning warmth: a desire fulfilled.

7. Thou shalt not commit adultery

Its blackened fingers drag themselves across your naked body, groping every curve and penetrating every hole. The hunger becomes unbearable. "It will be our secret", it whispers lowly, though the pledge is quickly drowned by your perverted whines.

It has claimed you; it has defiled you. The serpent-like tongue flicks and slurps in a maddening lust. And yet, it's not enough.

6. Thou shalt not murder

It stands above the drained cadaver, peace finally settling in its soul.

"It is the two of us now", it muses, overwhelmed by rapture. "Adam and Eve, the beginning and the end."

Its lips quiver upon speaking such blasphemy. It is a lie, it is a nonsense. It is a divine apparatus meant to serve God's will, not a human to love, and feed, and copulate.

T̷̹̹̭͖͍̗̘̄͒͗̄̑͋͜͝͠ḩ̸̛̮̖͈̹̱͙̬̰̫̾͆́̆́̃̓̀͌͐̽͜͜͝͝ͅè̸͕͉͓̻̇͐̇͌͝ ̵͍̙̀̊̈̅͗͛̊͝s̶̯̬͚̰͔͙̞͖̦̭̲̩͍̾́̀̎́̆̌̋͘̚̕̚͠͠y̸̝͚̱̪͂̄̍̆̂̽̽͗͑͆͘͜͠͠͝s̷̖͚̮̙̩̖͙̥̓t̸̬͎̟̥͓̐̃̄̅͛̈́̄̀̇ͅe̷͔̻̤̪͋̈́̿̐̑̒͜͝͝m̵̡̼̖̥̠̠͋͆́̊̑̓͌͒̽̆͠ ̶̨͈̺̯̹͉̬̭͔̜͕͎̔̈̽͜͝͝i̸̬͕̊̿̌͛̾͠͠s̷̡͙̯̫̪̝͎̖̬͗͂̂̐͒̇̊̆͋̍̉̈́̈́͘͜ ̴̛͇̘͇̱̘̯̱̜̑̌̉̓͊̋̀͘͝c̵��̹̳̍͗̔́͌̐̒̀̍͒͌ö̷̪̣̫̘̝̋́̃̍̀̍̆̎͠r̴̢̦̰͎̜̖̗̼̿͌̾̈́̂̊͛͐̾ͅŗ̶̭̥͕̝̀̊ù̶̘̻͔̻̦̠͉̳͋͛̀͆̏͠ͅͅp̷̢͙͈̗̙͎̪̼̪͎̈́̌̀̄͒̌̄͂̀͘̕̕͝͠ṭ̵̡̽͗̓̈́̀̍́̊̒͌̃́̕.̴̨̬̝̘̜̦̭̪̩̹̫̎͆̃̌̓ ̴̧͕̪̄́̿̉̑

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[astrobydalia]

Predicting the chart of your future spouse

First of all, thank you to @harmoonix for inspiring me to make this post!

I wanted to share some key thing I've observed that you should look out for in your Groom (5129) and Briede (19029) persona charts if you want to know what placements your future spouse might have. Look at Groom PC if you're looking to marry a man and Briede PC if you're looking to marry a woman. These asteroids move very slowly so in order to get more insight about your person looking at these charts is important

For other options you can apply these to Descendent PC and to a lesser extent Juno PC, those can ring true as well, but the main research of this post is focused on Groom/briede

These are patterns I've extracted based on my research analyzing the charts of married couples. Presented in no particular order

.   ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ.   ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ.   ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

work by astrobydalia

The Ascendant/1st house/Placement of asc ruler

… in the groom/briede pc. This I’ve seen correlated mainly to the Sun or Asc of spouse since it is indicative of their main personality traits and characteristics. It can also relate to other prominent placements/energies of spouse

Hailey Bieber has Scorpio ASC in her Groom PC and Justin Bieber is a Scorpio ASC

Justin Bieber has Sagittarius ASC in his Briede PC and Hailey is a Sagittarius ASC

One of my clients had Cancer ASC on her Groom PC and her husband was a water ASC with moon in his 1st house

Blake Lively has Sagittarius ASC with Uranus, Saturn and Neptune 1st house in her Groom PC and her husband Ryan is a mutable rising. It’s worth mentioning the he’s also known for having a bold, eccentric (Uranus) and humorous personality, he's also older than her (Saturn) and he's from a different country (sag). He also has Sagittarius IC and Venus

Joanne Woodward has Virgo Asc in her Groom pc with its ruler falling in Libra and her husband Paul Newman was an earth rising with Venus and Mercury conjunct his Asc

.   ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ.   ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ.   ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

Moon placement

this one is so important! 9/10 your spouse's moon will have similar qualities as the moon in your groom/briede pc or spouse might have placements in this sign

Most common case in my research: spouse’s moon is in the same element or modality as the moon in the Groom/Bride pc

Other example is a client of mine had Cancer moon in his Briede pc and his wife had Moon-Jupiter conjunction in her chart (jupiter expands moon’s qualities and is also exalted in cancer)

.   ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ.   ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ.   ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

Part of Fortune/Vertex

I’ve seen these being a less literal indicative of actual placement but it does show prominent energies in spouse definitely, specially within the relationship

.   ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ.   ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ.   ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

Dignities

pay attention to this one!!! I’ve seen it being SO accurate! I’ve noticed that if a planet (particularly inner planet) is in good or bad dignity in your groom/briede pc, your fs will likely have that planet in one of its signs of domicile, exaltation, fall or detriment. This also makes that particular planet significant in your person’s chart (meaning it might be dominant, on the angles, in joy houses, etc)

Mila Kunis has Scorpio Mars (mars’ domicile) in her Groom PC and Ashton Kutcher is a Cancer Mars (mars’ detriment)

She also has Sun in Aries (sun’s exaltation) in her groom pc chart and Ashton in an Aquarius Sun (sun’s debilitation)

The client I mentioned above also had Aries Sun in his briede pc and his wife had her Sun in the 9th house (sun’s joy)

Blake Lively has Taurus Moon (moon’s exaltation) in her Groom PC and Ryan is a Scorpio Moon (moon’s detriment)

Grace Kelly had Libra Venus (venus domicile) in her Groom pc and her husband was a Taurus Venus (venus domicile)

.   ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ.   ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ.   ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

Angular houses

similar to the last point. The common consensus I’ve seen with this one is that if you have a certain planet in an angular house in the groom/briede pc, your spouse likely has that planet in an angular house too or that planet is significant in them

.   ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ.   ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ.   ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

Degrees

planets at critical degrees in your groom/briede pc can be significant or manifest quite literally in your person’s chart

.   ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ.   ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ.   ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

work by astrobydalia

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Word List: August

"beautiful" words related to august for your next poem/story

August - marked by majestic dignity or grandeur

Baronial - stately, ample

Celestial - ethereal; eminently pleasing; delightful, heavenly

Colossus - a person or thing of immense size or power

Cosmical - characterized by greatness especially in extent, intensity, or comprehensiveness

Decorous - marked by propriety and good taste; correct

De Rigueur - prescribed or required by fashion, etiquette, or custom; proper

Distingué - distinguished especially in manner or bearing

Exalted - held in high estimation; glorified or praised

Formidable - tending to inspire awe or wonder; impressive

Genteel - elegant or graceful in manner, appearance, or shape

Heroical - exhibiting or marked by courage and daring

Homeric - of epic proportions; heroic

Imperial - of superior or unusual size or excellence

Luxuriance - grandeur; the quality or state of being abundantly and often extravagantly rich and varied; prolific

Magisterial - marked by an overbearingly dignified or assured manner or aspect

Monumental - highly significant; outstanding

Opulent - amply or plentifully provided or fashioned often to the point of ostentation

Palatine - suitable to a palace; magnificent

Pantheon - a group of illustrious or notable persons or things

Redoubtable - illustrious, eminent

Regal - of notable excellence or magnificence; splendid

Resplendent - shining brilliantly and attractive; characterized by a glowing splendor

Splendiferous - extraordinarily or showily impressive

Staid - marked by settled sedateness and often prim self-restraint; sober, grave

Titan - one that is gigantic in size or power; one that stands out for greatness of achievement

If any of these words make their way into your next poem/story, please tag me, or leave a link in the replies. I would love to read them!

Writing Notes: August ⚜ More: Word Lists

[ventisgirlhusband]

DEVOTED TO YOU , FEM READER , venti drabble , NSFW

- you were a mortal, a being of pure and unfiltered humanity it almost reeked from the cracks and crevices of your bones; something so fragile and easily breakable.

- and he was shackled down with the title of a god, the manifestation of freedom itself bound by the strings of celestia. his godhood loomed over his shoulders for every waking moment, breathing down his neck.

-the relationship was taboo. if it were common knowledge the god of freedom found themself completely and utterly enthralled by the grace of a human, he was sure the title would be stripped from him within an instant.

-how pathetic would it be for someone to be bound by another, starstruck by even the mention of their name? concepts such as freedom and freewill held no place within the nature of his devotion to you, almost too eager to spend the rest of his life tied to you.

-he worshipped you as if you were the god, and he were your precious little devotee. eager to please and provide for his creator.

-this worship, ever so gracefully, seeped into the satin sheets of your bedroom rendezvous.

-he’s a gentle lover. soft kisses of adoration, feathery whispers of exaltation and fleeting touches to the soft of your skin.

-time begins to slip away from his mind as he peppers your body with praise, the only notion within his mind a need to please his beloved.

