#of her death and the inheritance process

[shakeskp]

are we in february yet

[secretarysong]

for no reason in particular (Lying) i headcanon Mayday's obsession with Kul Fyra to be hereditary. more specifically it was Directly passed down from her mother who owned. like. almost every piece of The Goolings merchandise under the sun; shit ranging from the collectors' edition of their debut album to the drummer's autographed crash cymbal ... it was almost as if the only notable thing missing from her collection was Kul Fyra's Guitar...

[cressidagrey]

White Horse - Chapter 26: July 2024 - Part 1

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Isabelle Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen is a World Champion. Isabelle Leclerc is invisible.

She watched her family give up everything for Charles’ career—Arthur’s karting, their father’s savings, even her childhood horse. She understood. She never asked for more.

But Max does. He notices the things no one else does, listens when no one else will, and puts her first in ways she never imagined. With him, she isn’t an afterthought—she’s a choice. And for the first time, she realizes she doesn’t have to be invisible.

Warnings and Notes: 

we have now moved on from Charles bashing to bashing his whole family, Discussions of toxic past relationships, talk about loosing a childhood pet, toxic families, mention of the loss of a parent.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

The conference room was sleek and quiet — all minimalist design, smooth wood, and muted light. The floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over Monaco’s marina, but Belle barely registered the view. Her hands were folded neatly in her lap, one leg crossed over the other, Max’s knee brushing hers beneath the table like a silent anchor.

Belle sat beside Max at a long table in a private meeting room, her hands folded carefully in her lap. The lawyer — a tall, gentle-voiced woman named Monique with sharp eyes and an expensive watch — smiled politely as she turned the final page of a stack of documents.

She had known about the pregnancy since Max had called last week and said, “We need to make sure she’s protected. Properly.”

It hadn’t been dramatic. There were no tears. No whispered breakdowns.

Just Max, calm and steady, saying "my wife is having our child, and I want everything in place if I don’t come home."

And Belle had agreed. Because love like theirs wasn’t made of denial.

It was made of preparation.

 Monique spoke first.

“I’ve drafted the new will, updated with the marriage registration and the preliminary trust structure for the baby.” She slid a folder across the table to Max. “It’s standard language, but I can walk you through it.”

Max nodded. “Let’s do that.”

Belle glanced at the page — her name in clean legal font at the top. It still startled her sometimes. Isabelle Verstappen. A name that felt more like a promise than a title.

Monique continued, calm and clear. “Everything’s been updated as requested. The property title adjustment will be processed this week, and the new will reflects both your marriage and the pending addition to your family. In the event of Max’s death, Belle inherits all real estate assets, including the Monaco apartment, She also has controlling interest in the holding companies and exclusive guardianship of the child. There is a clause allowing her to appoint a secondary guardian if needed, and a separate financial trust to be accessed at her discretion for the child’s care.”

Belle’s fingers tensed slightly on her notebook.

Max reached under the table, slid his hand into hers.

Monique continued. “You both now hold medical power of attorney for one another. In the event of a serious injury or incapacitation, decisions will legally fall to the surviving spouse. The trust for the child will be activated upon birth and can be revised at any time.”

Belle blinked. “You’ve already set up a trust?”

Max nodded beside her. “I wanted it in place before they got here.”

Monique smiled. “It’s not uncommon for high-risk professions.”

High-risk. Belle hated that word.

Monique glanced at Max. “There’s a healthcare proxy included as well. You’ve named your wife as the sole decision-maker if you’re incapacitated.”

He didn’t hesitate. “Of course.”

Belle didn’t speak for a moment. Just breathed. Absorbed.

Because here it was. In print. In contracts and clauses and notarized certainty.

This man — who drove faster than anyone else on earth — was handing her the most fragile parts of his life and saying I trust you.

Not out of fear.

But out of love.

Monique gave them a moment before gently flipping to the next document. “There’s just one more point of discussion — guardianship, in the event that… well, neither of you are able to care for your child.”

Belle straightened.

“Obviously we don’t need an answer right this second,” Monique added, professional but kind. “But it’s something we do recommend including in advance. Just in case.”

Belle didn’t hesitate.

“Victoria and Tom.”

Max glanced at her, surprised.

“They already have three kids,” she said softly. “Their home is overflowing with love. Lio and Luka would be like big brothers. Hailey a big sister. ”

Max looked at her for a long moment — not surprised, just… moved.

“Okay,” he said, quietly, final. “Victoria and Tom.”

Monique made a quiet note, then gathered the papers. “That’s all for today. You’re welcome to take copies home, review anything again, but legally — everything’s in place.”

Belle signed.

Her name — Isabelle Verstappen — in clean, looping ink at the bottom of the page. Not to take something away. But to build something forward.

Belle hesitated. “Is there… anything else?”

Monique raised an eyebrow gently. “Such as?”

Belle glanced down at her lap. “I thought Max might… want me to sign something else.”

Silence.

Then, Max’s hand slid over hers beneath the table. “You mean a prenup?”

Belle nodded once.

Monique blinked, surprised. “There’s nothing of the sort, Belle. That was never discussed.”

Belle looked at Max, who met her eyes steadily.

“I didn’t marry you with conditions,” he said simply. “What’s mine is yours. What’s ours is already half your idea anyway.”

Belle stared at him for a second — stunned, soft, wrecked.

Then she cleared her throat. “Okay. That’s… not what I expected. But okay.”

When it was done, Monique gathered the documents, promising scans and copies by end of day.

The room emptied, polite and efficient.

Belle stayed seated.

Max didn’t move either.

She finally turned to him. “That felt…”

“Big?” he offered.

She nodded.

“But good,” she added, quieter now. “Because this is ours. Our life. Our family. Even the scary parts.”

Max kissed her temple. “That’s why we’re here.”

Her hand found his on the table, fingers lacing together.

“I hope none of it ever matters,” she whispered.

He looked down at their names on the signed pages.

“It already does,” he said.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Victoria Verstappen

Max: Hey You got a minute?

Victoria: For you? Always What’s up?

Max: Belle and I had a meeting with the lawyers today We’re setting everything up properly Just in case something ever happens

Victoria: Okay… Everything alright?

Max: Yeah. Everything’s good. More than good We just want to be smart about things

Victoria: Of course So… what do you need from me?

Max: We listed you and Tom as guardians For the baby If anything ever happens to us

Max: I wanted to ask you first Properly Not just throw your name on a form

Victoria: Max. Yes. Obviously. Always. You didn’t even have to ask. But I’m really, really glad you did.

Max: Belle said it without blinking She trusts you too

Victoria: Now I’m crying in the supermarket, thanks 🙄

Max: Sorry (But not really)

Victoria: We’ll take care of them. No matter what. But nothing’s going to happen to you, okay?

Max: Yeah I know Still I sleep better knowing it’s you

Victoria: We love you. And we love her. And we already love this baby. 

Max: Thanks, Vic. Really.

***

The therapy room was quiet in the way only tension could make it — not peaceful, but primed. A silence that hummed with everything unsaid, everything tiptoed around for years.

Belle sat on the edge of the sofa, hands clasped tightly in her lap, her pulse thrumming just beneath her skin like a warning. Every muscle in her body was taut — trying to hold everything in place. Her blouse, loose by design, felt suddenly too tight across her chest. She hadn’t been sleeping. She hadn’t eaten lunch. There was a dull ache in her temples, a sharper one behind her ribs.

Max was beside her.

He hadn’t spoken.

He hadn’t even moved, aside from the occasional brush of his thumb against hers.

But his presence was solid. Anchoring. The one thing in this room that didn’t make her feel like she had to prove she belonged.

Across from her, her family sat arranged like a tableau of old fractures: Pascale, elegant but weary, lips pressed tightly together; Arthur, fidgeting in his chair, worry written into the curve of his brow; Lorenzo, arms folded like a gate; and Charles — the one who hadn’t looked at her properly once since she’d walked in.

Camille, the therapist, smiled gently. “Thank you all for being here. We’re here to listen first. Belle, since you asked for this session, would you like to begin?”

Belle nodded, throat tight. “I don’t expect this to fix everything. But I wanted to give you a chance to hear me. I’ve felt invisible for a long time. And I know that might not have been your intention, but it doesn’t make it less real.”

She paused.

No one spoke.

She added, voice quiet but edged in iron: “And I’m not here to be blamed for how I coped with that.”

That was when Charles finally looked up. “Then maybe he shouldn’t be here.”

Max didn’t move.

Belle’s grip on his hand tightened.

Camille interjected gently. “Charles, we agreed to keep this space respectful—”

“Respectful?” Charles cut in, eyes flashing. “You brought him to a family session. The man who didn’t even tell me he married my sister. The one person guaranteed to turn this into a war.”

Belle’s voice cracked, quiet but firm. “Max is here because I want him here. He’s my family now. He supports me. He doesn’t speak over me or forget I exist unless it’s convenient.”

“You bring him here, like he has any right to sit in a family session—”

“Charles—” Camille began.

But he was already unraveling.

“—Like he didn’t make it worse. Like he didn’t encourage all of this—”

Belle flinched.

“Charles,” Max said, voice low but firm.

“You don’t get to talk—”

“Stop it!” Belle snapped, her voice breaking.

The sound echoed louder than shouting.

Everyone went still.

She stood — too quickly — and emotion spilled over before she could stop it. Her hands shook. Her breath hitched. Tears began streaming down her cheeks before she could blink them back.

“I invited him,” she said, trembling. “Because he’s the only one in this room who never made me feel like I had to earn his love. He didn’t ask me to shrink or wait or perform. He didn’t disappear until it was convenient to care again. He showed up.”

Arthur’s expression twisted with guilt. Pascale’s eyes filled with tears. Lorenzo exhaled like he’d been punched in the stomach.

“I tried for years to matter to you,” Belle whispered. “And when I finally stopped waiting, when I found something good, you acted like it was betrayal. It wasn’t. It was survival.” 

But when Belle cried harder, silent and shaking, one hand pressed protectively to her stomach — a reflex now, a habit more than a choice — Max’s restraint cracked.

“Enough,” he said, voice sharp and fierce and final.

The entire room froze.

“This isn’t good for the baby.”

Everything. Stopped.

The silence that followed was different. Not tense — stunned. Heavy. Real.

Charles froze.

Pascale’s hand flew to her mouth.

Arthur blinked, mouth slightly open.

Lorenzo — unreadable, contained Lorenzo — lost every ounce of composure.

Belle sat, still breathing too fast, still cradling her abdomen like she didn’t even realize her hand was there.

“She’s crying in a therapist’s office because her own family forgot her,” Max said, his voice flat, controlled. “And she still came here hoping you’d be different. And you’re yelling at her like it’s her fault she stopped begging you to see her.”

“You—” Charles started.

Max’s eyes burned. “She’s pregnant. And this stress? This shouting? This guilt-tripping? It’s not just hurting her anymore. It’s hurting both of them.”

Real, stunned silence.

Belle covered her face with both hands, chest heaving.

Max moved instantly, kneeling beside her. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he whispered. “You gave them a chance. That’s more than they deserved.”

Camille cleared her throat gently, measured but soft. “Belle… thank you for being honest. Max, thank you for saying what needed to be said.”

Belle shook her head, still too overwhelmed to speak. Her body ached with tension she hadn’t realized she was carrying.

Max didn’t let go of her.

He stood and turned to face them — not angry. Not cruel. Just done.

“She’s pregnant,” he repeated. “And she came here because she still believed you deserved the chance to be part of that. But if what you bring is more of this — more silence, more anger, more entitlement — then maybe she needs to stop giving chances to people who don’t know what to do with them.”

He sat beside Belle again, taking her hand in both of his.

She didn’t look up. She couldn’t. Her hand stayed curled over her belly, protective. Heartbroken.

Then, after a long, still moment—

“I didn’t know,” Charles said. Quiet. Shaken. “Isabelle, I didn’t… I swear, I didn’t know.”

“I know,” she whispered.“That’s the problem.”

More silence.

Then Pascale wiped at her eyes, voice shaking. “I want to be part of this. Not just the baby. You. I want to do better.”

Arthur nodded. “I will. I already started. But I’ll do more. Whatever you need.”

Lorenzo’s voice was hoarse. “You shouldn’t have had to say any of that alone.”

Camille waited. Then softly, “This is where it begins. Not with fixing. But with listening. With staying.”

Belle finally looked up.

Still hurt. Still guarded.

But in her eyes — something softened.

She didn’t say I forgive you.

She said something truer.

“You have a long way to go,” Belle said, voice rough.“But you’re here. That’s a start.”

***

By the time they got home, Belle hadn’t said a word.

Max didn’t push. He unlocked the door, opened it for her, let her walk through the apartment at her own pace. She moved like someone underwater — slow, dazed, like her body had been hollowed out.

She didn’t even take off her shoes.

She just stood in the middle of their living room, arms limp at her sides, until Max gently touched her elbow.

“Sit,” he said softly. “I’ll get you water.”

But she didn’t sit.

She crumpled.

It wasn’t a fall — not all at once — but something slower, sadder. She sank down onto the rug like her bones had given out, hands covering her face, breath catching in her throat.

Then the sobs came.

Max was beside her in an instant, sinking to his knees, gathering her into his arms without a second’s hesitation.

She curled into him like she’d been waiting all day for it. Like she’d finally let herself feel everything she hadn’t let show in front of them.

And Max—Max held her like he never intended to let go.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into her hair, one hand stroking her back, the other cradling her head as she buried her face into his chest. “God, Belle. I’m so sorry.”

She shook her head against him, but he kept going.

“I shouldn’t have said it like that,” Max said, voice rough. “Not like that. I should’ve asked. I should’ve let you decide.”

Belle didn’t answer — not in words — but she held him tighter, and that was enough.

She cried for a long time.

Not loud. Not dramatic.

Just steady.

Heartbroken.