-lost within the moment, he utters out a tender “i love you” as his nimble fingers slip between the heat of your thighs.

-hes a bard; when it comes to hand coordination, its listed within the job description to be skilled with your fingers.

-and he indulges within his talent, much to your satisfaction.

-once you’ve been intimate a few times, he mentally maps the ways to make you squirm and writhe under his touch. everything you thought you’d kept hidden documented and stored within his mental cabinet.

-you’re his first—it’s something he doesn’t keep hidden. yet, with the way his fingers are so deliciously curling within you, it almost seems like a bluff. a way to undermine your expectations, only to completely and utterly trod all over them later on.

-while his two fingers slip in and out of you, which he makes sure to comment on how well you’re taking him, he graciously laps up anything that spills from you.

-you taste so sweet, he cleans you up as if it were his first meal in millennia. flattening his tongue against your folds and nibbling on your bud, all while his fingers prudently delve within you.

-he licks his lips and smiles, whispering how thankful he is for you to bestow such a blessing upon someone like him. dirt like him being the cause as to why your cheeks flush and eyes roll back, biting your lip just the way he likes as your hands rip at the bedsheets.

-it drives him insane—you drive him insane.

-every twitch of your hip, every whine from the puff of your lips, every desperate mewl of his name; its as if he were the one being pleasured.

-once you reach your peak, his freehand intertwines with your own as you release onto his tongue, in which he is so, so grateful for.

-a mantra of praise spills from his lips, his gratitude amplified by the way his pupils gawk at you with the same adoration a devotee would their god.

-you’re the object of his worship—the one he finds himself praying too each night, the one he abandons his morals for in favour of being on his knees in front of you.

-he loves you, basically.

[carolmunson]

blood machine.

emperor geta x senator's daughter!reader songspiration: in keeping secrets of the silent earth 3 | coheed & cambria

did not once plan to write for this guy but here we are. also like, is it historically accurate? no. like, not even a little. (hell is mentioned and technically hell wasn't 'a place' until 400 BC but like WHATEVER.) am i making a semi effort? sorta kinda. have i been a little stoned every time i've worked on this? well, yes.

summary: when what was supposed to be a diplomatic dinner before a much bigger and lively feast becomes a marriage offer, all of the wine you drank turns to ash in your mouth. haters to haters, bay-bee. tw: 18+, drinking but like -- idk it's ancient rome, tension, fighting, some mild body shaming (??), a literal threat of domestic violence but again it's ancient rome so like i don't think they cared, two stupid little bitches who hate each other. mentions of war and ultimate distaste for the poor. reader kind of has lady macbeth vibes. my little evil queen.

Wine is poured, golden chalices exalted. You are a vision and he is a toad looking creature of a man that only his mother could love. Not quite his brother, never quite measuring up the same way -- always trying to puff his chest. It was easy to tease him, ego easy to bruise -- little brother. You’d spent time in your childhood tagging along with your brother and the other kids to taunt him, pathetic and whimpering. 'Tale teller!' you'd jeer, every time he'd run off to his mother to blubber over how mean you all were. And you were mean.

But people grow, as they do. And so did you -- still mean, but in a different way. Listening to meetings, reading maps, keeping tabs on new republics, on potential uprising. The poor -- the fucking poor. Finding new ways to keep them occupied so that they'd stop trying to find ways to be powerful. Powerful like you. Powerful like the man at the head of the table with a plum to his lips. And as it has been said, a man in possession of a good fortune and power, must be in need of a wife. It became clear when you arrived that this was not a business dinner before a grand feast, your parents simply forgot to mention what this was really about. Your best linens, your hair coiffed, your best jewelry, you should have known it had been a ruse the moment you got there. His home on Palatine just sparkling the way the gold on your fingers did, candles in the halls and stairways glittering when they hit the rubies and pearls on your chest and ears. When your father veers the conversation from politics and business to marriage you both choke, stern eyes glued to your mother's painted face. A business dinner where you are currency -- more than worthy. Just a few months shy of being eligible when Caracalla was, regrettably, forced to marry Flavia at the last moment. It would've been nice to have the gang together again in some capacity. Could've bullied the toad to assasinating himself if you were lucky enough. Total power. Complete upheaval. The more you thought about it, the more of it your craved. The pit in your stomach grew, if it wasn't with his brother -- even though you bore no attraction -- there was not a point at all. Geta didn't think nearly as critically, didn't hit hard enough, didn't strategize correctly. You'd never even seen him pick up a sword -- but then again, that made sense. You very rarely spent time in his palace, much prefering the festivities of Caracalla's close by.

You listen while your mother goes on and on about his grace, tongue dipped in honey while she blabbers. She mentions how handsome he is, his valiance in leadership, how honorable he's become as he's taken the place of his late father -- you can't help yourself but laugh. The giggle echos and bounces through the high ceilings, floating against the archways, getting caught in the drapery by the open hall. His eyes flick to you over his goblet, catching in the candle light, an aggravated sneer plaguing his face. He looks like a pig when he does that, you think to yourself.

You know that business, for the most part, is a man's game. But it does not deter you from doing your best to try and wager yourself out of this. Ideas drip into your mind while the drone of the conversation turns to fuzz in the background. How can you sell that this is a bad idea? It will bring less publicity, less of a threat, less resposibility if married to someone with equal nobility. Certainly not an emperor. Especially not one like this. So petulant, so competitive, so eager for a war he does not know how to plan, so temperamental, so weak, so conniving, so consumed with the colosseum that he doesn't think of what should be done around him. It's his voice that brings you back to attention.

"And why is it she hasn't been taken for a wife then, at this age?" he asks, brow quirking in your direction. You let out of huff of offense while he sips his wine, metal clinking as he places it back down. A smirk flits across his features at the remark, "Is something wrong with her?"

Your father, sweating with embarrassment, looks over at you and back at the emperor, "Well she, she's of course beautiful." Geta winces, cocking his head to the side with a shrug. Your father sighs, desperate to try to find a better angle, "She um, she -- she has great wits, Ceasar, unmatched. She knows her duties as a wife, but -- a great thinker. She could -- she could be helpful!" "Wits," he mumbles sourly under his breath before leaning back leisurely in his chair, "Great thinker? Very surprising." "August--" your father starts. "Co--" you correct over a sip of wine, "Co-Augustus."

Geta tosses you another sour look, tongue running over his teeth before clicking it behind his lips. You shrug while swallowing. "Semantics, Publius," you wave a hand at him. A hush falls over the room as his gaze snaps up at you, blanching at the disrespect of being called by his first name. Your mother hides her face in her napkin with a groan. Your father leans his temple against his fingers, eyes closed in frustration. "Mind how you address me," Geta corrects with a stern pull to his lips, eyes glittering with rage. Your eyes catch over the mountains of food before you, holding your glass out as one of his servants pours you another glass of wine. "Is that not what your mother calls you?" your voice feathery, but certain. A vein begins to raise and pulse in his neck while his shoulders round forward.

"Please apologize, dear," your mother mutters, putting the napkin back on the table, "Tell -- tell the emperor what it would mean, to be -- to be wed to someone of such calibur."

Your eyes stay on his, challenging him while your mother begs you to say something to make amends. Another sip of wine passes your lips, "No, shan't."

Your mother scolds you, your full name escaping her with embarrassment tainting her tongue. Sweat beads at your father's forehead while he changes the subject, doing aything to try to keep his good favor with both sides of the imperatorship.

You grin into your goblet at the sight of Geta's face -- reddened with anger and frustration at the brazen disrespect. But it was fine to continue to be an enemy if it meant you would leave these regal walls and never have to step foot in them again. And if you did, it would be as another senator's wife, visiting his brother in another house where you'll laugh and drink wine and cheer when he's killed.

Even his posture is revolting, hunched over while he listens to your father speak. Now going on and on about paper work that doesn't interest you if it doesn't have a say on who is next on the list to conquer. Your eyes glaze over in boredom while pomergranate, honey pudding, and dates are placed on the table. Rose wine replaces the red to sweeten the tongue -- you're sure your parents wished it were true.

It's not very long after dessert is served that your parents start again.

"As you know, she does come from a family of very fertile women," your father encourages. You quickly swallow the bite of date you'd taken to interrupt, nearly choking, "Excuse me, I'm not sure this is appropriate dinner conversation."

Geta looks at you while you speak, scanning you and then lingering on the dessert in your hand, "Her hips are quite sizeable -- big enough to bear multiple childen, that's certain. Is that her only sell?"

Anger bubbles under your chest, but warning looks from both of your parents keeps your sharp tongue between your lips. The grip on your goblet tightens, jaw clenching while your pass another sip through gritted teeth. You let a seething breath out through your nose. "As I tried to explain before," your father continues, "She is very on the pulse in terms of the political climate and, and, and great with strategy." "I'm not looking for a wife who tries to strategize for me--" he responds coolly. "From how the empire has not expanded since your father's death I would guess that perhaps you should be," you snap back smartly. His posture straightens, chains and medallions across his chest glinting in the candle light. The room quiets itself again, only the sound of untensils and cups being put down or collected filling the dead air. The soft scrape of metal, the rustle of linens while servants and guards alike avert their gaze downward.

"Leave us," he states, voice pungent with authority. You stretch your neck on both sides while the servants depart, already bored with the back and forth. Already moved on from the eventual scolding and potential exile that won't get put into motion because you are simply too friendly with the rest of the upcoming generals and politicians. One rogue idiot who barely has the power his brother has, that his father never trained into him, could not dole a punishment that is worth your genuine fear.

You sigh, hearing the staff make their way down the long stone corridors into the grand halls to prepare for a more formal party with other higher status families. More likely a collection of offerings for him to choose from, other parents trying to arrange a marriage with the empire's most powerful and eligible bachelor. It would be one of the few times the brothers would have to engage with each other, which you're sure put Geta more on edge than normal.

"Senator, please take your wife to the grand hall to be seated," he commands, his voice lower, delving darker. The vein in his neck continues to pulse, forearms straining against the golden cuffs over his wrists, "The guards will accompany you."

You watch as your parents rise, bowing their heads before following the guards out of the room and through the blood red drapery hung from gilded valances. Geta's eyes stay hardened on you, and yours him, while you rise as well, taking a few steps around the large wooden table toward the exit. "Not you," he says, not turning to face you, "You will stay." "It is not appropriate for me to be unaccopanied in the pres--" "Do not speak," he huffs, hand coming up to silence you, "Your voice grates on me." "Then you can imagine what your own voice does, Augustus," you say without thinking, letting the insults flow out of you like the fountain water in the courtyards. He pushes away from the table, steadily walking towards you with enough vigor that the bottom of his cape starts to billow behind him. On his way, he pulls a sword from a guard's holster, dragging it so the tip grinds against the stone, making your jaw clench at the shrill sound.

"What happens to those who speak against me?" he asks, steps clicking against the floor from the studs on the bottom of his sandals. He begins to stalk around you, circling while he waits for an answer. "Execution," you respond, keeping your eyes on the drapery just twenty feet ahead of you. "What else?" he asks, you can feel his breath behind you, the whining grind of the sword against the stone making your shoulders tense. "Exile," you answer, a laugh bubbling out of you, "But I can't imagine your brother agreeing to either of those. You'd really banish me, Publius? Because I was a little mean to you?" When he appears in front of you again, your lips stretch into a sickeningly sweet smile, sarcasm staining your tone, "But we're such old friends."

He cocks his head to the side, taking a step closer with the sword between you, "Oh, I wouldn't do that to you."

He leans forward, enough that you can smell the rose wine on his breath. His voice quiet and menacing, "Though -- it could be that the senator said something to offend me tonight at dinner. It could be that perhaps he -- spoke poorly of my dear brother or my late father. Something just dastardly enough to sour my brother's respect for him." "And you expect Caracalla to believe that?" "In what way does it benefit me to lie about it?" he challenges, "And even more so -- with your father exiled, where does that leave you?"

You swallow thickly, not giving him the satisfaction of replying while your look into his now wild brown eyes. Flashing with mania and endless possibility.

"A peasant," he spits.

"If it keeps me out of these halls I should be lucky, no?" you fire back, looking at him from under furrow brows. He continues to circle you, dragging the sword again. The click, click, click of his shoes keeping time in your head. "I'm sure my brother would be happy to keep you as a pet in the meantime," he laughs to himself, "Or we could put you in the colosseum, you think you'd fare well?" "Better than you could, that's certain," you cross your arms over your chest, "Could never stand up and fight like a man, even as a kid. Your father would be embarrassed."

The grinding gets louder as he presses harder down, causing small sparks to fly from the edge of the sword.

"If you were to be chosen, would ever even attempt to learn respect?" he asks sharply, "Or would it have to be beaten into you?" You snort, "At least you're the funnier brother, you have that going for you." You can see him out of your periphery, the way he pulls his cheeks in, the roll of his shoulders -- he's losing patience. "What, would you prefer I called you Geta? Augustus? Ceasar?" your eyes roll. A soft cackle comes from his through, canines showing in a gleeful smile, "No, no -- from you? I'd much prefer something more respectful." Click, click, click. The grind of the sword. The rose on his breath. "Dominus," he nods with the threat, "Dominus et Deus."

"You disgust me," you respond quickly. "As a husband and as emperor is that not my title, already?" he shrugs, looking at you like it's obvious.

"You are nobodies Lord and God, you are a petulant -- sniveling -- repulsive little brother who is only where he is by being lucky to be born," you glower.

"You still see me as a child, femina," he tuts, "I promise you, what ever Caracalla has told you is a tapestry of made up stories. You could hang it on the tallest arch and it would hit the floor ten times over."

"I do see just a whining child before me," you hiss, "I'm sure you'll run to your mother after this, too."

His chuckle turns to a low, dark laugh from deep in his chest. It crawls up your spine and rings in your ears, mixing with the grating 'shhhhhhinnnngggg' of the sword on the ground.

"If it were fate that there was union between us," he asks from behind you, "What would you say to that?"

You look straight ahead, hearing the click of his shoes. The heat of the torches on the walls billowing onto your face while you keep your eyes on the drapery, still closed -- still keeping you here.

"It would be a fate worse than the hottest hell," you confess, your voice not wavering.

The whine of the sword stops, sheathed into his belt. The click of his shoes halts.

Quiet.

Rose wine on his breath, you feel it on your skin now, his chest against your back while he closes the space between you. A hand reaches up to push the hair from your neck, the other gripping the fat of your hip to pull you ruthlessly against him in a thud. Your eyes shut, bile crawling up your throat in disgust. His nose coasts against the shell of your ear, making you tilt your head away while goosebumps rise on your arms. Through a knowing grin he whispers, the words burrowing deep in your chest in loathing and a glimmer of fear: "I pray every moment of it burns you."

[eatmangoesnekkid]

Ladies, if you are being penetrated by him, he must know himself as a God. Even if your lover (no matter the gender) does not say those words or refer to themselves as such, you will be able to sense it in their daily actions. When I speak about masculine energy, that God energy, I'm not speaking about the performance like how a person's postures themselves or their overall banter. When I speak about masculine energy, I am speaking about tactile external structures like what are your lover's main focuses in life? How does your lover treat their body? Is your lover on social media all the time? What is their attention focused on? How does your lover manage resources including their money and "free time" like are they only playing video games, watching TV or sitting around in other ways when not working? I think of someone like Nipsey Hussle, who practiced semen retention, an archetype of human power who didn’t just carry masculine bravado, but organized and directed energy into a practice that procured success, those masters of our time who lived in more elevated ways. Other masculine archetypes I connect to are David Goggins, Joe Dispenza, Bruce Lee, Sun Ra, and many female and male athletes like Angel Reese and Deion Sanders. Too many woman have dead men/masculine energy hanging around their root, which means that they have very weak masculine energy entering their bodies and lives. Weak masculine energy makes you broke and tired because it makes no space for your actual feminine energy to shine and thrive. Weak masculine energy negatively affects your physical structure and taxes you financially and emotionally, like the lack of confidence or willpower you will have to move through discomfort or hard times. You must find ways to exalt the masculine energy within you if you want to excel in the this 3D energy. It is masculine energy that helps you to not only say the thing, but the become the thing. It is this energy that makes you completely comfortable with being the villian in another person’s story and not need to please everyone. This was one of my biggest coming-into-maturity lessons of all time. Goddess energy is lovely, the subtle and internal are deeply essential, but they are only truthful when God energy has been integrated. How can you raise the God in you? This is one major reason that I have been weightlifting nearly every week over the last 20 years. Even when I travel, I also grace the local gym as part of my traveling adventure. It’s the God in me that allowed me to confidently workout at Lee Haney’s gym on Ponce de Leon in Atlanta back in the day in the part of the weightlifting area where mostly big burly muscular men went as they stared at my ass while I squatted. It was a little icky and annoying at times but it was that God in me that mandated me to not tiptoe around or shrink like a little girl and only leave this area of the gym when I was done with what I came to do. Getting stronger not only helped my mental health and made me more confident, it is helped to dissolve a lot of the recurring low-grade depressive energy that was often part of my life. Strengthening my belly, my solar plexus, my sense of self, has been my discipline, one way I exalt the God, H.I.M., the masculine, within me. I never consciously realized that I tend to go into a gym feeling like a God until this morning--like "I can do this; I'm ready,” especially mustering this energy up on days when I don't really want to go, when going to the gym feels hard. Ultimately you can only attract God when you know yourself as a God, not intellectually because you read the Bible (many people who only read the Bible all the time stay broke and broken), but the God living in your own body and treat yourself accordingly. You can’t receive what you haven’t given to yourself. It's simple math. 1+1=2. -India Ame'ye, Author

[boxofbonesfic]

Title: Tonality [4]

Pairing: Prince!Geralt x Princess!Reader

previous chapter

Summary: “The white wolf wants you. He’ll have no other.” As you grieve the loss of your father, your mother marries the king. Whilst you struggle to acclimate to your new life, you begin to suspect the interest your new brother has in you is less than familial.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Dark Fantasy, Darkfic, Step-cest, Medieval/GoT inspired AU, (Future)Smut, Dubcon/Noncon, Manipulation, Gaslighting, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, MINORS DNI!!