Max held her through all of it. Through the shaking, the ragged breathing, the muffled apologies she tried to whisper into his shoulder. He didn’t correct her. Didn’t argue. He just rubbed circles into her back and reminded her, again and again, in the softest voice he had:

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

At some point, he coaxed her into bed. She resisted, groggy and stubborn through the haze of exhaustion, but eventually let him pull back the covers and tuck her in. She wore his hoodie — one of the big, soft ones — and it swallowed her. Her hand still rested over her stomach as she lay on her side, eyes red and barely open.

Max kissed her temple, her forehead, her hand. He didn’t leave her side until her breathing evened out and she finally slipped into sleep.

Then — and only then — did he let himself move.

Quietly, he crossed the room to where his phone sat on the kitchen counter.

He didn’t text. Didn’t scroll.

He found the number for Belle’s doctor and sent a message requesting an appointment.

Tomorrow. Urgent if possible.

She hadn’t eaten all day.

She hadn’t slept properly in nearly a week.

And her crying tonight… it had shaken something in him.

She always carried things so quietly. Until she couldn’t anymore.

Max stood at the kitchen counter, staring down at his phone, still in his jeans and hoodie from earlier, and exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

He couldn’t make her family change.

But he could protect this.

Her.

Their baby.

He would make sure she was seen, cared for, and safe — even if it meant dragging the world into a quiet, burning rage to make it happen.

The phone buzzed with a confirmation.

Appointment: Tomorrow. 9:30 AM.

Max looked back toward the bedroom.

Belle was asleep, one arm curled under her pillow, still holding her stomach like a shield.

And Max made himself a promise.

They would never make her cry like that again.

Not while he was breathing.

***

The four of them sat in stunned silence.

The therapy room door had closed behind Belle and Max ten minutes ago, but no one had moved since. Camille had offered them space to process, and they’d taken it — not because they needed it, but because they didn’t know what else to do.

Charles sat with his hands clenched in his lap, staring at the floor like it had betrayed him. Pascale held a tissue tightly in one hand, face pale, mascara faintly smudged beneath her eyes. Lorenzo’s arms were crossed — his usual stoicism barely holding under the tension in his jaw.

And Arthur — the youngest— was pacing.

Charles finally broke the silence. “She’s pregnant.”

“Yes,” Arthur said flatly, not looking at him.

Charles blinked, still stunned. “She’s actually—she didn’t even tell us.”

“She didn’t owe us that,” Arthur snapped, turning to face them. “Not after everything.”

Pascale looked up. “Arthur—”

“No,” he said, sharper than they’d ever heard him. “No. I’m not doing this. We’re not going to sit here and act like we’re the wounded ones.”

“She should’ve told us,” Charles muttered. “We’re her family—”

Arthur rounded on him. “Then maybe we should’ve acted like it.”

That landed.

Charles looked up, startled.

Arthur laughed — a short, bitter sound. “You really don’t get it, do you? Belle spent years trying to be seen. Trying to be heard. Every time she did something good, we clapped for a second and then went back to talking about karting or my race result or whatever Charles was doing that week.”

“That’s not fair,” Charles said stiffly.

“No?” Arthur said, eyes narrowing. “Name where she was when she graduated top of her class. You remember what we sent her?”

Charles didn’t answer.

“Exactly,” Arthur snapped. “Nothing. We forgot. We forgot her birthday, Charles. And even then, she didn’t scream at us. She just stopped trying.”

“I didn’t mean to forget—”

“You didn’t mean to notice her, either,” Arthur said, quieter now. “But Max did.”

That silenced the room.

Arthur ran a hand through his hair, pacing again. “You know what gets me the most? She still gave us a chance. She walked in there, pregnant, vulnerable, and hoping maybe we’d finally show up. And what did we do?”

He looked at Charles.

“You shouted at her husband.”

He looked at Lorenzo.

“You stayed quiet until she was crying.”

Then he looked at Pascale.

“And you only spoke when Max said the word baby.”

Pascale’s lip trembled. “I didn’t know.”

“She didn’t trust us with it,” Arthur said, softer now. “And that’s the part that should scare you. Not Max. Not the secret wedding. Not the baby. The fact that she didn’t feel safe enough to tell us.”

Lorenzo exhaled slowly, some of the anger draining from his posture.

Charles looked like he’d been hollowed out.

“She was holding her stomach,” Pascale whispered. “Even when she cried, she—she protected the baby. From us.”

Arthur nodded. “Exactly.”

Silence again.

And then, for the first time in a long time, Arthur looked at them all — older brother, older brother, mother — and stood taller than he ever had.

“No one is making her cry like that again,” he said. “Not if I can help it.”

Charles swallowed hard. “So what do we do?”

Arthur’s jaw tightened. “You start by earning a place back in her life. Slowly. Without demands. Without entitlement. You show her you’ve changed. And if you haven’t? You step aside.”

No one argued.

No one could.

Because they’d all seen what Arthur had — a sister at the end of her rope, still trying to offer them grace.

And they’d nearly broken her again.

But maybe not completely.

Maybe, if they were lucky, there was still time to do better.

To be better.

To finally be family in the way Belle had deserved all along.

***

Belle woke to sunlight and silence.

Her eyes burned. Her head ached. Her throat felt tight from the hours she’d spent crying into Max’s chest the night before. For a long time, she just lay there — curled on her side, one hand resting against the soft curve of her stomach, the weight of the last twenty-four hours pressing against her skin like bruises she hadn’t earned.

Max wasn’t in bed.

That was the first thing she noticed.

But when she pushed back the covers and sat up, she could hear him. Low voices. The sound of him in the kitchen. Coffee brewing. Something being cut on a chopping board.

When she padded out into the hallway, Max looked up instantly.

“You’re awake,” he said gently. “How are you feeling?”

She blinked at him. He was already dressed — hoodie, jeans, hair still damp from a quick shower. He looked like he hadn’t slept, though she had no idea when he’d crawled into bed beside her. All she remembered was him holding her until her tears stopped.

“Tired,” she said honestly. “Drained. Like I fought a war in a hotel lobby.”

Max’s mouth twitched, but he didn’t smile. Not really. He poured her a glass of water and walked it over.

“You need to get dressed,” he said softly. “We’ve got an appointment at 9:30.”

Belle blinked. “Appointment?”

“With your OB.”

She stared at him. “You made a doctor’s appointment?”

Max looked… sheepish. In that way only Max Verstappen ever could — a little bit guilty, but completely unapologetic. “You were crying for over an hour. You didn’t eat. You didn’t sleep until after midnight. You kept holding your stomach like it hurt and I just—” He broke off, rubbing the back of his neck. “I need to be sure everything is okay. With you. With the baby.”

Something inside her cracked — not with annoyance, not even embarrassment, but with a kind of vulnerable affection that made her chest ache.

“I’m fine,” she said, quietly.

Max didn’t argue.

But he looked at her like fine would never be good enough again.

They left ten minutes later.

She wore leggings and one of Max’s hoodies, too tired to care. Her hair was in a bun, her face bare. Max had packed snacks and a water bottle in her bag like he was preparing for a cross-country drive. He opened the car door for her without a word. Held her hand at every red light.

The clinic was quiet when they arrived — not many patients that early. A nurse smiled at them, already familiar with Belle, and waved them through. Max never let go of her hand.

The doctor — kind, warm, sharp-eyed — asked gentle questions. Belle answered them all in a quiet voice.

“Any unusual cramping? Headaches? Nausea? Emotional stress?”

Belle glanced at Max, then gave a small, exhausted laugh. “Define unusual.”

The doctor smiled, then softened. “What you went through yesterday? It matters. Stress does affect the body, but you’re here now. We’ll check everything.”

And they did.

A blood pressure cuff. A blood draw. The gentle press of a fetal doppler wand against her stomach.

Then— The soft, rhythmic sound of a heartbeat.

Max’s fingers tightened around hers. He didn’t say anything. But when Belle looked at him — really looked — she saw it in his face: that fierce, wordless love that had carried her out of that therapy room and straight into this one.

The doctor smiled. “Heartbeat sounds perfect. Baby’s strong. And you’re doing better than you think.”

Belle let out a shaky breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

Max pressed a kiss to her temple.

“I just wanted to be sure,” he whispered. “I couldn’t watch you cry like that and not do something.”

Belle closed her eyes.

Then, without even thinking about it, she rested her head against his shoulder and whispered:

“Thank you.”

Because it was more than an appointment.

It was a promise.

***

Text Messages:   Belle Verstappen & Emilie Abadie

Emilie: how’d it go yesterday?

i waited until morning because i didn’t want to be that friend but also i’ve been lying awake since 6 trying to imagine how many things charles said wrong in under an hour

Belle: you waited like a saint you get a medal

Emilie: oh good you’re alive that’s step one

Emilie: how bad was it scale of 1 to “i considered throwing my shoe at someone”?

Belle: i cried max snapped everyone went quiet and then Max accidentally revealed i’m pregnant because he couldn’t watch me sob anymore

so ...somewhere between “shoe-throwing” and “emotional napalm”

Emilie: WHAT

Emilie: WHAT

Emilie: MAX DROPPED THE BABY BOMB IN THERAPY??? WITH CHARLES THERE??

Belle: yep :)

Emilie: oh my GOD how is max still alive how are YOU

Belle: tired kind of hollow but also maybe... a tiny bit relieved?

it was a mess but they listened eventually i think

Emilie: do i need to bring cake or a shovel or both

Belle: both but i’m okay now doctor said everything’s good with the baby max scheduled the appointment himself

Emilie: of course he did husband of the year defender of the bump destroyer of sibling egos

Belle: he really did go full “don’t make her cry it’s bad for the baby” in front of everyone it was... a moment

Emilie: i would’ve PAID to see that wait no someone in that therapy room owes you money for that performance

Belle: arthur tried maman cried lorenzo looked like someone slapped him charles sat down and didn’t speak again

Emilie: is it terrible that i find this deeply satisfying

Belle: no it’s why i love you

Emilie: seriously though i’m proud of you i know how much this cost you and you still showed up

Belle: i’m trying for the baby for me

Emilie: and when you’re ready for step two i’ll be there with tea and probably more sarcasm than is healthy

Belle: perfect i love you

Emilie: i love you too, belle you’ve got this

***

Team Redline Stream Transcript

 Luke Crane: Max. My guy. My married guy.

Gianni Vechio: Is it Verstappen or Mr. Leclerc now? Just checking.

Max (deadpan): I’m already regretting logging on.

Luke Bennett: You regret logging on? Imagine our shock when the paddock exploded because someone casually dropped a kiss in Parc Fermé like it was no big deal.

Max:  (muted chuckle) It was a race. I won. Belle was there. That’s all.

Chris Lulham:: “That’s all.” HE SAYS. Like he didn’t casually change the internet’s collective brain chemistry.

Luke Crane: Bro, you were standing there looking like you'd just won the title and found true love.

Gianni: THE WAY YOU LOOKED AT HER.

Chris: THE HAND ON HER WAIST.

Gianni: THE KISS, MAX.

Max:  (muttering) You guys are insufferable.

Luke Bennett: I’m sorry — did we not deserve to know that your secret wife is Isabelle Leclerc?!?

Max: She wasn’t secret.

All at once: YES SHE WAS.

 Luke: Where is she anyway? We’ve earned this. Bring her on stream.

Max: She’s not going to—

Gianni: MAX. YOU OWE US.

Chris: SHOW US YOUR WIFE. SHOW US THE MYSTICAL INTERIOR ARCHITECT GODDESS WHO FIXED YOUR PENTHOUSE.

Max: You people are insane.

Luke (chanting): BELLE. BELLE. BELLE. BELLE.

Chat:

BELLE! BELLE! BELLE!

WHERE IS SHE MAX

DROP THE WIFE

MRS VERSTAPPEN SUPREMACY

WE SAW THE RING SIR

MAX BLINK TWICE IF YOU MARRIED UP (we know you did)

 Max:  (sighing, amused) Belle?

[muffled in the background] Belle: Yes?

Max: They want to say hi.

Belle:  (closer) They want to do what?

Max: Just come here for a second, Schatje. They’re not going to shut up otherwise.

 [Belle leans into frame wearing one of Max’s Red Bull hoodies, hair up, tea mug in hand.]

Belle: Hi.

Chat: OMG IT’S HERMRS MAX IS REALSHE’S SO PRETTY WHAT THE HELLTHE HOODIE IS KILLING MEMAX MARRIED A QUEENINTERIOR DESIGN SLAYI CANNOT BREATHEMAX YOU ARE OUTKICKING YOUR COVERAGECHARLES CURRENTLY DEAD BECAUSE HIS SISTER IS WEARING RED BULL MERCH

Luke Crane: Okay. So first of all, Belle. Thank you for putting up with this idiot.

Belle: (drily.) He’s nothing to put up with. He’s something to treasure. 

Gianni: We just wanted to say congratulations. And also... how did you keep it secret for this long?

Belle:  (shrugging): People only see what they want to see. We never hid it. We just didn’t make it obvious. 

Chris: Oh my god she’s articulate. You really married up.

Max:  (soft, proud) Yeah. I did.

Belle:  (grinning, pressing a kiss to Max’s cheek, making him blush) Anyway. That’s enough fame for one evening. Bye boys.

[Belle exits frame. Max looks extremely smug.]

Max: You happy now?

Luke Crane: Beyond.

Chris: I still can’t believe you didn’t tell us.

***

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/GridGossip:  MAX VERSTAPPEN’S WIFE JUST SHOWED UP ON TEAM REDLINE STREAM IN HIS HOODIE WITH A MUG OF TEA AND SAID “HE’S NOTHING TO PUT UP WITH: HE’S SOMETHING TO TREASURE.” I AM NOT OKAY.

@/TifosiTears:  CHARLES LECLERC IS FIGHTING FOR HIS LIFE AND HIS SISTER IS OUT HERE IN RED BULL MERCH KISSING MAX ON STREAM. I’M SCREAMING.

@/F1TeaSpiller So to recap: → Belle Leclerc kissed Max in Parc Fermé → Changed her name on IG → Is apparently married?? → Wore his hoodie on stream → And the grid is collectively feral. 10/10. No notes.

@/SoftLaunchSociety The Red Bull hoodie. The tea mug. The unbothered queen energy. Belle Verstappen didn’t soft launch — she hard dropped and said “you’ll catch up.”

@/RedBullUpdates: BELLE VERSTAPPEN WALKED INTO FRAME LOOKING COZY, SMUG, AND MARRIED. WE HAVE LOST CONTROL OF THE NARRATIVE.

@/FerrariPain:  charles leclerc when he realizes his sister wore red bull merch in 4k: 🧍‍♂️😐💔

@/WifeGuyMax: max verstappen grinning like a man who knows he married out of his league and then blushed when she kissed his cheek this is romcom content i never expected from sim racing

@/F1MemeLord: Team Redline: Show us your wife Max: She’s not gonna— Belle Verstappen, already wearing his hoodie and holding tea like a queen: Hi Me: this is better than Netflix

@/MonacoRoyalty: i want belle’s PR team forgotten by her family? married in monaco? red bull hoodie and soft lighting? KNEW exactly when to show up. this girl is PLAYING CHESS.

@/MaxEmotionsFan Max: (quietly, proudly) “Yeah. I did.” Me, in tears: and you DID, Max. he married his girl.

@/F1ChaosClub: charles leclerc forgot his sister’s birthday and now she’s on twitch in a red bull hoodie being called “queen” by 600,000 viewers. you literally could not write this better.

@/GridPsychics: prediction: Charles is currently pacing his Monaco apartment wondering if it's too late to be a supportive brother spoiler: it might be

@/F1FanFictionCentral plot twist: Max Verstappen wasn’t the emotionally unavailable villain. He was the surprise wife guy all along.

@/TifosiMeltdown:  Everyone’s like “awww Max and Belle are so cute 🥺” Meanwhile Charles Leclerc is living in the eighth circle of PR hell because his baby sister is in Red Bull merch on Twitch with his literal racing rival

@/SoftLaunchScholar: The Max & Belle reveal timeline is a case study:

Ignored birthday

Secret wedding

Parc Fermé kiss

Instagram name change

Twitch hoodie wife drop This is art.

@/F1Lorekeeper: The fact that Charles forgot Belle’s birthday and then found out she married Max Verstappen two weeks later

And now she’s drinking tea in Max’s stream wearing Red Bull gear

I genuinely think we’re watching a live sibling rivalry rewrite Greek tragedy @/MonacoRoyalty: Belle said “we didn’t hide it, you just weren’t looking” and the Leclerc family should NEVER recover from that

@/CharlesIsCrying: no because BELLE VERSTAPPEN appearing on stream in Red Bull merch while the internet still hasn’t healed from the forgotten birthday incident??

Charles is somewhere short-circuiting in real time

***

It was raining softly against the windows when Belle brought it up.

They were curled up on the sofa — Max in joggers and a hoodie, Belle tucked against his side with a blanket draped over her legs, her cheek resting on his chest. The television hummed quietly with some old documentary neither of them were watching. Max’s hand traced slow, absentminded circles against the bump that had started to become undeniable beneath the fabric of her sweatshirt.

“We should probably tell the rest soon,” Belle murmured.

Max didn’t answer right away. His fingers stilled, then resumed their gentle pattern.

“I know,” he said. “I just… don’t want it to turn into a thing.”

Belle lifted her head slightly to look at him. “Like… a press release thing? Photoshoot? Magazines? Perfect lighting and fake candids of us in a meadow somewhere?”

He let out a soft snort. “Can you picture me in a meadow?”

Belle smiled. “Only if you were holding a kitten and a baby goat.”

“Belle.”

“Okay, fine, just the baby goat.”

Max laughed into her shoulder, pressing a kiss there. “No photoshoots. No flower crowns.” He made a face. “No soft-focus, perfectly lit, black-and-white Instagram announcement with matching white outfits and hands shaped like a heart.”

She laughed softly, burying her nose in his shirt. “The horror.”

“I mean, unless you want that,” Max added quickly. “If you want that, I’ll do it. I’ll even wear linen.”

Belle looked up at him again, mock-serious. “Max, you’d rather crash into a gravel trap at Monaco than wear linen on purpose.”

“Correct.”

She smiled against his hoodie. “I just… I don’t want it to feel like I’m trying to prove something.”

“You don’t have to prove anything,” Max said, his voice low. Sure. “You’re pregnant. You’re my wife. That’s it.”

Belle glanced up at him. “You say that like it's simple.”

“It is.” He tilted his head a little, thoughtful. “So how do you want to do it?”

She shrugged. “Something honest. Quiet, but… real.”

Max was quiet for a beat. “You mean, like the wedding.”

Belle smiled. “Exactly like the wedding.”

He leaned forward and kissed the side of her head. “We can do quiet. That’s our specialty.”

She chuckled, then bit her lip. “I was thinking… what if we just posted a photo? Not even of us. Just a pair of tiny shoes on the coffee table and a caption like, ‘Coming soon.’”

Max grinned. “You want to break the internet again.”

“I want to give it to us first,” she said. “And let everyone else catch up later.”

Max looked at her like she hung the stars. “Deal.”

They sat in silence again, the kind that meant safety.

“I don’t need the whole world to know at once,” Belle murmured, her voice softening. “I just want to share it in a way that feels like us. Not a brand.”

Max pulled her closer, his hand still resting protectively over the bump neither of them could stop reaching for.

“Then that’s exactly what we’ll do.”

***

Text Messages:  Belle Verstappen & Emilie Abadie

Belle: Thinking of announcing the pregnancy before Silverstone.

Emilie: oh?? as in… telling the entire planet??

Belle: Yep. Before I start showing enough that people start whispering.

Emilie: You mean before more people start whispering You okay with going public?

Belle: I think so. We’ve been quiet long enough. Besides… Silverstone’s always a circus. May as well drop the baby news before the clowns arrive.

Emilie: Iconic behavior tbh Do I get a heads up before the post goes up so I can prepare emotionally

Belle: Of course. Also— You should come.

Emilie: To Silverstone??

Belle: Yes.

Emilie: Belle. That’s Lando’s home race.

Belle: And you like Lando.

Emilie: I do not like what this insinuation implies.

Belle: You like him. He adores you. Your flirting during dinner could’ve powered the entire paddock.

Emilie: Okay first of all That’s rude And accurate

Belle: Come anyway. Come as my friend. Not as Lando’s girlfriend.

Emilie: …you are dangerously persuasive.

Belle: Lily’s coming too. It’ll be fun. You, me, Lily, a very grumpy Max pretending not to be nervous about the baby stealing his press conference thunder.

Emilie: You really think the baby will upstage Max?

Belle: If she has my hair and his eyes, absolutely.

Emilie: oh my god if it’s a girl with his grumpy face and your attitude the world is not ready

Belle: Exactly. Which is why you need to be there. Help me judge the chaos.

Emilie: Okay okay Fine But if Lando tries to make things serious while I’m there I am blaming you

Belle: Deal. You’ll be the secret girlfriend, I’ll be the public wife. We’ll keep balance in the universe.

Emilie: Verstappen-Leclerc diplomatic summit in Silverstone Can’t wait.

Belle: You bring the wine. I’ll bring the reveal.

***

Instagram Post: @/belleverstappen

Comments: 

@/maxverstappen1: 🍼❤️ 

@/danielricciardo: I’M GOING TO BE THE FUN UNCLE CALLING IT NOW

@/landonorris: AAAAAHHHHHHHHH 🍼😭❤️

@/alex_albon:The baby already has better fashion sense than me and it’s not even born yet.

@/oscarpiastri: Congratulations!! So happy for you both 🤍

@/charles_leclerc: Congratulations. Truly.

@/georgerussell63: Huge congrats!

@/arthur_leclerc: 🥹❤️ You’re going to be the best mum, Belle. 

@/yukitsunoda0511: baby Verstappen with Leclerc sass?? terrifying. adorable. congratulations!!!

@/sebastianvettel: Welcome to the next adventure. You’ll both be amazing parents. 💛

@/carlossainz55: The paddock is already preparing the next generation of chaos.

@/f1girlie44: BELLE IS GONNA BE A MUM I’M SOBBING

@/leclercsrevengearc: Max winning races, hearts, and fatherhood. Charles losing sleep. Balance.

@/gridgossip: Between the birthday drama, the Red Bull hoodie, the Parc Fermé kiss and now THIS — Belle Verstappen has had a better character arc than half the grid.

@/victoriaverstappen: Best news of the year 🍼 Can’t wait to meet this little one!! 

@/f1: We love a future champion in the making 👶🏽🏁

@/verstappensupremacy:

I KNEW THE RED BULL HOODIE WAS FORESHADOWING

MAX IS GOING TO BE A DAD I’M CRYING

@/f1babygossip:

Baby Verstappen is going to have the softest mama and the most aggressively protective papa and I LOVE THAT FOR THEM

@/charlespls:

someone go check on charles

she posted this BEFORE A RACE WEEKEND

we need an ambulance at Ferrari

[sparrows4bats]

Inheritance AU

What if after Ras died, Damian accidentally inherited the League?

As in, he wakes up one day to an army of Assassins following him around like ducklings.

Damian didn't intend to become the Demons Head, not since he joined his father and embraced a life of heroism alongside his family.

His brief time at Lazarus Island and subsequent possession had only harden his resolve.

But the death of his grandfather and his reconciliation with his mother had made him start to reconsider how he is most useful to the world and the weight of the legacies he has carried since birth.

Damian grieves a lot of things. His grandfather and the relationship they could have had, Respawn, his biological brother and how he never got to know him properly, Alfred and how Damian caused the death of his greatest supporter and sometimes, on his worst night, he greives the child he never got to be.

But he's dealing with it.

Maybe.

It's sometimes hard to resist the urge to flee Gotham again and head back to the island where everything was simpler.

But his father and siblings keep a close eye on him now because apparently entering a death tornament was not an appropriate grieving process. Which he finds ironic coming from the people that became vigilantes because of their own experiences with death.

All of this is to say that Damian is back to living as normally as he can, with school and crimefighting, and so far, it has been uneventful.

Until he wakes up to find five Assassin's in his bedroom.

Damian prepares to fight for his life and grabs the sword that he keeps under his mattress and the dagger he keeps under his pillow, only for cloaked figures to kneel before him.

"We are here to pledge our loyalty, Demon Head."

That is not what he expected. At all.

"I am not the Demon Head."

"According to your grandfather, mother, and aunt, you are. The man that defeated the Lazarus demon and the true heir to the Al Ghul."

He was going to kill his mother. "I was disinheirited when I came to Gotham."

"Not officially, your grandfather even rewrote you into the line of succession before his death."

"My mother is much more suited to the role, would you really rather follow a vigilante?"

"The Demons Daughter has her own interests, the League of Assassins follows the Al Ghul, and you are the most worthy Al Ghul."

Damian doesn't know what to say to that. "I am no longer an assassin, I do not take lives anymore."

One of the dark figures moves forward. "We are aware sir, you need not sully your hands not when we shall do it for you!"

"No! No killing people for me!"

"But sir-"

"I said no."

"Is that an order sir?"

Damian groans and decides he can't deal with this. He goes to the Batcave, and the gaggle of Assassins follow him.

Batman is very confused by the deadly men that are in his home, following his youngest son like loyal puppies.

Unfortunately Father is not much help. The Assassin's claim they are the royal guard a d cannot leave Damians side. They are very polite and promise not to start trouble.

The bat doesn't trust them, but everytume they try to kick them out, they come back like a bad penny.

Damian gives up after the eighth attempt.

They try to get in touch with Talia only for her every contact to tell them she is on vacation and not to be disturbed.

Nyssa isn't any help either. She pledges her allegiance to Damian with a shit eating grin while handing him a stack of paperwork.

Apparently, the League of Assassins keeps a very detailed paper trail. Damian puts his business management and finance education to use very reluctantly.

Damian then tries to foist his new kingdom on his cousin Mara. She laughs in his face and gets the entire Demons Hands to give him oaths as well.

His family, apparently unaware of the fact Damian was a literal prince before coming to them, have a break down.

What do you mean the League is the size of a all country and you are it's leader?

No wonder Damian thought Bruce was poor when he first got to Gotham.

After a while, Damian starts to accept it, unfortunately. His guards never leave his side, even when he tries to ditch them. He still doesn't know where the tracker is.

When he is in school, they hang outside the windows or in the rafters. Damian has to actually behave so they don't attempt to murder his teachers for scolding him.

When he shops, they shadow him. They all get a taste for boba and Damianbuys them little treats on hard days.

Damian can't believe how often he has to stop them from killing people who attack him on patrol.

Dick and Bruce laugh at him and call it payback.

Damian has regrets. Many regrets.

Especially when Steph starts to befriend his guards.

Jon laughs at his predicament even as the Assassins try to assess his worth as their leaders partner.

Damian actually calls himself the Demon Head in order to get his guards to save a group of children.

And Damian has a realisation that maybe, just maybe, he could use the League as it was originally intended.

To Save the World and the Innocent.

And if his army of Assassins aren't happy, they should at least leave him alone.

Nyssa gathers paperwork and allies, and they slowly reform how the League operates.

They fund humanitarian missions, environmental research, and conservation.

They use centuries of Ras Al Ghuls medical research to create pharmaceuticals, surgeries, and treatments. They cure so many diseases and prevent others through free vaccination programmes.

Damian gets his mother to run that side of things while he earns his own medical degree as is family tradition.

Damian puts the League almost unlimited wealth to use lobbying for taxing co operations and creating accessible green energy.

He does alot of good and instead of the organisation crumbling under the changes he makes, it grows.

The Justice League signs an official alliance.

Damian earns undying love and loyalty from his grandfather's followers by doing good.

What he doesn't realise is that any that disagree or pose a threat to the new Demons Head are quietly taken care of.

Damian is slowly turned into a proper royal once Talia, Nyssa, and Mara force him into better clothing and jewellery befitting his status.

Jon chokes when he sees Damian dressed in Silk and gold for the first time.