A/N: a little more story, a little more tension, a little mor everything! what do you guys always, please mind the warnings, and enjoy!😊🥰 divider by @firefly-graphics​

 The Nilfgaardian banner snaps in the sharp, salt-laden breeze, the dark fabric bearing the crest of its namesake. The bright yellow sun mirrors the one in the cloudless sky above the keep. From your room, you can see their approach long before they reach the gates, a thin vein of black weaving through the countryside like a snake. The garrison pauses only briefly in the city, winding through the crowded streets in their pitch colored armor like a long satin ribbon. You grimace at the sight of them, swallowing against the sourness you feel growing at the back of your throat. 

 You do not know why the sight of them fills you with a dark foreboding, a shadow that looms in the space behind your thoughts. Perhaps it is the knowledge that you are expected to greet the Nilfgaardian envoy alongside your mother, the king, and the prince that makes your stomach curdle.  

“My Lady, should we not join their Majesties?” Kassandra’s voice draws you from your churning thoughts. “Her Highness would not be pleased if we were late.” You swallow the dry retort that your mother would not be pleased no matter what you did, and automatically feel guilt over the bitter thought. You grimace before nodding at Kassandra over your shoulder. 

 Nothing good will come of this. The feeling—no, the knowledge—is as familiar to you as your own name, appearing among your thoughts as if it had always been there. Only sorrow will come of this day. 

 “Are you alright, Your Grace?” 

 Your throat tight, you smile. “Y-yes.” I am grim without cause. You shake yourself, smoothing your hands down the stiff, unfamiliar dress. It’s new, gifted to you only this morning as your mother had informed you of her expectations. 

 “You’ll look lovely in this,” she had bade the servants to lay out the massive thing, a veritable ocean of fabric, with so many skirts and stays you find yourself amazed you can even move at all. You detest the restriction and corsetry of it all, fidgeting with a frustrated grimace as Kassandra opens the door. Your thoughts must be plain on your face, for she is quick to reassure you as you pass.

 “You are a vision, Your Grace,” she says, hurrying to your side as she closes the heavy door behind you. Despite your displeasure, her words do comfort you, and you offer Kassandra a watery smile in thanks. “I daresay you shall be the envy of every Lady in attendance.” 

 You laugh dryly. “Even you?” Kassandra’s response is unexpected—she shakes her head, pressing her lips together into a thin, apologetic smile.

 “No, my Lady.” She says softly. There is true pity in her eyes, which stings all the more. “Though there are many in His Majesty’s keep who would treat with the Gods themselves to take your place—and, exalted though it may be, I am not among them.” The words pass unspoken between you, true honesty masked only slightly by propriety. “I would not wish that for all the world.”

 The throne room is as packed with bodies as it was at your mother’s coronation only a few scant weeks prior, servants weaving deftly in and out of the crowd. It parts easily for you, people scrambling out of your path as you make your way toward the throne. Geralt stands to the king’s left, and you feel the weight of his gaze upon you so heavily it is as though he has touched you with his hand. 

 “My King. I trust you are well this morning?” He heaves a heavy sigh at your question, massaging the graying hair at his temple. 

 “As well as can be expected, given the circumstances.” King Vesemir graces you with a tired smile. “But I am glad these worries are mine. Would that they fall on mine own shoulders and save yours.” Of these troubles, you know only what little you have managed to glean from casual conversation and your own observations—the Lord of Nilfgaard has sent his envoy, along with a garrison of troops, to treat with the king. 

 Your mother scoffs. “You are a King, my love,” she says, tilting her regal head at him. “You can do nothing without rousing at least a little of the rabble.” 

 You take your place next to her, skirting around the prince with a wide berth. Your mother reaches for your hand, patting it as she nods approvingly at you.

 “You look as lovely as I thought you would.” Somehow, her complement makes you like your clothing even less. The dress is heavy and cumbersome, the corset laced so tight a deep breath makes the seams groan. 

 “It is the color.” Geralt’s interjection makes your mother’s smile thin and tighten, until the edges seem brittle like paper. “It suits you, sister.” Is there no line he will not cross? From behind his wide shield of plausible deniability he mocks you, his mouth quirking innocently as if he is unaware of the boundary he dances upon. Gracious acceptance is the only play you have, and he knows it as well. 

 “You are too kind, my Prince.” You clasp your hands together and face forward. It is surreal, almost, to see the calm with which he regards you now, when only a week ago he had raged at your door like a madman. Had you not seen it yourself, you would not think it possible. Though you would blame him for it, the nervous twisting of your stomach is not Geralt’s fault alone. The ill feeling that had taken root in your belly at the sight of the Nilfgaardian envoy still left you with a sour taste on your tongue, one that did not seem to wash away. 

 And the dreams…

 You shudder to think of them, the dark, creeping things that keep you awake long after the halls of the king’s keep have fallen silent. You have not wandered from your rooms again to your knowledge, but you’ve slept so little in the past week that you suspect it is less a matter of your self control and more the lack of opportunity. The nails on your fingers, hidden by the cumbersomely long sleeves of your dress, are bitten down to the quick. It is a new habit you’ve developed sitting in the crushing dark as you wait for the dreams to come. 

 Your father’s rotting face swims before you again. 

 Sugar sweet—  

 You twist the heavy fabric of your sleeves in your nervous hands as you stare hard at the stone floor between your feet. 

 “What troubles you, Little Doe?” Geralt’s voice is as much of a surprise as his proximity, his side lightly pressing against your own as he leans down. You drop your hands to your sides like deadweight, suddenly aware of his eye. 

 “And why would you think me troubled?” You ask curtly. The prince’s wolfish grin sends a strange, hot pulse straight to your core, one you vehemently try to ignore. You are under no pretense, you know what the prince is, who he is. He has gone out of his way to show you, and yet—

 “I am apt to know trouble when I see it.” 

 The throne room doors slam open, leaving you no time to respond as every eye is drawn to the entrance. The instant hush that falls over the room is so deep that the herald’s voice is like a crack of thunder. At the same time, your stomach tightens. The dark warning in your heart rings again like a bell, clear and true. Though you still do not quite grasp its meaning, the message is clear—whatever you’d been meant to avoid had now come to pass, leaving no room for escape or denial. 

 “Presenting His Lordship, Duke Emhyr of Nilfgaard!” The duke sweeps into the throne room, his ink-black cloak billowing behind him. There are two of his own guards flanking him in their telltale black armor, like pools of animated shadow. Their faces are hidden by their helms, the sides carved like griffin wings. 

 The duke stops before the throne, dropping down to one knee. 

 “My King.” His accented common turns the words up at the edges, almost like a question. “Hail.” His face is handsome but severe, high cheekbones, fierce, beady eyes, and a thin mouth that curls up at the corners, just like his words. There is a scar on his face, long and thin and jagged, stretching from his left temple to the right side of his chin. His already wan smile thins further as he turns to your mother. 

 “My Queen.” 

 “Lord Emhyr.” The duke’s smile is wan as he dips his head again. “I bid thee welcome. I trust you found the journey pleasant enough.” The words are empty pleasantries, merely frivolous formalities exchanged before the truth is allowed to be addressed. 

 “Aye, Majesty, as enjoyable as one can find a carriage journey.” He straightens back up. “I would extend my many congratulations on your union. The Gods themselves could not have delivered a more beautiful Queen.” 

 To your surprise, it is Geralt who speaks next. 

 “We did miss you at the celebration, my Lord.” The remark is meant to sound like a casual observation—you know it is not. “Quite a pity.”

 Emhyr’s jaw tics. “Indeed.” He looks over his left shoulder, and motions the guards forward. “My deepest regrets. As I previously expressed to His Majesty, my presence was required elsewhere. As I am sure you recall, we do share a border with the Elves.” He spits the word like a curse. “Occasionally those savages do need a good reminding of where their lands end, and ours begin, Your Grace.” 

 You shudder. There are few elves left south of the heavily policed Nilfgaardian border, but you have met some. Savages. The word makes your lip curl. They are rather fond of that word, aren’t they?

 “I did bring a—belated—wedding present.” Between the two of them, the guards haul forward a small black chest, the polished wood glinting in the light. He pulls back the lid, and a murmur travels through the gathered courtiers at the sight of the jewels. A small fortune in dark blue sapphires sits within. King Vesemir stands, bidding two of the ivory cloaked kings-guard forward to take the chest.

 “A most precious gift.”

 “The mines remain prosperous. Perhaps Her Highness might have them made into something befitting her loveliness.” A smile creases your mother’s ruby lips, but it is sharp enough to cut. Neither does it reach her narrowed eyes. 

 “We cannot thank you enough for your gracious gift, my Lord.” Her voice is delicate, like breaking glass. “But I do not believe you rode for six days to bear witness to my beauty.” You are left to wonder in the brief moments before Duke Emhyr answers. If he will allow the truth to be broached, or if he will flee from it like a rat from a burning ship. 

 “Indeed my Queen, I have not.” He casts a look around, as if the words he is about to speak are for everyone there, not just the king. “Your Grace, I come before you today with only the deepest respect for your will, authority, and wisdom.” Duke Emhyr chooses his words carefully. He chooses them as carefully as a mason did his stones, stacking each one meticulously on top of the other. “But I do admit my heart longs for clarity on this matter. 

 Not a season past, when His Majesty announced an end to his long mourning period, and indeed his intent to marry once more, I did put forth my own daughter as prospect.” His accusation takes shape, and you watch your mother’s face tighten, her fingers curling around the polished bone arm of her throne. “And before this very court, His Majesty agreed. I had imagined a shared future of prosperity and happiness between both our great houses. I mean no offense, and so I beg pardon—”

 “And yet you have given it.” Your mother’s expression remains placid—her voice less so. You can almost hear the icy words forming on her tongue as her lips part to speak again, but the king silences her, holding up one steady hand. 