Damians guard dogs eye him suspiciously, and Jon has to force himself not to touch his best friend.

He starts going on diplomatic mission and living in the public eye, much to everyone's fascination and his families distress.

When the topic of marriage comes up, Dick panics when he overhears Talia discussing an arranged marriage with Nyssa and suitable candidates.

In that panic, he talks to Jon Kent.

Jon knows Damian is for all intents and purposes a king, but it hadn't hit him what that means.

And if he was honest with himself, the idea of a snobby little royal marrying Damian felt like a stab to the heart.

So the Super flies to Damian to ask who he is marrying, much to his confusion.

Damian never agreed to an engagement. Couldn't have, he is already in love with the jealous fool in front of him.

When he tells Jon this, he doesn't expect to get kissed for his efforts or for his guards to stab Jon with Kryptonite.

They go through the official courting process after that. Talia insists upon it.

[abbyfmc]

Yandere Story Idea #16:

Yandere Yandere (Fatherly) Emperor and Empress (Maternal) x Daughter! Reader:

Think about it.

I imagine that after a long line of princes, the yandere empress finally has a princess, and both parents are delighted with her, since she was the first daughter after many years of trying. Your father, the emperor, agrees that you be raised under the care of the empress (your mother).

From the moment you were born, you were never left alone for a single minute. When the Empress wasn't with you, the Emperor himself was. Your mother always made you follow her everywhere she went, as well as sharing her tastes and hobbies, since having only had princes prevented her from doing that. You had a close mother-daughter relationship, and with your father it was something more or less similar.

As you grow up, your parents become more overprotective of you, so much so that they even limit your contact with your older brothers, the princes. Not only would they give you nice gifts, but the best teachers, doctors and servants would be at your disposal (even better than those of your older brothers), although your brothers would probably be jealous of you.

They wouldn't let you walk alone for even a second.

If your father has a harem of consorts and concubines (like other emperors), then the empress will be more paranoid about you, since even though princesses do not inherit the throne, she knows that her enemies can harm you.

Once, when you were five years old, a maid broke a porcelain doll that your father had given you after returning from one of his trips. Unfortunately for that maid, the emperor was returning with you just when the doll broke, so he saw it and got SO angry that he asked his butler to take you out to the garden for a walk, so that you wouldn't see your father the emperor whip the poor maid to death. All this because he considered that maid to be reckless in daring to do that to your things, even if it had been an accident.

Even if more princesses were born, you were the object of your parents' overprotection and adoration.

Even your older brothers didn't dare to do anything bad to you. Once a new maid spoke ill of you (even though you hadn't done anything), and the empress herself slapped her in the face.

They hired servants who document your EVERY move.

The Emperor adores you so much that he will delay any kind of engagement or marriage alliance. He will reject any proposal, and silence anyone who mentions the subject. He does not want you away from him.

If it were up to them, you would stay locked in your room all the time so that nothing would hurt you, and they would tell you that they do everything for your own good.

You were punished by being locked up for an indefinite period of time, followed by the classic punishment of writing the same sentence repeatedly for a long time.

No trying to escape from the palace. The emperor would have experienced guards and servants around you to prevent that.

And if you do get married, then your parents will make sure that you have no choice but to live near the palace, no matter what.

They would be capable of killing if something happens to you.

If you fall ill, they will make sure you rest and eat well, even if it is against your will. If you were to die, they would both go mad with grief, especially the empress.

If you were to die, they would use your chambers as a sanctuary to you, where they would go to pray for you, and in the process force EVERYONE to mourn you.

Your emperor father would not let you have any contact with his family, as there is a power struggle going on where even his own brothers, cousins ​​and uncles could be his enemies and would do ANYTHING to get the throne; even if that includes kidnapping or killing you just because you are the emperor's daughter. Your mother would know this, and every time her brothers-in-law come, she will make you stay with her in the central palace.

With the Empress's family it's a different story, since there are no problems of inheritance of the throne, things are easier unless there is someone who tries to hurt you or pressure you like they do with your mother.

-The End.

What do you think?

[cbeargyu]

跡継ぎの妻 – the heir’s wife – EPILOGUE

summary: you marry a stranger in silk—his lips stained with blood and tradition. what starts as a marriage of convenience between a yakuza heir and a public figure spirals into something neither of you were prepared for: protection that tastes like devotion, duty twisted with longing, and kisses that come too late to be innocent. in a world where bullets speak louder than hearts, love might be the most dangerous vow of all.

pairing: yakuza!yuta x model fem!reader

genre: mafia/yakuza au, arranged marriage, slow burn, angst, romance, family legacy, redemption arc, emotional healing, found family, power couple dynamic, smut-heavy, character-driven

warnings: explicit smut (multiple scenes), dom/sub dynamics, power play, breeding kink, degradation praise, spanking, explicit dirty talk, creampie, possessiveness, worship kink, rough sex, emotionally charged sex, soft aftercare, public display of dominance, mature themes, violence, blood, weapons, death of a sibling (mentioned), grief, guilt, trauma processing, complex power dynamics, yakuza activity (organized crime themes), arranged marriage (turned consensual), emotional manipulation, emotional dependency, toxic loyalty, gender roles (challenged), parenthood, tattoos/irezumi (traditional), symbolic death/rebirth, canon-typical violence, knife imagery, psychological tension.

wc: 2,3k

part i. part ii.

taglist: special dedication to this anon.

@beestvng @bamtor1sss @turtash @amazinggraxia @rubiiisyeon @doiestars @7dreambaby @joepomonerof @hanxxz @sunghoonsgfreal @evebionc @unlikelyeaglegirl @hyucksnctzen

by 2004, the house felt different.

not smaller, not quieter — just fuller. the halls that once echoed with tension now hummed with the sounds of daily life: children’s footsteps chasing one another down the engawa, the murmur of a radio left on in the kitchen, the rustle of sliding doors pulled open and shut by hands that had never known violence. it was the same house, the same bones, the same garden just outside — now blooming again with early summer peonies and camellias — but something had shifted permanently. there was warmth where once there had only been steel.

yuta had changed too.

not softened — never that. he still ruled with precision, still carried the weight of his name and history with that quiet, dangerous grace that made men straighten their spines when he entered a room. but he had grown into something more. not just the oyabun of a clan that had expanded and stabilized under his leadership, but a man who no longer ran from his past — a man who returned to the shrine every year on the same date, with a boy at his side whose hand fit almost perfectly in his own.

shotaro was seven now.

sharp-eyed, quiet like his father, though he laughed easier, with a crooked grin he hadn’t inherited from either of you. he asked questions constantly — about honor, about names, about the tattoos he was not yet old enough to understand. yuta answered them all, never speaking down to him, never sugarcoating. and when he’d asked last winter, in the soft hush of snowfall outside, why he was named after someone in the ground, yuta had knelt, placed a hand on his shoulder, and simply said, “because the man you’re named after taught me what it means to protect something. and now that name belongs to you.”

and then there was tsubaki.

your daughter had arrived two springs ago, born under the bloom of the tree you had planted after your wedding. her name meant “camellia,” a flower symbolic of strength, love, and resilience — one that thrived even in cold seasons, blooming when others withered. and she lived up to every syllable of it. bright, fearless, stubborn as rain — with your eyes and your temper, and yuta’s impossible ability to control a room without speaking. she had already declared, at the age of two, that she would marry no one unless they brought her three swords and a horse, which shotaro immediately promised to steal for her. neither of you corrected them.

riku still came by every sunday.

he had changed the most — at least on the surface. now living in a glass-and-gold penthouse high above namba, he had risen through the clan ranks with that same street-born cunning and loyalty that had once earned him the right to drive your car in silence. he wore imported suits now, changed women like watches, and arrived smelling of expensive cologne and nights without sleep. but he never missed a visit to his mother, never missed a birthday, never looked at your children without that same big-brother warmth that had once shielded you both from the world outside.

the clan had grown too.

under yuta’s leadership, it had evolved — not sanitized, never clean, but refined. operations were quieter now, more surgical, layered with strategy and diplomacy that reached far beyond osaka. territories were protected, alliances kept in balance, and his name no longer needed to be shouted to be known. in meetings, he still sat in silence more than he spoke, but when he did, the room fell still. and you — you were still at his side. not as a shadow, but as his reflection. you handled affairs that didn’t touch violence directly: the security of the women, the education of the next generation, the negotiation of small conflicts before they became large ones. sometimes your word alone was enough to prevent bloodshed. you had learned how to wield power without raising your voice.

tonight, the house was quiet again, the kind of quiet that only came after everyone had gone to sleep. the children had been tucked in hours ago, shotaro with his wooden sword beside the futon, tsubaki curled up with her face in your old wedding kimono — the red silk wrapped around her like a dragon’s embrace. you had lingered a moment longer in their room, brushing her hair back from her forehead, listening to the way yuta’s footsteps slowed outside the door before continuing on.

now, he waited for you in the bedroom, already half-undressed, the soft glow of paper lanterns casting long shadows across his back. the tattoos were still vivid, still beautiful, age only adding depth to the black and gray lines that curled over his shoulder blades like the memory of fire. his robe hung loose around his waist, his hands resting in his lap. when you entered, he looked up and smiled — not the smirk he gave the world, not the careful calm he used with the clan, but something smaller. reserved only for you.

“they asleep?” he asked.

you nodded, untying your robe.

“both,” you said. “though tsubaki was threatening to lead a coup if we didn’t let her sleep in our bed again.”

he laughed under his breath, eyes following the silk as it slipped from your shoulders.

“she gets that from you.”

“i get the blame for everything.”

“you get the credit, too,” he said, rising, crossing the room toward you. “for this house. for the way i survived myself. for both of them.”

he stopped in front of you, hands coming to your hips, mouth brushing your jaw.

“for making me want more than survival.”

you leaned into him, pressing your palms against his bare chest.

“and what do you want now, nakamoto?”

he didn’t answer with words.

he pushed you gently back onto the bed, his body following yours, one knee parting your thighs as his lips dragged across your collarbone, slow and unhurried. he worshipped you as he had that very first night — with a hunger honed by time, shaped by memory. his hands roamed the map of your body like it was the territory he had built everything on, his tongue tracing the edge of your tattoo before sinking lower.

“mine,” he whispered, voice low, rough. “still. always.”

you gasped as he filled you — deep and claiming — his pace slow but punishing, each thrust purposeful, each breath a promise. he didn’t have to ask permission anymore. you gave him everything long ago. but tonight, he still earned it, inch by inch, word by word.

“i’ll fill you up again,” he growled against your neck. “mark you from the inside this time. want to see it drip from you, want to watch it take.”

you whimpered, the sound lost between kisses and heat, your body arching as he pressed harder, faster, claiming you like only he could.

“gonna make you beg,” he hissed, grabbing your wrists, pinning them above your head. “show you who you belong to.”

“you,” you gasped. “only you.”

he smiled — dark, triumphant, adoring — and fucked you harder, deeper, until your cries turned into broken syllables and your body trembled beneath his. when you came, it was with his name on your tongue, and when he followed, spilling into you with a low growl, it was with his hands cradling your face like you were the only thing still holding him to the earth.

afterward, he didn’t move from you for a long time.

just held you, your legs tangled, your breathing slow, your bodies sticky and warm and still joined.

“we made something beautiful,” he murmured, his hand on your stomach, your heart, your life.

“we did,” you whispered back, lips brushing his.

and outside the window, beneath the stars, the camellia tree swayed — blooming, still, after all these years.

you had left modeling the year after the ceremony.

not the wedding — that had been for politics, for tradition, for the sake of appearances. but the second one, the real one, the one held in the temple courtyard with your hand in yuta’s and the clan kneeling before you in reverent silence — that was when everything shifted. after that, the camera no longer felt like a doorway to your future. it felt like a relic. a different skin you had already shed.

there were reasons, of course. you were now the wife of an oyabun, a woman of weight and presence in a house watched by too many eyes. the responsibilities were real, and heavy, and sometimes they left little room for dreams you once chased across magazine pages and studio lights. you stepped down without bitterness. not because the dream had died — but because it had simply evolved. power, after all, had many forms. and now yours wore silk, moved quietly, and negotiated the survival of families with a single glance across a tatami room.

still, from time to time, the itch returned — subtle, low beneath your skin. so every few seasons, you would indulge it. a private session. a camera. sometimes a friend from your past came to shoot, someone who understood that this wasn’t for publications, for fame, for the market. these photos weren’t meant for the world. they were for you. and for him.

you posed in lace, in silk, in shadows. sometimes wearing only his haori, your tattoos catching the light in deliberate contrast to the softness of your skin. you never smiled in those pictures. only stared into the lens like you were daring it to forget who you had become.

yuta never watched you shoot. he always let you have that space — but he waited outside the room like a man expecting something sacred. and later, once the photos were printed and arranged in the quiet privacy of your study, he kept them. not hidden. just protected. a lacquered album on the highest shelf, filled with his wife — his woman — arching across bedsheets, eyes half-lidded with power, with pride. he opened it on long nights sometimes, when the house was quiet and the city below dared to forget who ruled it. he’d look through the pages slowly, fingers brushing each image like a prayer.

“mine,” he would whisper. “mine forever.”

in the summer of that year, shotaro turned eight.

he asked to visit the shrine again.

this time, you let him go alone with yuta. you stayed behind with tsubaki, brushing her hair on the veranda, the scent of roasted barley tea drifting from the kitchen. she sat still for once, curious eyes turned toward the mountain path that had taken her brother and father out of sight.

at the shrine, yuta let shotaro walk ahead.

the boy moved with quiet steps, his hands respectfully tucked into the sleeves of his light jinbei, the dragon-embroidered sandals scraping softly against the stone. he carried a single flower — a white camellia, picked from the tree you had planted years ago. he had asked why it mattered. you had told him, “because it blooms even in the cold, and some names are meant to live forever.”

when they reached the grave, yuta didn’t speak. he watched as his son knelt before the stone, bowed deeply, and placed the flower carefully at the base.