 “I appreciate your candor, my Lord,” he leans forward. “But it is Vesemir who rules here, not Emhyr.” All chatter ceases, and the chamber is as quiet as the crypt beneath it. “The decision as to who it is I marry is mine—and mine alone.” King Vesemir stands, descending the short set of steps until he is level with the duke. “It is I who bears the burden of ensuring the prosperity and stability of this realm. And while I am ever thankful for the service you have provided it… you would do well to remember that fact, my Lord.” 

 “Of course, my King. I—I mean only for the betterment of the empire.” It is then that his eye falls to you. “I see no reason a match might not still be made—”

 “Then we shall speak no more about it.” You watch the duke’s jaw tighten, his lips thinning as he fights not to show his displeasure. 

 “As you will, Your Grace.” You have not heard the last of this matter, of that you are certain. A sinking feeling rises in your stomach, like you’ve tumbled freely over the edge of a cliff. There is no going back, the feeling seems to whisper, goosebumps erupting across your flesh. A path has been chosen now and you will walk it—

 “I thank you again for your generous gift, Lord Emhyr,” the dismissal is obvious in the king’s tone. 

 “The pleasure is mine, my liege.” The words sound broken in his mouth, like he’s chewed them up. A cold finger traces down your spine as his eyes meet yours again. “I thank you for your counsel.” 

 —

 The sky is dark, angry black clouds roiling above the keep. You’ve not seen much rainfall in Rivia since your arrival, but today the clouds above you seem full to bursting, the smell of the imminent downpour filling your nostrils. Still, you take your time as you stroll through the gardens, stopping every so often to enjoy the sight of flowers in bloom. 

 “You are enjoying the gardens today, my Lady,” Kassandra’s observance is gently made, though she looks worriedly up at the sky. 

 “I feel I must,” you reply, leaning down to inspect a half-closed bud. “Summer here is drawing to a close, and I must admit I fear the cold.” You offer her a small smile over your shoulder. 

 “Have you no winter in Redania?” She asks, wonder coloring her words. “The land of eternal summer indeed.” 

 “No snow,” you agree, shaking your head. “Tis more like… autumn.” There is a wistfulness to your words you cannot suppress, a longing that brings moisture to your eyes. In truth, you doubt it will matter how many years you spend here at court—Rivia will never feel like home. Kassandra smiles thoughtfully. 

 “I should like to see it, my Lady,” she says. “Twould not be a chore to accompany you—if you wished it so. The winter here is harsh, even within the city walls.” 

 “Aye, winter on the continent is no easy task to weather.” The two of you turn at the sound of a new voice to face the speaker. Duke Emhyr bows respectfully, removing his cap as he does so. “I did not mean to intrude—I find the gardens less familiar than I imagined,” he adds, a small smile turning up the corners of his mouth. “Might I trouble you for an escort?” 

 You had not seen the duke since his spectacle at court the day prior, the matter of which had the courtiers aflutter with gossip. You suppose you, like Duke Emhyr, had been equally blindsided in the matter of your mother’s courtship and her subsequent marriage. Nervously, you wonder if his feelings of dissatisfaction—and possible animosity—extend to you by proxy. Kassandra curtsies, and you nod, forcing a small, charitable smile onto your lips. 

 “O-of course, my Lord.” You reply. “I myself find the task of navigating the keep daunting, despite calling this place home.” Kassandra falls into step just behind you, and you must physically stop yourself from commanding her to walk beside you. Though you’ve little personal regard for the importance of blood and titles, you know here in Rivia those things matter above all else. The duke is more than happy to ignore her, his hawkish eyes weighing heavily on you. 

 “How long has it been since your arrival at the White Keep, if you will indulge my curiosity?” 

 “Nearly three months.” Though you have kept count of every passing day since your arrival, to say it aloud makes homesickness rear up in your chest. The duke clucks his tongue pityingly. 

 “Tis a shame. Redania is quite beautiful this time of year. I have had the pleasure of many a visit.” He clasps his hands behind his back and casts a look at the dreary sky. “Nilfgaard is my home, but I would be a liar if I said I did not envy the beauty of the southern jewel.” The wistfulness in his voice inspires thoughts of warm autumn nights scented with pine and faded sunlight. But a warning echoes in your heart at the false note in it, the one that reminds you of the coy, prying questions of your mother’s ladies in waiting, only cloaked in a cleverer disguise.

 “Indeed.” You round the corner of a hedge. “I have never seen snow, now that I think of it. I should much like to, now that I am older.” 

 “Never seen snow?” The duke echoes your words, replacing your simple desire with shock. “Though I would not speak ill of your late father—Redania has never seen a finer Regent—I do believe he kept you far too sheltered.” It takes effort to keep your smile from going thin at the mention of your father. As  if in response, a dull ache throbs in your chest. 

 “How lucky for us, then, that his death should bring me here.” You flick the words from your tongue like the lashing of a whip. There is a brief moment of dark satisfaction as the duke’s eyes widen, and his confident words falter. 

 “My sincerest apologies, Princess, I did not mean—”

 “No, of course not.” You reply, swallowing against the sudden lump in your throat. “Forgive me, Duke Emhyr. My father I are—were, quite close.” You offer him an apologetic smile. “Might we speak of something else?” 

 “Of course, of course. My deepest sympathies.” He casts a furtive glance in your direction. “I hope you have been enjoying your time here, despite the… unfortunate circumstances.” You nod primly—for what words do you have to  describe the aching emptiness that fills you at the thought that home is a distant             thing now, the memory of a place you no longer belong. 

 “I have found ways to occupy myself.” You feel as thin as your smile. “The White Keep is large, there are many ways to spend ones time.”

 “And Her Majesty has certainly taken to her role,” he continues. “She has taken to court as though she were born here.” There is a note of bitterness in his voice. “Has she spent much time in Rivia? Surely during His Majesty’s rather short courtship—”

 “I know little of my mother’s courtship,” you say flatly, your eyes narrowed. “If you wish to know about it, perhaps you should ask her.” This time, it is difficult to leash your ire. You grow tired of the duke’s probing, his thinly veiled attempts to pick information from conversation behind the shield of feigned ignorance.

 “Highness—”

 “I trust you will can your way from here.” There is an unfamiliar coldness that underscores your words, one that uncomfortably reminds you of your mother. It is like hearing her own voice from your mouth, leaving a sour taste on your tongue. “Lady Kassandra, l believe we should take our leave.” 

 “At once, My Lady.”

 You leave him at the entrance to the gardens in the courtyard, sweeping past as his eyes bore into your back. 

 —

 “How does it end?” You are sat before the fire, a book held tenuously in your hands. Your loose, traditional dress is folded beneath you primly as the flames dance in the hearth. “How does it end?” Your father repeats warmly, chuckling as he leans forward to rest a hand on your shoulder. “You stopped reading.” 

 You can’t quite recall where you were now, the words seeming to shift on the page as you squint at them. 

 “I… I don’t remember now,” you say, glancing over your shoulder at your father. Though the flames are bright, his face is shadowed, but you get the feeling that he is smiling. 

 “The princess has just met the wolf,” he replies. “She doesn’t know it yet, but he plans to devour her whole—body, and spirit.” You look down at the page. “She is careful, the princess, and clever, but the wolf is sly, and he is not the only thing she has to fear.” You do not know why, but his words fill you with an incomparable sorrow. 

 “What else does she have to fear? Is the wolf not enemy enough?” You are crying. You don’t know why, but you are, tears pouring down your face and dripping messily off of your chin to stain the pages with salt. 

 “Weep not, daughter. She may yet avoid his jaws—and if not that, then perhaps she might at least turn him to her will. But the peacock—she is her true enemy.” 

 “A bird?”

 “Yes, dear girl,” your father’s voice goes strangely quiet as the fire burns low in the hearth, and the sitting room is shrouded in gloom. “For while her pretty feathers distract you, her beak plucks out your eyes.” 

 You wake blearily, blinking in the darkness as you struggle back to wakefulness. Instead of your bed, you are knelt on the cold, stone floor in front of the half-dead hearth. The embers that still smolder within are not enough to give off true heat, and pins shoot through your legs when you struggle to your feet. It is frigid in here, and you shiver, clutching your thin nightgown tightly around yourself. 

 You’ve no memory of leaving your bed, nor of kneeling in front of the hearth, and you sniffle as you make your way back beneath the canopy above your bed. There is a familiar ache in your tight throat that feels like you’ve been crying, and when you lift a shaking hand to your cheek. 

 Your face is wet with tears.

 —

 Your mother strokes your head as you sob, your tears soaking into her gown. 

 “I—I fear sleep, I fear waking,” you rasp, wiping at your sore eyes with the back of one trembling hand. “T-there is no respite from them. I close my eyes in one place and open them in another—” A hiccoughing sob cuts the words in half. “Mother I fear I… I fear I shall go mad if I see father again. His face—!” You bury your head in her lap as another round of shuddering sobs wracks your limp body. 

 It has been years since you have sought your mother’s comfort like this, and in truth you cannot remember the last time it was even offered. She had been surprised to see you at her chamber door at this hour, disheveled and still clad in your nightgown, but she had let you in after you’d tearfully recounted the contents of your dreams. 

 She strokes your head. “Nightmares, my love. Nothing but terrors spun up by your mind—brought on from stress, no doubt.” Her hand is cool and comforting against your forehead. “I shall have the healer assemble something for you.” 

 “T-thank you, mother.” You offer her a watery smile.

 “Anything for you, my love.” She strokes your cheek affectionately, the bandage wrapped around her index finger rough against your skin. “I do so hate to hear of your suffering, I will do what I can to appease it.” You smile wider, even as you swallow back the inappropriately bitter feeling that says you have been suffering all this time regardless. This was the response you had desired from her all those weeks ago when you’d begged her to send you home—and now, for some reason, it feels… hollow. 

 “What happened to your finger?” You ask, and she sighs, waving her hand dismissively. 

 “A hairpin, nothing to worry yourself over.” You dry your eyes, dabbing at them with a handkerchief. Your mother barely acknowledges the timid knock at the door before the chambermaid pokes her head inside. 

 “Highness? H-His Majesty is here.” 

 Your mother does not look surprised to hear this. If anything, the corners of her mouth curl up into a sly smile for half an instant before she nods. 

 “I see. I shall see to him in a moment—” The maid squeals as the King himself pushes past her, his eyes wild. 

 “Thayet!” He calls your mother’s name with a hoarse, desperate voice. “I have waited over an hour for you—oh.” He seems to note your presence with all of the recognition one would give a fly. His bright, golden eyes are cloudy with confusion—as though he hasn’t the faintest idea who you are, or why you are there. Recognition finally lights in his eyes, and he nods at you. 

“Princess. It is… quite late,” he says slowly, as if he is only now realizing that fact himself. “Should you not be abed?” Your face heats with embarrassment. 

 “Ah, y-yes, my King. I was… troubled.” Your eyes dart between him and your mother. “But mother has allayed my fears.” You gather your shawl about your shoulders, bowing your head respectfully. Of course he would visit her as a husband—that is a fact you suppose you have known since you came to this place, but to catch the King in your mother’s bedchamber was another thing entirely. 

 The eagerness in his eyes as he looks at her, the way he licks his lips—it reminds you uncomfortably of Geralt, and of the need you see mirrored in his amber eyes. You retreat from the sitting room, though the sound of your mother’s voice makes you glance over your shoulder one last time as the door begins to close. 

 “I shall send Callista with a sleeping draught,” your mother calls at your retreating back. “For the dreams.” 

 Your stomach turns uncomfortably as you watch the king latches onto your mother, pulling her close as he trails desperate kisses down her arm. You are too far away to hear the words he growls through his gritted teeth before ripping at the bandage on her thumb and sucking the injured digit into his mouth. 

 The door closes with a loud bang, leaving you alone in the dark, empty hall. 

 The peacock, your father whispers in your memory as you shuffle back toward your room in the early hours.

 She’ll pluck out your eyes. 

to be continued…

Thank you for reading! Please check out my masterlist for other, similar works, and follow my library blog, @box-of-bones-library for updates. ❤️

[sensualnoiree]

astro notes: jupiter through the houses pt.1

Symbolizing wisdom, luck, and spiritual growth, Jupiter guides us through journeys of abundance and higher learning. As it rules Sagittarius and Pisces, and co-rules Pisces with Neptune, its reach extends to philosophical pursuits, foreign travel, and spiritual exploration. From its exaltation in Cancer to its debilitation in Capricorn, Jupiter's placement illuminates our beliefs, aspirations, and sense of justice. Throughout this exploration of Jupiter's journey through the houses, we unravel its transformative power and guiding light, embracing its blessings of prosperity, abundance, and divine guidance.

Jupiter in the 1st House:

Jupiter, the planet of expansion and wisdom, graces your first house with its benevolent presence, imbuing you with an aura of confidence and optimism that is hard to miss. Your natural charm and amiable demeanor draw people towards you, and your boundless enthusiasm for life makes you a natural leader and mentor figure. With Jupiter here, you possess a larger-than-life personality, exuding an air of positivity and hopefulness that inspires those around you.

Your insatiable thirst for knowledge and higher learning leads you on a lifelong journey of self-discovery and personal growth. You may find yourself drawn to philosophical or spiritual pursuits, seeking to unravel the mysteries of existence and expand your understanding of the universe. Whether through formal education or self-directed study, you are constantly seeking to broaden your horizons and deepen your understanding of the world.

However, it's important to remain mindful of the potential pitfalls of this placement. Your tendency to think big picture and overlook details can sometimes lead to unrealistic expectations or a lack of attention to practical matters. Additionally, your generous and forgiving nature may sometimes leave you vulnerable to exploitation or manipulation by others. It's important to strike a balance between optimism and pragmatism, remembering to ground your lofty ideals in practical reality.

Overall, Jupiter in the first house blesses you with an abundance of confidence, optimism, and generosity, making you a beacon of hope and inspiration to those around you. Embrace your natural leadership abilities and use them to uplift others on their own journeys of growth and self-discovery.

Jupiter in the 2nd House:

With Jupiter gracing your second house of wealth and possessions, you are blessed with a natural talent for attracting abundance and prosperity into your life. Your financial affairs tend to flourish, and you may find that opportunities for growth and expansion abound in the realm of money and material resources.

Your eloquence and wisdom make you a persuasive communicator, able to charm others with your words and inspire them to action. You have a deep appreciation for the value of wealth and resources, and you are generous in sharing your blessings with others. Whether through philanthropy or simply by being a supportive friend or family member, you take pleasure in enriching the lives of those around you.

Family life is particularly harmonious for you, and you may find that your home is a source of comfort and stability in your life. Your upbringing may have instilled in you strong moral values and a deep respect for tradition, which you carry with you throughout your life.

However, it's important to guard against the temptation to overindulge in luxury or extravagance, as Jupiter's influence here can sometimes lead to excess. Remain mindful of your spending habits and remember to cultivate gratitude for the abundance you have already attracted into your life.

Overall, Jupiter in the second house blesses you with financial prosperity, eloquence, and generosity, making you a valuable asset to both your family and your community. Embrace your ability to attract wealth and abundance, and use it to create a brighter, more prosperous future for yourself and those you love.

Jupiter in the 3rd House:

With Jupiter gracing your third house of communication and intellect, you possess a natural curiosity and thirst for knowledge that drives you to explore the world around you. Your mind is sharp and inquisitive, and you excel in areas that require critical thinking and analytical skills.

Your relationships with siblings, neighbors, and peers are characterized by warmth and camaraderie, and you may find that you are able to forge deep bonds with others through shared interests and intellectual pursuits. You have a gift for teaching and sharing knowledge, and you may find fulfillment in roles that allow you to impart wisdom to others.

Travel is another area where you may find opportunities for growth and expansion. Whether through short trips or longer journeys, you have a deep appreciation for the adventure and excitement that comes from exploring new places and experiencing different cultures.

However, it's important to guard against the tendency to scatter your energies or spread yourself too thin. With Jupiter's influence here, there may be a temptation to take on too many projects or pursue too many interests at once, leading to a lack of focus or follow-through. Remember to prioritize your goals and channel your energies into pursuits that truly resonate with your passions and values.

Overall, Jupiter in the third house blesses you with intellectual curiosity, communication skills, and a love of learning. Embrace your natural gifts for teaching and sharing knowledge, and use them to inspire others on their own journeys of exploration and discovery.

follow for more astro insights like this and support me over on instagram @sensualnoiree or yt @sensualnoiree

[bitegore]

Thanks for converting me into a stunticon enjoyer. Because of you, I was able to imagine Motormaster being miserable. They’re the embodiment of “be gay, do crimes and I love them for it.”

i don't know if i'd call them the embodiment of "be gay, do crimes" - motormaster, especially not. They're trying too hard. They may be gay and they may do crimes but they're authoritarian losers and they do not have The Vibes. The Combaticons, though... they are be gay do crimes.

(the MOST be gay do crimes of all the combiners on the decepticon side are probably the terrorcons but i know them the least so shhh we're gonna ignore that for now, but they're like outcasts by choice as well as by nature and they eat people and are gay and sweet with each other so. they win)

anyway because i said i'd be writing essays I'm gonna break down exactly why i think that and you can't stop me. no cut because either you have post shortening on at this point or you can suck it up and scroll for a few moments <3 this is a pvp enabled zone and i am in control

A big part of my read on Motormaster specifically is that he is a goddamn tryhard and he doesn't know how to fucking chill. He wants to be perfect and he wants his team to be perfect and he wants everything they do to be better than everyone else and he will not take no for an answers. And he wants Megatron's approval. You can and should make a case for the Decepticons as a whole doing crime, but I don't think "desperately trying to follow instructions and reacting with over the top violence when his teammates won't" really qualifies as being gay and doing crimes. It's in the wrong vein. If you're only committing crimes because your daddy told you to and you're gay because it never occurred to you otherwise you're still an authoritarian follower loser without an anarchist bone in your body, and Motormaster (bless his heart) has absolutely never once in his life considered that the hierarchy he was built into could possibly go literally any other way.