“thank you,” the boy said quietly. “for my name. for my father.”

he bowed again.

and somewhere, just behind the trees, the wind moved like a breath held and released.

that fall, you watched tsubaki from the doorway of the meeting hall.

she was barefoot, small but composed, standing at the edge of the gathering like she belonged to it. she didn’t speak. didn’t fidget. just stood with her arms behind her back, head tilted slightly — listening.

the men watched her, but no one dared correct her presence.

not with you in the room.

not with yuta at the head of the table, his eyes flickering to his daughter only once before returning to the conversation about territory, expansion, diplomacy.

afterwards, she ran to you.

“they listen to you,” she said with a child’s solemnity. “and they listen to papa. so one day, they’ll listen to me.”

you smiled faintly and knelt beside her.

“and what will you say when they do?”

she considered the question, frowning slightly.

“i’ll say that peace doesn’t mean softness. it means knowing where to place your blade.”

you didn’t laugh. only kissed the top of her head.

“good girl.”

years from now, perhaps it would all change. perhaps shotaro would take over the clan or tsubaki would carve her own empire from the bones of your name. perhaps the city would grow beyond your reach. but for now, in the golden hush of late afternoon, your legacy was safe. not in money. not in territory. but in the way your son placed his hand on his sister’s shoulder when she spoke. in the way yuta looked at you like nothing else had ever made sense before you. in the way your story — once marked by silence and fire and fear — now unfolded in softness, in laughter, in roots that stretched deeper than any wound.

one night, when the children were asleep and the world outside was too loud to hear, yuta pulled you into the bedroom and closed the door behind him. he didn’t speak. just kissed you slow. deep. hands finding the familiar path of your hips, your breasts, the soft bend of your knees.

he made love to you the way a man remembers — every scar, every sound, every place you had once trembled. and when he came inside you, forehead pressed to yours, whispering your name like an incantation, he didn’t ask for permission or forgiveness.

he simply said:

“thank you for staying. thank you for becoming everything i never knew how to ask for.”

and you smiled, the weight of time and joy and sorrow pooled between your bodies, and answered:

“thank you for giving me a name worth carrying.”

outside, the wind moved through the camellia tree again — still blooming.

always blooming.

just like you.

[skyrigel]

Can you write an image in which Benedict is obsessed with Y/N and is always looking for reasons to touch her. However, Y/N knows that when it comes to women, Benedict quickly gets what he wants... sex. She keeps him waiting and doesn’t sleep with him until the wedding day.

Obsessed with you | I

Part 1 | Part 2

Pairing: Benedict bridgerton x afab!reader

Synopsis: Ton's most eligible bachelor is obsessed with the mystery lady in silver, and would do anything to have her

Warning: Reader's mother has issues, scandalous family, last name Rose for convience, Benedict being a smug bastard, some regency class differences, cute Polin, cute kathony, minor non-con touching, smoking cigar, lots of teasing and ofcourse obsessive and possession behaviour. Might be toxic! Benedict but please he's a cutie.

Dearest gentle readers,

While for sure we have seen former Rake now Kate's beloved whipped husband, and Colin bridgerton who is so smitten with his dearest wife that it will not come forward a surprise if he hasn't set foot out in all these days, but Benedict bridgerton is neither whipped nor smitten, he is, as the poets would whisper, obsessed. It will be amusing to know who this mystery lady is, with her dazzling silver gown and piercing eyes, sharp enough as she carved the gentleman's heart out.

Benedict was a man for art and muse so forgive him if he got so obsessed with you, the real question was, how could he not ? You were the most gorgeous woman he had ever seen, clad in your most dazzling blue dress that he wanted nothing but to take off.

" She exaggerates." Anthony pouted, he shouldn't know that he had but he's been pouting a lot lately, it's called 'kateffect'

" No, you've been domesticated brother, just admit it, Kate has tamed you." Colin peppered, sprawling down next to Anthony who greeted him with the most glaring glare.

" Like you're any better." Anthony smirked, setting his gaze on Benedict who read the index again.

" Penelope doesn't know her name ? " Benedict worried his jaw, looking between his brothers.

" I take that back, Penelope didn't exaggerate, you're really very much obsessed." Anthony remarked, Colin nodded.

" Oi, she would've known your mystery lady's full name and history but—"

" Don't complete that, I'll duel you."

" In the middle of a ball ? " Benedict laughed, eyes amused, Colin turned a crimson red.

" Rather tempting—"

" Oi! " Anthony raised his brow, his mouth curving in disdain, as Colin staggered away, leaving Anthony praying to lord behind like he was any better.

" Oh dear." Benedict smiled when once alone, thumb caressing the index, as if it was the mystery lady in silver blue gown, accused of taking away the gentleman's heart.

" Who are you ? " He whispered.

_

" Ma'am, would you like something else ? " Mrs. Turner asked once you were seated on your dressing, playing with several glassy bottles with colourful scenty substances.

" In yesterday's masquerade ball, I was dancing with a Bridgerton—" Mrs. Turner tutted softly," He's Benedict bridgerton, i assume."

" Yes, indeed, the only bachelor bridgerton boy of age." Mrs. Turner pulled the corset strings and you gasped, feeling your internals squeeze in the process.

You smiled, thinking about the way Benedict looked at you, all stars in his eyes.

" I..it is not my place miss but as your well wisher, i would say.." she worried her jaw.

" It's okay Mrs. Turner, you should speak your mind." You assured her, feeling her fingers stop at your back as she looked at your reflection in the mirror.

" Benedict bridgerton's a rake, unlike any other gentleman... he's known to engage women with class and wits...artists, musicians, and other dimplomacy that are odd amongst our sex."

" Oh." You nodded, feeling stupid enough to think those were meant for you, like they were of real affection.

" I wouldn't want you any harm, after your father's death and your inheritance affairs, you couldn't afford another scandal, for a good match—"

" My virtue should stay intact ? " You raised your chin, examining the stain of rose on your lips.

" Your sister was a good girl madam, so are you." Mrs. Turner smiled, her eyes crinkling with deepest concerns.

-

Benedict's eyes were searching for you everywhere, he has been waiting for you since so long. Despite anxious mamas forcing introductions and dances, he was looking only for you.

" Miss Rose." Benedict turned to see his sister in law, smiling a smirk, followed by her husband in tow.

" You wound me Pen, it's Benedict bridgerton! " He laughed, much to Colin's dismay.

" Oh well your mystery lady is Miss Rose, daughter of late Duke of Blair field and lady bloom." Colin was one step away from clapping.

" Wow." Benedict's mouth curved in a delightful 'o'.

" Oh well they are rather scandalous, her sister was rumoured to be not a virgin which deceased all of her prospects of marriages, her mother is rather protective of her."

" Pen, did I tell you how you're my favourite sister ? " Benedict perked his gaze towards the entrance, hoping for you to bless him.

" Don't let Eloise hear that." Colin said, outstretching his arm that Penelope held as they swirled between the crowd, laughing.

_

" You shall not be unchaperoned." Your mother had a faraway look in her eyes, her hand was trembling and you surged the desire to just hold it.

" I understand, mama." You bowed your head once, trying to forget the trembling of her hands.

" Don't engage in gossips dearest, better keep to yourself and..." She forgot what she was saying, her lips trembling along, you looked at Mrs. Turner with a pleading gaze.

" Ma'am, we must make haste." She simply said, your mother spared a glance to you, her mouth tightening around the corners.

" You look beautiful child." She looked away, you pretended not to see the tear that glistented down her cheek.

After securing yourself in the carriage, with your dress squeezing the life out you, you finally breathed.

" I envy Gissele." You said softly, caressing the uneven glittering fake diamonds.

" She would say the same." Mary mumbled, she was Mrs. Turner's daughter who rather got scolded every often for being too blunt. You liked her alot.

" Oh wouldn't it be so wonderful to just lay in bed, reading a book and wearing simple soft dresses." You perked up at the idea of a life like that, a simple homely cottage, filled with warmth and sweetness and books.

" But the society has it's own fun, look at you, pretty dresses, pretty shoes, and all those prince charming lords." Mary took your fan and mimicked the motion, you smiled.

" Well you could always borrow a dress, have some fun." Your eyes glinted, Mary shaked her head.

" C'mon." You grabbed her wrist, shaking them, up and down profusely.

" No, mama will kill me ! "

" But the fun ?! No one would know, they haven't seen me, they don't know me."

" Well i can't pretend to be you, what would happen if somebody caught us."

" Don't then, be yourself ! Mary Turner."

" Sounds like a bad idea." Mary said, her smile deceived her.

" Lord Turner of Riverdales, be their relative, no one hardly pays attention."

" Whistledown does." Mary narrowed her eyes, you looked out to make sure you haven't yet reached.

" Well she called me a mystery woman who apparantly took a gentleman's heart."

" Oh Mr. Bridgerton's a known gentleman." You scoffed at that, Mary's brow knitted together as she studied you.

" What ? He's a rake." You brushed the tingling away, feeling the way Benedict's gaze lingered on you, the way he twirled you around like you were the only real thing, the way he flushed and stumbled through his words, attempting to know absolutely anything about you.

" I highly doubt that, never heard anything about him."

" Presumably he has a longing for accomplised women." You finger quoted it with a scowl that was too unladylike, Mary bursted into fits of giggles.

" What ? " You poked her, she shaked with her guffaw, chortling in her way.

" You fancy him." She said, chuckling the ' him' away, you frowned deeply, heart leaping at the ton that was gathered outside lady Danbury's exquisite ball.

" Utter rubbish. Do you still want to have fun ? " You asked, Mary smiled.

_

Benedict gaze perked up when you and Mary stumbled through the ball, Mary was almost shaking and you were sure her clothes didn't fit much to you, you felt your back prickling with burning gaze and you turned.

" Told you he's a rake. Don't be friendly to him." You whispered to Mary who was about to run when Benedict dropped his conversation with lord White, swaggering towards you.

" What if he recognises you ? " She mumbled and your lower lip trembled, but that's not possible, your mask obscured your whole face except your lips and eyes and certainly he hadn't painted you in his mind, afterall he shouldn't be that obsessed.

" My lady." He bowed, his gaze locking in yours as he kissed the hand Mary very reluctantly gave him, he was amused when Mary mumbled a hasty greeting, her manners mimicked.

" You look exquisite, more than the ball itself." He was clearly flattered when Mary blinked hard, looking at you for help.

You rolled your eyes when Benedict too, looked at you with a similar pleading as Mary.

" Forgive me my lord, my lady is tired—"

" We haven't been introduced i remember, Benedict bridgerton." He grinned, he actually freaking grinned as Mary glanced at you with the corner of her eye.

" Lady Mariam Turner." She blurted it quickly, looking at you for approval, " A pleasure." Mary smiled, you nodded.

" Forgive me Mr. Bridgerton." You cleared your throat, Benedict's gaze penetrated through you, he was setting you on fire and you couldn't do anything but to burn.

" My lady is tired, you must excuse us." You felt your throat dry, your whole body withering when Benedict narrowed his eyes, lingering specifically on your lips and treading down slowly.

" Indeed, I must not keep you." He cocked his head to Mary, humming along as you strode past him. You were sure he only whispered the ' not ' out of curtsy.

_

" That was bloody brilliant ! " You giggled while Mary shaked her head, clutching her bossom. Your footsteps echoing in the abandoned corridor, stiffling back your giggles.

" That was bloody scary and I can't breathe." Mary heaved, her breath easing when you patted her back.

" Lady Mariam Turner." You teased, bumping your hip as Mary looked at you, gasping scandalously.

" Shut up. I almost died." Mary pulled her dress that sticked to her skin, trying to fan in some air.

" Do you think he recognised me ? " Your cheeks blazed at the heat of the memory of him, his teasing glances and amused smiles.

" I...I think it was rather amusing that we were messing up, did you see how I trembled? " Mary shaked her hand, as you laughed at the display.

" No, my lady." You said, once your giggles subsided, " You were exquisite."

Mary wacked your arm, her smile unable to hide through the twitch of her lips.

" So, shall we go home ? "

" Would you mind waiting in the carriage ? "

" Don't tell me—" Mary glared, you pouted with puppy eyes.

" Please, you know it's my only way."

" Smoking is bad." Mary declared, " and for men." She added grimly, you nodded along, grabbing her wrist.

" Please, please, please."

" Only if you give back my clothes, i miss them." She touched the soft cotton of her clothes that you were wearing, you perked up eagerly.

_

You took joy at the puffs of smoke that ridiculed the air, the night chill freezing it into clouds of silvery mist.

Mary was dozing off in the carriage until it was time to go home, so early arrival doesn't raise any questions and your mother fast asleep, her trembling lipped questions saved for the next day.

" I thought your lady was tired." You almost dropped your cigar, jumping up the swing as it creaked at sudden outburst.

" Don't drop it, i don't have any with me." His smile was too big and smug for his face, his nonchalance dripped as he took the swing opposite of you. You stared, for some reason cigar still burning in intricate yellow blazing circles, dropping to ashes.

" Forgive me my lord—" you just remembered you were no longer in Mary's clothes.

" That's the only line you grasped so far ? " Benedict leaned on his swing, catching your wrist as he dragged you to sit.

You sat down with a thud, swing jiggling with your weight as you processed his smile.

" I..." You stammered, flushing in heat as he inhaled you in, you were back in your clothes, the one you were supposed to wear. And Mary was right, you couldn't breathe.

" I would say you look beautiful, in everything, in anything..or—" in nothing.

" I should leave." You throat itched.

" Stay." He was soft, almost a whine, a plead.

" Please don't tell anyone." You tried your best persuading smile, it worked on Gissele all the time, your lips pouting and eyes shining with stars.

Benedict's mouth curved in a smile, he clicked his tongue as he attempted to speak but he found he couldn't. A pause, then—

" You love tormenting me, don't you ? " Benedict took the burning cigar from you, locking your eyes with his own as he brought it to his mouth, a sound escaped him as his lips curved around the warmness that belonged to you, he inhaled deeply.

" I don't know what you're talking about." You tore away you eyes from the erotic display of smoking, he hummed in a dry scoff.

" Ofcourse, you wouldn't." He offered the Cigar back, every word coated with sarcasm.

The breeze was so cold that you shivered, moon hanging low in the night sky and every star stared back, Sirius, Rigel, and all of them.

" I never meant to offend you." You took the cigar back, his fingers brushed, a electrifying wave rippling inside you, like the way he held your hand and danced with you in the masquerade ball.

You noticed his flexing but said nothing, heart beating too fast to be sane and alive.

" Miss Rose—" you gasped, how could he know your name, "—have you ever been kissed ? "

" I...Benedict..lord." you clamped your mouth shut, lips suddenly struck by a bolt as they buzzed.

He leaned as you felt your back touching the rope of swing, his face too close... would he kiss you ? Would it be as electrifying as the rest of his touches ? Would you survive it or simply burn like a pheonix ?

" It's okay, we would alot when we get married. " He took away the cigar and dropped it as it was so close to burn your skin, smiling all the while. Was that a proposal ?

" Go home, it's getting cold, Mrs-yet-to-be bridgerton." And he pressed his lips against your forehead, his smile caressing your heart.

Rigel's note 🪩: while I loved this idea especially the hilarious ' Benedict gets what he wants....sex ' but I needed to base it, so it doesn't come as pervy and non con as it might, to make it comfortable enough to write on my part, I have tried to break it into parts, this part is generally meet up and getting obsession with y/n ( no use in fic ) and other will be courting and marriage bliss. Gif not mine.

[cecilyfaithastrology]

✨🌪PART 1:The Signs🌪✨

🏮Asteroid #7066🏮

💔Nessus💔

*The story of Nessus:

Nessus was a centaur who, according to greek mythology,after being mortally wounded by Heracles, cunningly deceives Heracles' wife, Deianira, into believing his blood is a love charm. Unbeknownst to Deianira, this act of betrayal and revenge ultimately leads to Heracles' agonizing death when she uses the blood-soaked cloak on him years later, causing her to take her own life in despair.

*Impact in your Natal:

In a natal chart, Nessus indicates challenging material related to trauma, abuse, betrayal, and ancestral wounding. The position and aspects of Nessus can reveal where these themes are most potent in a person's life, representing the "deepest shadow material we inherit as a pre-existing condition of our human birth". Facing Nessus placements often involves facing difficult truths, acknowledging the impact of past traumas, and choosing to break free from destructive cycles. This challenging journey can also be a path toward becoming a "better ancestor" by transmuting the pain of previous generations. 

🖤 In The Signs 🖤

🖤Aries: This placement can indicate that you might have experienced abuse or betrayal in ways that were direct, sudden, or even aggressive. It could point to instances where someone acted selfishly or impulsively, causing harm, or where you felt a powerful "fight" response was necessary to survive or reclaim your agency. The nature of the abuse or betrayal might have involved direct confrontation, physical aggression, or a forceful imposition of another's will, leaving you with wounds that demand a brave and direct approach to healing and potentially breaking cycles of harm.

🖤Taurus: In your astrology birth chart, Nessus in Taurus signifies that experiences of abuse and betrayal are deeply intertwined with your sense of security, material possessions, and self-worth. This placement often indicates a vulnerability to financial manipulation, exploitation, or situations where a "poisoned gift"—something seemingly beneficial—ultimately leads to harm, profoundly shaking your core sense of stability and self-value. You may have experienced betrayal that strikes at your fundamental trust, leading to a tendency to withdraw and a long process of recovery due to Taurus's deep need for loyalty and resistance to change. To heal, you need to redefine security as an internal state, cultivating self-worth independent of external validation or material wealth, and consciously release unhealthy attachments by embracing flexibility, setting firm boundaries, and confronting any inherited patterns of trauma.

🖤GEMINI: For individuals with Nessus in Gemini, abuse often manifests as verbal, psychological, or intellectual abuse. This can involve manipulative communication, gaslighting that distorts one's reality, or psychological abuse deeply "embedded in the brain" through repeated patterns of harmful words. Abuse involving siblings or within the immediate environment of learning and communication is also a common theme.Betrayals are typically experienced through misinformation, gossip, intellectual dishonesty, or broken trust in communication. Gemini's naturally analytical and curious nature might lead to overthinking these betrayals, but they ultimately appreciate open discussions as a pathway to resolution. Gemini thrives on communication, information exchange, and intellectual agility. This placement suggests that these very strengths become the primary avenues for abuse, turning words into weapons or creating profound mental confusion and distortion of reality

🖤Leo: With Nessus in Leo, abuse can significantly impact one's self-esteem, creative expression, and innate need for recognition and appreciation. This placement may manifest as experiences of self-obsession, being subjected to harsh criticism, or being involved in attention-seeking dynamics, including bullying, either as a recipient or, in some cases, as a perpetrator of such behaviors. It speaks to a profound wounding of the inner child's joy and the authentic expression of one's unique radiance.  Betrayals are often experienced as a deep blow to one's pride, a violation of loyalty, or a sense of being undermined in self-expression, leadership, or creative endeavors. Leos are known for their strong sense of self and can be deeply hurt by trust issues, often confronting partners directly as loyalty and respect are paramount to them. Leo is the zodiac sign ruled by the Sun, representing vitality, creativity, self-expression, and the innate desire to shine. This placement suggests that abuse or betrayal has directly targeted and dimmed this inner light, leading to compensatory behaviors that either desperately seek external validation and attention or attempt to control others to feel powerful and seen.

🖤Cancer: Nessus in Cancer signifies abuse that is deeply emotional, often occurring within the household or originating from maternal figures or other women. This can lead to a pervasive "expectation of abuse in emotional bonds" and a profound struggle to recognize when relationships are abusive, making it difficult to walk away. Gaslighting may have been a significant presence in childhood, blurring emotional reality. For those with Nessus conjunct the Ascendant in Cancer, the abuse can be particularly insidious, threatening one's very personality, life force, and fundamental sense of existence, leading toa tendency to hide behind a protective "shell" due to an intense fear of being taken advantage of.Betrayals are experienced profoundly on an emotional level, shaking one's innate sense of belonging, family loyalty, or the safety and security of emotional bonds. Cancers are inherently sensitive and tend to withdraw emotionally when they feel mistrusted or betrayed, needing significant time, emotional support, and consistent reassurance to heal and process their deep feelings. They form deep bonds, and while they may forgive, the emotional impact of betrayal leaves a lasting imprint, making it hard to truly forget. Cancer is the quintessential sign of home, family, emotional security, and nurturing. This placement suggests that the very space and relationships meant to provide comfort and safety became a source of profound abuse, poisoning the well of emotional security. The deep identification with abuse, especially if Nessus is conjunct the Ascendant, points to how foundational these early wounds are to one's core identity and sense of self.

🖤Virgo: with Nessus in Virgo, abuse often manifests through excessive criticism, rigid control, or issues related to health, daily routines, and work environments. This can lead to a deep-seated feeling of never being "good enough," a relentless pursuit of unattainable perfection, or a tendency to self-criticize excessively. The abuse might have instilled a sense of inadequacy or a compulsion to over-analyze and fix everything.Betrayals are typically experienced as a violation of trust in established systems, routines, or by those one serves or works alongside. Virgos are inherently analytical and practical, often needing significant time to process betrayal logically. To rebuild trust, they require clear communication and tangible proof of reliability. Virgo inherently strives for order, efficiency, and perfection, often manifesting as a strong desire to be helpful and competent. This placement implies that the abuse or betrayal has instilled a deep wound around perceived flaws or a relentless, self-defeating pursuit of an unattainable ideal.

🖤Libra: With Nessus in Libra, abuse often manifests within partnerships, one-on-one relationships, or through dynamics characterized by fundamental unfairness, imbalance, or a struggle with setting clear personal boundaries. This can lead to a tendency to avoid conflict at all costs, to over-compromise, or to unconsciously feel like one "deserves" the imbalance or mistreatment in relationships.Betrayals are deeply felt in the context of intimate relationships, often involving a perceived lack of harmony, justice, or fairness. Libras prioritize harmony and may struggle significantly with confronting betrayal, often needing amicable discussions and considerable reassurance to feel safe and balanced again. They might find themselves torn between confronting the person who betrayed them and simply letting the issue go to preserve peace. Libra's core essence is the pursuit of balance, justice, and harmonious relationships. This placement suggests that these fundamental ideals have been corrupted or exploited through abusive or betraying dynamics, leading to a deep wound around fairness and trust in partnerships

🖤Scorpio: With Nessus in Scorpio, abuse is often intense, manipulative, and can involve themes of secrecy, power struggles, or shared resources. This placement is strongly associated with "darkish, intense, and emotional abuse," frequently involving "manipulating, intimidating, and mind games". Sexual abuse is also a significant possibility with this placement. Individuals with Nessus in Scorpio may find a tendency to attract abusive partners or, in some cases, to unconsciously act out abusive patterns themselves as a distorted expression of their wounded power.Betrayals are experienced as deep, secretive, and profoundly wounding events, often involving hidden agendas, intense emotional reactions, or significant power imbalances. Scorpios take betrayal intensely and personally, often leading to a desire for revenge or justice. They require significant time and deep introspection to trust again after being hurt, as their sense of security is fundamentally shaken. Scorpio is the sign of profound transformation, deep psychological processes, and shared power dynamics. This placement suggests that the very mechanisms of transformation and the exercise of power have been poisoned through abuse or betrayal, leading to cycles of intense, often hidden, and manipulative interactions

🖤Sagittarius:With Nessus in Sagittarius, abuse often manifests through authority figures, teaching figures, spiritual or religious institutions, or involves a profound betrayal of truth and personal freedom. This can lead to a deep questioning of one's core beliefs, a cynical view of the world, or a pervasive sense of disillusionment with higher ideals and systems of Justice. betrayals are experienced as a profound violation of one's beliefs, ideals, or expansive sense of personal freedom and exploration. Sagittarians inherently value honesty and freedom, and if they feel cheated or confined, they prefer to discuss the situation frankly and are not hesitant to leave relationships or situations that compromise their sense of autonomy. Sagittarius embodies the quest for truth, wisdom, exploration, and philosophical understanding. This placement suggests that the very compass guiding one's life—their core beliefs and ideals—has been tampered with or poisoned through abuse or betrayal, leading to a sense of disorientation, a loss of faith, or a cynical view of truth and justice.

🖤Capricorn: Nessus in Capricorn signifies abuse that often manifests through parental figures, authority figures, or within the structures of one's early life, deeply impacting ambition, public image, and inherent sense of responsibility. This placement can indicate having been raised in an environment that did not allow for the proper building of personal boundaries, leading to early and prolonged exposure to abuse. Betrayals are experienced as a profound challenge to one's sense of responsibility, reputation, or long-term goals. Capricorns approach trust issues cautiously, taking time to analyze situations and often appearing distant while processing emotions. They value loyalty and dependability deeply and require consistent action to restore their trust after a breach. They are known for their ability to go "no-contact" and cut people off completely when betrayed, often holding deep grudges. Capricorn is the sign of structure, discipline, ambition, and long-term achievement, often associated with parental and societal authority. This placement suggests that the very foundations upon which one builds their life—their sense of security, authority, and ability to establish boundaries—have been compromised or poisoned by abuse or betrayal.

🖤Aquarius: With Nessus in Aquarius, abuse often manifests through social groups, experiences of isolation, or a profound betrayal of humanitarian ideals and intellectual freedom. This placement can indicate patterns of abuse handed down through generations that affect individuals on both a personal and collective level. It can lead to feelings of being an outsider, being bullied, or experiencing social isolation.Betrayals are experienced as a violation of trust within friendships, community, or intellectual and social freedom. Aquarians tend to approach trust issues logically, desiring open discussions and needing their space to process. They are independent and may become cautious with trusting again after being deceived. Aquarius embodies ideals of collective well-being, innovation, and intellectual freedom. This placement suggests that the very desire to connect with and contribute to humanity has been met with experiences of abuse or betrayal, leading to a sense of detachment, isolation, or a profound disillusionment with collective endeavors.

🖤Pisces: with Nessus in Pisces, abuse often manifests through escapism, self-sacrifice, or a blurring of boundaries, making it difficult to discern healthy from unhealthy dynamics. This can involve a tendency to be overly forgiving, to remain in relationships longer than is healthy, or to unconsciously attract savior/victim dynamics. The abuse may be subtle, spiritual, or involve a deep sense of disillusionment with reality. Betrayals are experienced as a profound violation of empathy, spiritual trust, or a sense of disillusionment with ideals. Pisces individuals are empathetic and intuitive, often feeling deeply hurt and disillusioned by betrayal. They may seek comfort in creativity or spirituality and, while they may forgive, they rarely forget the emotional impact. Pisces is the sign of compassion, spirituality, intuition, and universal love, often associated with dissolving boundaries. This placement suggests that the very capacity for empathy and spiritual connection has been compromised or poisoned through abuse or betrayal, leading to a tendency to merge with others' pain, self-sacrifice, or a struggle with clear boundaries.

PART 2- Coming in a couple hours 🖤🖤🖤💔

🧚✨Thank you guys so much. This is my first astrology blog and so far its going better than expected. Feel free to recommend topics or aspects or anything youd enjoy reading my opinion on. Please interact if you took anything from this ✨🧚

[venussaidso]

Nodal Dominant Themes — 𝐍𝐚𝐤𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐚 𝐎𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 (part 1) 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟓

Ardra, Swati, Shatabhisha embody Rahu qualities to the fullest. Breaking boundaries, whether they mean to or not, refining or rebuilding themselves by the way they absorb Maya (illusion), being thrown into foreign lands to create, explore and challenge existing paradigms. The ultimate mastery of Rahu nakshatras lies in recognizing that Maya is not the goal, but the process of refinement. This is shown in the natives' urge to learn, apply and cultivate something for themselves. This means that their initial stages have a lot of lack, and that's where that hunger to achieve and receive comes from. They'll take on challenges if it means there's an opportunity to fulfill themselves. In these following examples, the Rahuvian character is often given an opportunity to enter higher societies, usually through a job, a scholarship or from meeting the right person in the right time.