Drag Strip would be be gay do crime if he weren't so much of a tryhard loser also. He wants approval soooooo bad, it doesn't work. He can't be anything but a poser because the minute you tell him he's doing a decent job and you think it's cool he will go full hog into doing whatever the fuck that is so hard that it immediately loops back around into being a painfully desperate attempt at not being worthless and that is very lame of him and embarrassing. If he were doing crimes and then stopped and then you complimented him enough for stopping he would immediately go take the straight and narrow road so hard that you'd be calling him Ultra Magnus 2 within a week. The vibes are wrong. He's too fickle about it and it doesn't work.

Wildrider could be be gay do crimes if he weren't too busy being a hyperactive destructive whirlwind of a guy. i love that for him but the vibes are different again. he's not an anarchist he is an arsonist. I think he's the closest, though.

Breakdown is gay but do you believe this man has ever comfortably committed a crime of his own volition. Do you think this guy goes out and does crimes for fun. Do you actually.

I like Dead End but like the same thing applies. I do not believe this man would shoplift and I do not believe this man would go out and do graffiti or even cheat at poker or something because I strongly do not believe that Dead End goes out for fun. And if he does he goes to like poetry readings or some other shit like that where he's not doing crimes unless the crime is "listen in from outside while being a car." Boring. He is not be gay do crime, he is be gay listen to Keats

OKAY now to the Combaticons. It still doesn't work so well because they're obviously not anti-authoritarian anarchist assholes (/affectionate, I am) EITHER but like at least they don't want approval from anyone but Onslaught. They had to be put in chains to be brought around to the Decepticon side in g1 and i am never ever ever ever ever letting that go, you cannot stop me.

Onslaught is not be gay do crimes. He is in charge and he likes being in charge and therefore he doesn't qualify but also this is not a guy who recreationally commits crimes because I don't think he knows what "recreation" is and if you asked him what he does for fun he would ask you why you think he is so pathetic as to do things for fun. Very boring. Totally wrong mindset. He is not be gay do crime.

Blast Off could be gay and do crime but unfortunately he also doesn't go out doing dumb shit for fun because it's a waste of time and he'd rather do something else that isn't a waste of time. and also hes a little too straightlaced to be Be Gay as opposed to just be gay. if you get me

Vortex is be gay do crime. His crimes are like "murder for fun" and "torture for fun" but they're still crimes done for fun and because fuck your authority and you can shove it up your ass. First one to qualify.

Brawl is also be gay do crime but his crimes are like "bar fight" and "blow up building without prior authorization" but they're still for fun and not because he just looks at a building and needs to see it be on fire immediately like Wildrider. Wildrider and Brawl together are totally be gay do crime though. also they should hold hands and maybe k*ss idk, one day ill finish that fic

Swindle would be be gay do crime if he weren't too busy being a salesman but instead he is like the 30 year old older brother of be gay do crime, be gay do unethical business practices. he is a mlm mlm (multi level marketing man loving men)

[starsworldd]

✪ short astrology observations pt. 2 ✪

**these are just observations only take what resonates they’re not supposed to be the most accurate thing on this planet lol**

: ̗̀➛ leo moons are weird + energetic, but at the same time they’re also funny and charming about it :>

: ̗̀➛ having your 10th house/mc ruler in your 4th or 5th house may mean that you start with your career really young or that you have success with your career young (billie eilish + britney spears have these placements)

: ̗̀➛ moon in 5th house is relatively common in celebrities (madison beer, the weeknd, grace kelly)

: ̗̀➛ 10th house/mc ruler in first house or conjunct the ascendant is another common fame indicator

: ̗̀➛ sun-neptune conjunction in natal chart can make one express themselves like they’re in a movie (makeup, outfits, boys, fantasies + daydreams, etc…)

: ̗̀➛ you’re either obsessed or disgusted when you have someone else’s planets falling in your 8th house

: ̗̀➛ possibly far-fetched but i’ve noticed people who have well-placed venus’ (in a sign of domicile/exaltation or in 2nd/7th/12th house) or venus retrograde in their chart often take longer to get into relationships or they have more difficulty finding a good match

: ̗̀➛ another far fetched thing but if you have night chart might mean you’re most active during the night and if you have a day chart means your most active during the day

: ̗̀➛ another big fame indicator i’ve noticed is sun in 7th house in whole signs for celebrities. sometimes sun in 6th but i’ve especially noticed 7th house suns (whole signs). some celebrities who have this are michael jackson, ariana grande, and bob dylan

: ̗̀➛ pisces risings be like: 🧿 🧿 (these are eyes btw)

: ̗̀➛ venus conjunct mc in a lunar return chart may mean going to gatherings + parties with friends and getting to know new people :>

: ̗̀➛ gemini risings have cute + youthful faces i love it

: ̗̀➛ your rising sign being ruled by luminary (cancer + leo) or saturn (aquarius + capricorn) could mean that you physically age well

: ̗̀➛ scorpio moons 🤝 obsessed with astrology

hope you enjoyed! lemme know what other posts you guys would like to see 💫

[coolestork]

Of Mortal Grace and Divine Devotion.

Lorgar Aurelian x Reader

-

Lorgar Aurelian had long believed that his purpose was to exalt the divine. He was the voice of faith, the messenger of the gods, a vessel through which the sacred flowed. But now, as he watched you move through the halls of his flagship, something stirred within him that no god had ever inspired.

-

It began as a whisper, a fleeting thought he could easily dismiss. You were human—mortal, fragile, a being destined to wither in the span of an eye blink compared to his eternal existence. And yet, something in your presence unsettled him. Perhaps it was the grace in your step, the quiet dignity with which you carried out your duties, oblivious to the grand destinies unfolding around you. Or perhaps it was the way you spoke, your voice soft but unwavering, commanding his attention in a way no mortal had before.

Lorgar had seen thousands, no, millions of human souls pass through his gaze. He had spoken to emperors and beggars alike, his words shaping their beliefs, their futures. But none had lingered in his thoughts the way you did. None had made his heart quicken with this... unholy longing.

And unholy it was, of that he had no doubt. He, the bearer of divine truth, the prophet of the Word, was now ensnared by a mere human. Worse, he found himself glorifying you in secret. You became, in his mind, a creature of rare beauty, a being not of flesh but of divinity—perfect, sacred, untouchable. He told himself it was wrong. He was a primarch, a god among men, and you were... mortal. But the more he fought it, the more you grew in his mind, a figure of reverence, an icon to be venerated.

-

In the stillness of his private quarters, Lorgar would let his thoughts run free, untethered by reason. His hands, which had once penned scriptures and crafted holy symbols, now traced your form in the air, committing to memory every detail he had seen, every expression that had crossed your face. He began to weave his own scripture around you, though he never wrote it down. In the depths of his mind, you became something sacred, something he could worship in secret.

He knew it was madness, but madness had always walked alongside faith.

Every time you spoke to him, whether in passing or when reporting to him directly, he felt himself pulled deeper into his obsession. It was blasphemy to desire you so intensely, and yet he could not stop. Your words echoed in his thoughts long after you had left, and your image haunted him in the spaces between prayer. The gods, he told himself, had sent you to test him, to see if he could resist this temptation. But the more he thought of it, the more he twisted that idea into something else. Perhaps you were divine. Perhaps you had been sent to him not as a test, but as a revelation.

-

Could he—should he—court you? The idea gnawed at him, growing stronger with each passing day. The rational part of him screamed against it. He was Lorgar Aurelian, a primarch, an immortal, the chosen one of the gods. To desire a human was beneath him. And yet, the faith in him, the part that glorified the divine in all things, whispered that this too was part of his destiny.

And so, he began to contemplate the unimaginable. What if you were meant to be his? What if the gods had woven your paths together, intending for this moment? It made sense, in a way only faith could make sense. You had been placed under his command, working closely, moving through his life like a subtle grace, unnoticed until it became overwhelming.

It was absurd. It was perfect.

-

The day he finally approached you, Lorgar felt the weight of a thousand thoughts pressing down upon him. His mind, usually sharp with theological debates and philosophical ruminations, was now clouded with uncertainty. As he stood before you, towering in his golden armor, he found himself, for perhaps the first time, unsure. How does a god confess his desire to a mortal?

His words, when they came, were halting, awkward in a way that did not suit him. "I... have watched you. For a long time." His voice, though rich and deep, faltered slightly. "There is something about you... something that stirs in me a reverence, a devotion I cannot explain."

-

You stood there, eyes wide, your breath caught in your throat. This was Lorgar Aurelian, the prophet of the Word, the one who spoke for gods—and now, he spoke to you, of you.

"I feel... as though you were sent to me," he continued, his words growing heavier with each syllable. "By the gods themselves. There is something divine in you. I have fought against this feeling, this... obsession. But I can fight it no longer."

He looked at you then, his amber eyes searching yours, seeking understanding, seeking... forgiveness. "You are mortal, and I am not. Yet... I wish for you to be more than what you are to me now. I wish for you to be mine."

Your heart raced. For a moment, the words hung in the air, unreal. The man you had admired from afar, whose very presence had always felt like standing in the light of something eternal, was now laying bare his own adoration for you. It was too much to process. But then, you found your voice, though it was soft, trembling with disbelief.

"I... I have always admired you," you whispered, unable to meet his gaze fully. "Since I first came under your command... I never thought... that you might feel the same."

The surprise in your voice startled him. You had always admired him? Lorgar, who had feared that his affections were one-sided, felt his faith shift, a new truth revealing itself. The gods had not only blessed him with this feeling, but they had ordained it, weaving the two of you together in ways neither of you had foreseen.