Swati Sun Julia Roberts, in Pretty Woman, plays a poor, sex worker who enters the high society through a billionaire and becomes 'refined'. Despite her glow up, her authenticity still contrasts with the pretentiousness of the high class social circle she finds herself in, challenging their perceptions of worth and class.

Much like Pretty Woman, in the film My Fair Lady, the Rahuvian meets a snobbish phonetics professor who wages that he can make her presentable in high society.

In the film Khoobsurat, Shatabhisha Moon Sonam Kapoor Ahuja plays a quirky physiotherapist who is ill-mannered and boundless. She is given a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to work for a royal family. There, she meets a handsome young Rajput prince who is her complete opposite (given that he is portrayed by a Mula Moon native, Fawad Khan, who adheres to the customs of his background, bound by his roots).

Despite their different social classes, the royal family learns a lot from her authenticity.

This theme of outer duality in which the native crosses over to a whole new world different from where they originally came from centers a lot around the 'poor vs rich' dynamic in these modern examples — exploring classism, elitism and other societal divisions which make outsiders.

As I briefly gave examples in this post, Shatabhisha can be linked to Cinderella. Which means that trine nakshatras can also inherit this theme of person from poor background falls in love with person from wealthy background. As shown in that post, the union is often with a Mula native. It was expected to find these Rahu-Ketu connections, as the nodes are always one with each other. Their themes can overlap, which I'll be going more into further down this post.

The Mula CEO also comes from old money.

Rahu thrives on venturing the unknown and embracing the unconventional, often shown in the trope of one falling in love with someone alien.

This otherworldly love is seen in Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides, where a Rahuvian sailor falls in love with the mermaid, Syrena. Mermaids are captured and exploited by humans — immediately we see this theme of division. And unlike the other humans, he treats Syrena with respect and equality.

Syrena is portrayed by Mula Moon Astrid Berges-Frisbey, while the sailor is portrayed by Ardra Sun Sam Claflin. In the end, Philip becomes a merman and lives with Syrena underwater. This transformation that the Rahuvian goes through in order to unite with a lover of another species is also seen in the film Lisa Frankenstein, starring Shatabhisha Moon Kathryn Newton — although it's more in a Romeo-&-Juliet style.

The Rahuvian character, Lisa, falls in love with Creature, who is a living corpse portrayed by Magha ASC Cole Sprouse. Lisa kills herself in a tanning bed to join the Creature in death. Their union shows her alive, but mummified.

This theme of one overcoming the obstacle between them and the person they desire is seen yet again in the film Casper (1995). A girl, played by Magha ASC Christina Ricci, meets a ghost named Casper, who falls in love with her. Casper is voiced by Malachi Pearson who has potential Swati Moon. Casper's one wish is to be human again so that he can win her heart.

His wish is fulfilled but he can only be human up until midnight. His human form is portrayed by Swati Moon Devon Sawa.

In the Korean drama, Are You Human?, Shatabhisha Sun Gong Seung-yeon plays a bodyguard who is given an opportunity to protect an advanced humanoid whom she falls in love with. Another abnormal, interspecies relationship.

The humanoid is the clone of an heir of a rich conglomerate. The heir is portrayed by Magha Moon native Seo Kang-joon – him being born into wealth contrasts with her being brought up from a poorer background; we see this theme again of a cross over between two opposite worlds as she gets romantically entangled with him.

A lot of these pairings show Rahu's need to break taboos and seek authenticity over conformity, as these unions tend to be abnormal in a discriminatory society. As illusory as Rahu is by nature, it highlights the illusions within society and the challenges that come with it.

Rahu seeks to challenge conventions, forcing individuals to confront their biases, embrace diversity, and explore love in its most expansive ways; while Ketu can be detached from society in general, already transcending or dissociating from it altogether.

Now extending the old money archetype into this, we can see Rahuvians embodying this shabby, nonconforming, rough-around-the-edges, transformative archetype who'll be on the opposite end. As Ketu symbolizes the past, ancestral roots, tradition, the old way of doing things; Rahu symbolizes the future, foreignness, pursuit, a new way of doing things.

Old money often means adhering to strict family rituals, customs, and expectations. There's an expectation for the wealthy to marry their own, maintaining a cultural practice that has existed for centuries, a theme of Ketu as it means to preserve the past. But Rahu comes in as a disruptor, changing rules that seemed absolute, causing more confusion and tension. Rahu often seeks unity, even with our all differences.

Rahu and Ketu are always 180 degrees apart in a chart. This gives an understanding to how they're always on opposite sides of the same coin. So their union in these media examples often come with resistance and chaos.

The story of Romeo and Juliet is about a star-crossed love stuck in this push-&-pull between tradition and breaking free from tradition.

Rahu is symbolized as the head of a dragon, while Ketu is the tail. Together they remain in this endless chase, their nature defined by longing and separation. Maria and Tony from A West Side Story mirrors this nodal dynamic, as it's based on the classic Romeo and Juliet. Just as the nodes themselves are forever trapped in opposition and in an eternal chase, these lovers remain trapped by their differences. Their love and lives are destined to be cut short, signifying the impossible union between the opposing nodes in these forbidden love stories.

The tragic ending of Maria and Tony’s story reflects the inevitable nature of the nodes. In both Romeo and Juliet and A West Side Story, we see the power of love transcending societal barriers, yet this love is doomed by the very forces it seeks to overcome.

Ashwini nakshatra literally has the strongest ties in Romeo & Juliet (list).

Another pair of this nodal influence (Ketu-Ketu), with this exact theme, is Mavis and Johnny from the animation Hotel Transylvania. Mavis is voiced by Ashwini Moon Selena Gomez, and Johnny is voiced by Magha Sun Andy Samberg. Mavis is a vampire and Johnny is a human. Their worlds should never have had a crossover to begin with. But Johnny, being Magha, feels a sense of belonging with these monsters and Mavis instead of fearing them (a nod to the Mula archetype and Beauty-&-the-Beast trope, which, as I've stated before, can also manifest itself as Ketu-Ketu instead of Ketu-Jupiter... much like Belle and Rumpelstiltskin from Once Upon A Time, Belle being played by Mula Sun Emilie de Ravin and Rumpelstiltskin portrayed by Ashwini Sun Robert Carlyle — the show's own Beauty & the Beast).

Though light-hearted and comedic, their union was forbidden as monsters and humans should be kept apart to their own worlds due to past conflicts. Mavis' father, Dracula, goes to great lengths to separate the two, but then he realizes that their love is genuine and overcomes his prejudices.

The theme of letting go touches on Ketu's tendency to sever ties, signifying the lesson of how temporary things are, including love. The film Untamed Heart is a great example, perfectly encapsulating this theme between two Ketu natives.

And as Mars also rules Ashwini nakshatra, this can be a major focus.

Connecting Orpheus to Ashwini, so much of this nakshatra's themes are highlighted in this Greek myth. Ketu is associated with nature, animal caretaking, and taming wild beasts. This is seen in Orpheus's ability to charm animals, move trees and rocks, and even change the course of rivers, through his music. Music has been known as a form of comfort and healing, and Orpheus' music is so powerful that it hypnotizes wild beasts, even influencing Hades, the ruler of the underworld.

The mythological character loses the love of this life, Eurydice, and he is unable to accept her death. He becomes so desperate, filled with grief and fear, that he descends into the underworld to get Eurydice back. As Ashwini can be driven by selfishness, severance becomes a major lesson in their journey.

The musical film Black Orpheus (1959) is directed by Ashwini Sun, Magha ASC Marcel Camus, a black Brazilian retelling of the tale.

In Jason & the Argonauts (2000), Ashwini Moon Adrian Lester portrays Orpheus. In the animation Hell and Back, *Ashwini Moon Danny McBride voices Orpheus. In 1960s The Giants of Thessaly, Massimo Girotti portrays Orpheus and he has Moon in Magha (trine nakshatra to Ashwini). This obvious connection of Ashwini to Orpheus takes me back to the ruling deities, the Ashwini Kumaras. Ashwini can be related to partnership, soulmates, connected minds. Here, there's a theme of inseparability yet the nature of the nakshatra forces severance. Back to the tale — With just the charm of his music, Orpheus is able to convince Hades to bring Eurydice back to life, only under the condition that Orpheus never looks back at her when they leave the underworld. Overwhelmed with so much love, he's unable to help himself, as he fails and looks back at her as they neared the exit. This is how Orpheus loses Eurydice forever.

Similar to Orpheus, the Twelfth Doctor from Doctor Who spirals into madness and desperation after the death of his close companion, Clara Oswald. The Twelfth Doctor is played by Ashwini Sun native Peter Capaldi. His Aries relentlessness and selfishness has him breaking the laws of time to bring her back, just like Orpheus breaks the natural order of life to get Eurydice back.

Clara Oswald is interestingly nodal herself, being played by Ashwini native Jenna Coleman.

YouTube video link

His journey through grief and his refusal to let her go mirrors Orpheus's determination to challenge the natural order of life for love. In the end, Twelve's memories of Clara get wiped out when he is forced to sever ties with her. Clara remains dead and so does Eurydice. This makes these pairs star-crossed, as Ketu reminds us of the inevitability of loss and separation. With Mars there, it makes it an obvious theme with Ashwini nakshatra.

Orpheus tried to get Eurydice back after her death by seeking the realm of the dead as a mortal being. He finds the cave that led to Hades and slowly descended into the Underworld. He sang to Cerberus, a terrifying, three-headed monstrous watchdog, able to tame and charm the beast so that he enters. This theme of entering portals to other worlds and dimensions tends to be associated with Ketu, and I find it interesting that I am particularly seeing the magic within Ashwini nakshatra.

In the 2008 film Jumper, Ashwini Sun Hayden Christensen plays a young man who can teleport himself anywhere and everywhere due to a genetic anomaly. Regarding Doctor Who, the first female Doctor has indeed been played by an Ashwini native as well. And Ashwini Sun native Russell T Davies is the original showrunner & head writer of the 2005 revival of Doctor Who, starring Ashwini Sun David Tennant.

It is interesting that Ketu nakshatras also have this otherworldliness quality to them which is seen in having access to portals or dissociating into other realms. Although I have already explored this theme within the context of Anuradha nakshatra, there is still an undeniable nodal influence to it as I see these nakshatras frequently pop up in this genre of film.

Magha Sun Amy Adams' character in Enchanted falls into a well which is a portal to another world. In Alice in Wonderland (2010), Magha Moon and Swati Sun native Mia Wasikowska's character also falls into a portal to another world.

In the animation Caroline, Ashwini ASC and Shatabhisha Sun native Dakota Fanning voices a girl who finds a portal to another world. In 1953's Peter Pan, Ardra Sun Kathryn Beaumont voices Wendy who is taken to another magical world called Neverland by a boy named Peter Pan who's voiced by Shatabhisha Sun Bobby Driscoll. In 2003's Peter Pan live-action movie, Wendy is played by Ardra Moon Rachel Hurd-Wood, taken into this whole other reality of magic and wonder. In Hook (1991), adult Peter Pan is portrayed by Shatabhisha Moon and Swati ASC Robert Williams, the character a middle-aged lawyer from the modern world who returns to his magical origins. In the Korean drama Spice Up Our Love, Ashwini Moon Han Ji-hyun's character wakes up as the protagonist of the web novel she wrote. In the Korean drama W: Two Worlds Apart, Shatabhisha Sun Han Hyo-Joo gets sucked into a webtoon written by her father. There she falls in love with the protagonist who is played by Shatabhisha Moon Lee Jong-Suk, who gets gets sucked into her reality as well. In the Chinese drama Love Game in Eastern Fantasy, Mula Sun Esther Yu gets sucked into a video game novel as a supporting character. In The Wizard of Oz, Mula Moon and Ardra ASC Judy Garland plays a Kansas farm girl who is taken away in a tornado and ends up in the magical Land of Oz. In the series Emerald City, Ashwini Sun Adria Arjona is a Kansas nurse who is transported by a tornado to the Land of Oz. In the film Oz: The Great & Powerful, Ashwini Sun James Franco is a magician who is hurled away from Kansas into the wonderful land of Oz. In the 2013 animation Epic, Magha Moon Amanda Seyfried voices a young girl who finds herself transported into an alternate world and even falls in love with Ashwini Moon Josh Hutcherson's character (I highly recommend this film).

As Rahu is associated with illusions and exploring the foreign, we see this theme of escaping into simulations and dreamy worlds which one becomes absorbed in. This has been explored deeper within Swati nakshatra, which combines the arts and illusory tendencies of Rahu together.

The influence of the nodes often transcends the physical realm, embodying forces of spirituality, illusion and transformation together. But they both manifest differently in this theme. Rahu becomes absorbed in illusions (in form of the arts, simulations, imagination (ex. Peter Pan being the boy who is attached to Neverland because he never grows up — Neverland is an illusory place only found in the minds of children, this highlighting his attachment to illusions)); while Ketu tends to escape the material plane altogether, yearning transcendence and passing by realms to seek meaning and lessons.

In the film Meet Joe Black, Mula Sun Brad Pitt plays an otherworldly being who takes over the body of a man to experience Earth and be guided in the teachings & meaning of life. His very existence quite literally transcends time and space, which I relate to Ketu, as he is a mystery himself.

He is innately detached from human concerns like time, societal expectations, and permanence. But he falls in love with a human named Susan, who is also nodal-ruled, and his nature makes their connection doomed from the start. Susan is played by Mula Sun, Mula Moon native Claire Forlani. This making for another star-crossed pair because he can never fully participate in human life.

Going into the body-swapping trope, this calls to Rahu's desire to navigate a foreign perspective while Ketu seeks to transcend its rigid reality.