He bowed his head, the gesture heavy with both reverence and humility. "Then... perhaps, we are both meant to worship what lies between us."

-

For the first time in millennia, Lorgar felt the stirrings of something beyond divine purpose. It was something fragile, something mortal. And yet, as he looked at you, he knew it was sacred all the same.

-

AGHHHHHHHGHHH, I LOVE THE IDEA OF LORGAR FKING BEIGN A TROUBLED RELIGIOUS SIMP

this is the first of many fics to come, I'm afraid.

[glisten-inthedark]

Stranger Things Names and Their Meanings

So I did some digging, and I found some of the names and last names of the characters of Stranger Things and how some of them can possibly connect to their arcs, so I figured why not share what I learned.

I sincerely hope y'all like and reblog this like your life depended on it because it took me like 500 hours to compile this, so please help a girl out lmao.

The Byers

Byers can have various meanings, but the most common one is a topographic meaning which is "someone who lived by a cattle shed"

William - It comes from the Old High German name Wilhelm or Willahelm, which is a combination of the words wil (will or desire) and helm (protection). It means "resolute protector" or "strong-willed warrior"

Jonathan - The name Jonathan is a Hebrew name that means "Gift of God" and it comes from the Hebrew word Yonatan.

Joyce - Joyce comes from the Old French name Josse, which comes from the Latin name Iudocus, the Latinized form of the Breton name Judoc, which means "lord". It also comes from Middle English, from the word joise, which means rejoice.

The Wheelers

Wheeler as a last name is an English occupational name that comes from Old English and means "one who makes or uses wheels".

Michael - The name Michael is derived from the Hebrew word Mikha'el which means "who is like God?" or "A gift from God".

Michael is also the name of one of the seven archangels. He was the leader of angels and the army of God and led the battle against Satan in the Bible.

Nancy - The name Nancy means "grace, favored, or pure".

Karen - Of Danish origin that means "pure"

Ted - Can be a diminutive of two names "Edward or Theodore". If his name is a diminutive of Edward - the name comes from the Old English name Ēadweard, which is made up of the words ēad meaning "wealth, fortunate, or prosperous" and weard meaning "guardian or protector" - which in short means that means wealthy guard.

Theodore - is of Greek origin and means "Divine Gift"

Holly - Of English origin, means "plant with red berries"

The Sinclairs

The name comes from the Latin word clarus and is derived from the French name de Saint-Clair. It may also be a habitational name for someone from a place named after the dedication of its church to St. Clarus. It means "pure, renowned, or illustrious".

Erica - of Old Norse origin that means "ever powerful" or "eternal ruler"

Lucas - The name comes from the Latin verb lucere, which means "to shine". So the name means "bringer of light".

The Creels

Likely an Americanized version of the German names Kriel or Krüll. So most likely comes from the habitational name of a place called Kriele near Rathenow (Brandenburg).

 Victor -  It comes from the Latin word vincere, which also means "to conquer". It means "conqueror".

Henry - The name Henry comes from the Old Frankish name Heimeric, which is a combination of the words haima- meaning "home" and rīk- meaning "ruler". So it means "home ruler" or "ruler of home".

Alice - of German origin that means noble and exalted. It is a short form of the Old French name Alis, that is derived from the Old High German name Adalhaidis. The name is made up of the Proto-Germanic words aþala-, meaning "noble", and haidu-, meaning "appearance; kind".

Alice is also the name of the famous character in the Lewis Carroll novel (Alice in Wonderland).

Virginia - It comes from the Roman names Verginius and Virginius, and the Latin word Virgo, which means "maiden". So the name means "maid, pure, virgin".

The Hoppers

The surname Hopper has multiple meanings:

English occupational name: From the Middle English word hoppen, which means "to dance, hop, leap". This name was used for a dancer. 

English topographic name: From the Middle English word hopper, which was used in Sussex and Kent to describe someone who lived in a remote place, such as an enclosed piece of land in a marsh. 

Jim - Most likely a diminutive for the name James - The name is derived from the Hebrew name Jacob, which means "supplanter" or "holder of the heel". In Hebrew tradition, James may mean a man who is in control of his own actions and will.

Jane - The name Jane comes from the Hebrew name Yochanan and it means "Yahweh is gracious" or "Yahweh* is merciful".

*Yahweh is the Hebrew name of the biblical God of the old Israel.

The Munsons

The last name is an English patronymic that means "son of Mund*".

*Old English and Old Norse: In Old English and Old Norse, mund means "hand" or "protection".

Eddie - Most likely a diminutive for Edward, Edmund, or Edgar - all names can mean "wealthy protector" or "wealthy spear"

Wayne - comes from an Old English word that means "wagon driver".

The Hendersons

It is of Scottish origin and it means "Son of Henry".

Dustin -  comes from the Old Norse name Þórsteinn, which is made up of the words Þórr meaning "thunder" and stein meaning "stone".

It means "Thor's stone" or "thunderstone".

Claudia - Latin origin that means "lameness" or "enclosure".

The Mayfields

It's an English habitational name that means "strong one's field".

Maxine - It comes from the Latin word maximus, which means "greatest" or "largest". 

Other Characters

Steve Harrington

The last name Harrington has multiple meanings and origins and it signifies "From stony grounds": 

English - The name Harrington is a habitational name that comes from multiple places in England. The name comes from Old English words, with hring meaning "stony" and tn meaning "settlement" or "enclosure". The name Harrington may mean "from the stony ground". 

Irish - Harrington is an Anglicized form of the Gaelic surnames Ó hArrachtáin and Ó hIongardail. Ó hArrachtáin means "descendant of Arrachtán", which comes from the Irish word arrachtach meaning "mighty" or "powerful". Ó hIongardail means "descendant of Iongardal". 

Steve -  of Greek origin that means "wreath of honor", and "crown".

Billy Hargrove

Hargrove - It is an English habitational name that means "a grove of hares".

Billy - A diminutive from William, that comes from the Old High German name Wilhelm or Willahelm, which is a combination of the words wil (will or desire) and helm (protection). It means "resolute protector" or "strong-willed warrior"

Robin Buckley

Buckley - From the Old English words bucc or bucca, which mean "buck, male deer" or "he-goat", and lēah, which means "woodland clearing" 

Robin - is of Germanic origin and means "bright" and "famous one".

Jason Carver

Carver - Occupational name from the Middle English word kerver, which means "one who cuts or carves (something)". It was especially used to describe someone who carved wood, such as a carpenter or sculptor of wooden images.

Jason - It has multiple meanings, including: Greek - which Means "healer" and comes from the Greek word iaomai, which means "to heal". In Greek mythology, Jason was a hero who led the Argonauts on a quest for the Golden Fleece. 

Hebrew: Means "the Lord is salvation"

Chrissy Cunningham

Cunningham - The surname Cunningham has multiple origins, including Scottish and Irish:

Scottish -The name may come from the Gaelic word cuinneag, which means "milk pail", and the Saxon word ham, which means "village". 

Irish - The name may come from the Gaelic surname Ó Cuinneagáin, which means "descendant of Cuinneagán". 

Chrissy - This can be a nickname for the names Christina or Christine. The name of Latin origin means "follower of Christ".

The name Christine is also the name of the main character of the novel "The Phantom of the Opera" by Gaston Leroux which was first published as a serial in 1909. The novel follows the story of Christine Daaé, who was raised in the Paris Opera House and after starts listening to a voice, learns how to sing.

Martin Brenner

Brenner - From the Middle High German word Brennen, which means "to burn". 

Martin - hat means "of Wars" or "of war" and comes from the Latin name Martinus. Martinus is a late form of the name of the Roman god Mars, who was the god of war and fertility. 

Sam Owens

Owens - Welsh:  A patronymic name meaning "son of Owen" or "descendant of Owen". The Welsh name Owen comes from the personal name Owain, which is related to the Latin name eugenius and means "noble" or "well-born". 

Sam - Diminutive for Samuel is a Hebrew name that means "God has heard" or "The name of God".

Argyle

It derives from a region in Scotland known as Earre Ghàidheal or Argyll.

Barbara Holland

Holland - A habitational name from Holland, a division of Lincolnshire, or from one of the eight villages in England with the same name. The name comes from the Old English words hōh meaning "ridge" and land meaning "land".

Barbara - name of Greek origin that means "stranger" or "foreign" and it comes from the Greek word barbaros, which had the same meaning.

[spacelazarwolf]

Feeling a lot of things re all of the election stuff happening today so I did the only thing I know how to do when I have a lot of feelings which is sing. So here u go.

It feels like my country is headed for yet another Historical Event and while I could make jokes about it, I won’t. I’m scared. I’m a trans Jew living in a red state. My Jewish spidey senses are telling me I need an escape plan, but at the same time this is my home. I don’t want to leave. My family and friends are here. So I don’t know what’s going to happen. And I don’t think a prayer or a poem is going to save us. But it at least made me feel a little more calm.

About the Piyut

Translation:

Heal my pain, O faithful God,

For you are a skilled Healer.

You lead me, You see my weakness

And grant strength to my soul.

Open the gate of mercy,

Exalted dweller in Heaven;

Upon Your servant bestow your grace!

There would be no mercy if not for You.

O living God, grant my prayer

And hasten to my aid!

Quickly call for the redemption

Of the nation born to the Lady [the Matriarch Sarah].