In the film Hot Chick (2002), Swati ASC Rachel McAdams plays a teenage girl who wakes up in the body of a 30-year-old male criminal played by Swati Sun and Ashwini Moon native Rob Schneider. In 1989's film Dream a Little Dream, an accident puts the consciousness of an elderly dream researcher played by Magha Moon Jason Robards into the body of a bratty teenager who is played by Mula Sun and Shatabhisha Moon native Corey Haim. Many more examples often include a Saturn nakshatra native as well, which I found very interesting. Hopefully I'll be circling back to that one day!

Rahu is thriving on the chaos of this trope since an entirely new identity is being explored (and lessons are learned as the social difference in one's gender, class, and even age tends to be highlighted for the ignorant one (Rahu essentially refining the native through this experience)).

The interaction of the nodes drive each other to a deeper understanding of life's illusions as it signifies letting go and refining oneself. In this little exploration, I got to understand that Ashwini is a romantic nakshatra which deals with loss and forced detachment due to Ketu. While Rahu nakshatras tend to be more romantic and igniting conflict in their pursuit of a love that's not right according to societal standards. This solidifies the image of the eternal chase of the dragon representing desire and detachment.

[emtheanxiousdragon]

Thinking about Psychonauts 2 again, and you know what scene pops into my head a lot? It’s near the end of the game, when Raz runs back to the caravan to get his family’s support to take down Maligula. In a game about mental health and coping with loss and mistakes, this scene, while small, says volumes.

If you don’t remember, when Raz makes his way to the caravan while Nona is in the middle of her big water tornado, this is how he finds his family; gathered around Augustus, offering whatever support they can.

Look at how Augustus is sitting. The classic “face to your knees” pose naturally signals that he’s upset, but there’s something more to that. When you think of this pose, who do you think of?

Children. Children are more likely to sit like this as they process their big feelings because sitting on the floor doesn’t feel inappropriate. When you get older, you feel embarrassed expressing yourself the way you did as a child and you move onto other coping mechanisms, ones that are less visibly upset. But not Augustus, not in this moment. I first when I saw this, I wasn’t sure what was happening, until Donatella spoke.

Remember, Raz just finished sorting through Nona’s memories and unlocking the psychic barriers that kept Maligula trapped. We recently learned that Ford messed with both Nona and Augustus’ memories to make them believe Nona was truly Augustus’ mother, not his aunt. Both of Augustus’ parents died, and have been dead for decades. While Raz was undoing the mental blocks, he wasn’t just revealing the truth to Nona. He was unraveling the truth in Augustus’ mind too.

Imagine you’re with your family, looking for your mother. She’s old, she’s wandered off, she isn’t as sharp as she used to be. You need to find her and keep her safe, you almost lost your son a few days ago and you can’t lose your mother too. And then the memories start unlocking. Memories of two graves, of a packed orphanage, of a strange man warping your mind and delivering you into the care of a woman you knew deep down to be the arbiter of national genocide, who this man made you think was your mother. Of course you break down. Of course you act like a child, even in front of your own children. What else can you do?

When Augustus says this, the statement is twofold. The mother he thought survived has been dead all this time, and the woman who did raise him has warped back to the traumatized, angry shell that caused so much death in your past. He’s lost both women in this moment.

The series does an incredible job of connecting us with the trauma and baggage of whoever’s mind we enter. But we never enter Augustus’ mind. We only get to see his trauma through show not tell, and that leaves us with a more evocative scene than many of the mental worlds we’ve visited before.

The writers know how powerful this scene is, and they make sure we linger on it with this long zoom out. The entire family embraces Augustus and shares in his woe. They’ll need their strength to help Nona soon enough, but they have to grieve for a moment, they have to acknowledge the hurt and pain they’ve inherited if they hope to rebuild their family.

I love this game.

[meanderingwistera]

The Empress

Masterlist - Next Chapter >

Summary - You have prepared for years to take over your Father’s kingdom. You have studied everything from politics to mathematics to philosophy for your future role as Queen.

But when a proposal too good to pass up crosses your Father’s desk your wishes are pushed aside. You are sent off to marry a King from a larger neighbouring kingdom, despite your protests.

Now you have to navigate a new land, people and a Husband who keeps his secrets far from your reach.

Pairing - King!Satoru Gojo x Queen!Reader

Content - Angst, a tiny bit of fluff if you squint, afab!reader, arranged marriage, court politics, historical setting, depressive symptoms, mentions of death, Gojo is down bad, reader is oblivious to Gojo’s feelings, it’s just a hot mess tbh

Word Count - 4.9k

A/N - your dad sucks, sorry about that

Chapter 1 - Marriage

“You are to be married in a month.”

The heavy history book falls from your hand onto the stone floor.

It is the only sound in the quiet sanctuary of the library. The sound echoes back from the shelves as you process the words just spoken to you. Staring at the cover of the book on the floor you try to grasp what was just said to you.

“Did-“ You suck in a deep shuddering breath, “-the King approve this?”

The servant looks at you with something akin to pity in his eyes. It swirls in the edges of his face and you hate it. 

You don’t want this man’s pity. 

You want this to be a mistake.

“Yes, your Highness.” His voice is soft and apologetic.

With a wave of your hand you send him away so you can properly break down. Only when you hear his footsteps receding, do you pick up the book you were wanting to read. Holding back tears you walk back through the book shelves.

You had been raised with intention, you were raised to inherit your Father’s kingdom.

It had been an almost unspoken promise. You were the first born and already did everything a Crown Prince would. You have studied history, military tactics, politics for years hoping for the day that your father would name you heir.

He was supposed to name you heir.

But now you are getting married to a man you don’t know and don’t want to know. All of your dreams shattered on the floor next to the dropped history book. You feel the tears prick your eyes. Grief for a future you will never get bubbles in your chest hot and thick like tar.

Sitting on a plush chair in between two bookshelves. You had always felt safe here even as a child. Your mother had always read here and after her death you had taken up her habit to cope. Now you wouldn’t have access to this place anymore.

Hot tears pour down your cheeks as you look out the small window to the courtyard. The beautiful wisteria garden that covers the whole left side of the castle looks so beautiful over here. Now it seems to not look as beautiful as before. 

The edges of your vision twinge with grey at the thought of your impending wedding.

In the carriage, that feels more like a jail cell, you gaze out the window. It is a day before you walk to your new lifelong shackle. Your future husband will keep you here for the rest of your life.

The rain is most fitting, you think, for this. As the people rejoice at your upcoming wedding you hope that lightening hits your future husband multiple times so he is dead by the time you get there. That would be a thing to rejoice about.

“You are very quiet, My Lady.” Pierre, your personal guard, says. He looks sad as he watches your gloomy expression. 

“I have nothing to say.” You say with a bite you didn’t mean. But don’t see any resentment for your remark, only sorrow, which you think is worse. 

The both of you know that this is the last time you will see each other. Once you enter the palace you will be the future Queen of another kingdom and no longer tied to your homeland. So he cannot come with you. The man who has watched over you since you were five now has to watch you leave your home in rage and despair.

Far too soon the carriage comes to a stop. You breathe in deeply as the end is near.

This may not be your death but it is an end of some kind

A knock is heard at the door. Pierre opens the carriage door and you see a guard with the colors of your new home. A quiet conversation goes on between both guards as you are helped out of the carriage. It is raining lightly but you don’t mind it. You let the rain splatter on your hair, face and dress. It is cleansing in a way for you. 

Your bags, which is not much, are taken into the large castle in front of you. The architecture is beautiful, sweeping arches and towers give it character. It is bigger than your home, maybe it will be more isolated that way. 

“My Lady.” A male voice says from just up ahead.

A man walks over to you with a kind smile. His clothes suggest high status and you resist the urge to bow in greeting. Many times you met nobles with almost the same rank with respect but as the future Queen you bow to no one but the King. His long black hair is tied up in a bun at the nape of his neck. 

“Hello.” You greet him as he bows at the waist.

“I am Duke Suguru Geto, I have been ordered by the King to show you around the grounds before the wedding.” He explains with an analysing glance.

You can tell that this man is trying to decide if you are a threat or not. Whether he was sent here or not, he is checking you out first before the King. But you know this all too well from your previous dealings with nobles. They send someone of lesser status out first to test the person on how they react.

But if you are right, the King should be watching you as well. Looking up into the many windows you see a figure of a man staring down at you. He moves when you look but you see him nonetheless.

“Lead the way.” You say after returning your eyes to Geto. He just smiles pleasantly and ushers you into the castle.

Because of the sprinkle that soon turns into a downpour, Geto just shows you the inside of the castle, which is beautiful but so different then your old home. This place feels hollow, the blue and white scheme gives it a cold feel. It feels devoid of any warmth and love until your home.

You miss the vibrant gold colors of your homeland. 

Once the tour is over he leads you to the set of rooms intended to be yours. They are even barer than the rest of the castle. No tapestries or decorations of any kind.

“We wanted to let you choose how you want the Queen’s hall to look like.” Geto says to you, sensing your discontent with the blank sheet in front of you. 

“Thank you.” You utter, it is quiet and you don’t even know if you mean it.

The sound of heels clicking against marble floors gets your attention. A girl of about 18 walks over to Geto and bows to you.

“This is Riko Amanai, a personal maid for you. Once you are married you will have free reign to choose your own staff but for now she will be helping you.” Geto explains to you, the same analysing gaze in his eyes as you nod.

“Nice to meet you, Your Majesty!” She chirps cheerfully as she stands up.

You give her a small smile, “Nice to meet you as well and thank you.”

She blinks at you, confused, “There is no need to thank me! I am happy to serve you!”

“Can you show me to my room?” You say, relenting. 

She smiles and leads you to the room given to you. You both leave Geto behind but you don’t feel too bad since you have seen ever other part of this place except for where you sleep. It has been a long day and you want to relax in the comfort of your own room.

The room is fully furnished and the colors that fill it are gold and green. It reminds you of home. The room is bigger than yours at home, you could fit at least two lengths of your previous room in here and still have room. A grand fire place is on the far wall and a set of chairs and a couch surround it. 

“Is it to your liking?” Riko asks you at the door as you explore the room.

“Yes.” You say, trying to tamp down the anger rising in your gut.

It isn’t the room and she doesn’t deserve your anger. None of the staff deserve your rage at your situation so you keep your biting remarks to yourself. Your anger you will reserve for your future husband.

The day of the wedding you are woken up at 5 am to begin to get ready. You think it is ridiculous as the numerous maids fuss and fawn over you for hours. They rub lavender and rose scented oils into your skin and hair. Each of them have big smiles on their faces as they congratulate you on your wedding. But your blank expression doesn’t escape their eyes so they change their tune, telling that at least your husband will be kind to you and is handsome. 

Multiple times you send them outside so you can cry in peace. When they come back each time they don’t acknowledge your tear stained face, only give you looks of concern.

Riko is surprisingly helpful despite her young age. She commands the maids with authority and lets you have a break when you need it. You thank her multiple times for it. That seems to make her uncomfortable but you do it anyway. If you are forced to stay here for the rest of your life then you might as well have a few good people next to you.

They help you into the wedding dress, which is too much for you. It has too much fabric, four maids have to hold the train. The shape and style is beautiful but you know that if people weren’t helping you you would have been lost in trying to get it on. You feel like a child in her mother’s clothes.

When they are done you stare at your reflection in the mirror. You look like a completely different person. They have done their job well, the makeup brings out your best features and in any other situation you would marvel at it. Your hair is styled up and away from your face in an intricate style.

But the make up, hair and dress don’t hide the dread in your eyes or the deep set frown on your lips.

Walking down the long cathedral is the hardest thing you have ever done. People line the path with bright smiles. If you could you would have run back up the aisle, you would have kept running until you could breathe again.

You try to calm yourself down as you near the altar you spot your family. They have neutral expressions on their faces. For a moment you lock eyes with your Father. His eyes are cold and distant as he stares back at you. You beg him to stop this with your eyes. He could call this off and take you home. But he looks on like he never saw your expression.

All the sadness thick in your chest turns into molten rage. How dare he sell you off to a man you don’t know for a few trade routes and some coal. You can’t stand to look at him, after years of looking up to him and his silent promises to let you rule he has finally shown his true colors.

When your eyes look ahead again you are at the altar.

Your future husband stands with his hands clasped in front of him. He looks almost nervous as he watches you ascend the stairs. Even when you are at the altar you still have to look up at him. He is as handsome as the maids said. 

You have only truly met Satoru Gojo once. 

It had been at a ball years before he became King. You were only sixteen at the time. He, of course, had attracted attention with his looks and the young daughters of the nobles all vied for his attention. No matter where he went a trail of young ladies followed him. You had thought that it was hilarious to watch him try to get away from them.

Later you wanted some air and went out on one of the balconies. You saw him out there, leaning against the balcony, the moon shone on his white hair as he looked out. He looked beautiful then, not having to play the act of the flippant Crown Prince. Noticing you he turns around quickly. You watch as the mask that just a moment ago was gone returns in full force.

“Oh! I didn’t know anyone would be out here.” You said, trying to let him know that you didn’t follow him out there.

“It is alright My Lady. I am just taking a break from the festivities.” He said as you approached him. Gojo watched you carefully as you leaned on the railing and looked out.

“I am doing the same,” You admitted turning to look at him, “And don’t worry, I am not going to beg you for a dance.”

Gojo basically slumped over in relief and you giggled at him. He resumed his position a second later, leaned on the rail next to you. But this time he was staring at you. 

“Has anyone told you that it is rude to stare?” You teased him and he blinked in surprise.

“Actually, no one has before.” He admitted sheepishly.

“Well I am honoured to be the first Prince Gojo.” You said with a smile. 

You both had talked for a while about everything and nothing. Eventually you had to go but you promised him that you would help him avoid the women at the next ball. He had laughed and said that he would take you up on the offer.

Now years later you don’t know him now, well you never really knew him before. You can only just hope that he will be kind to you.

After the vows are said the festivities start. A big party is thrown to celebrate your wedding. Because both of your kingdoms are bigger than most, the ballroom is crowded with all types of people. You don’t really participate, sitting in your throne next to Gojo’s. Not many approach you, too scared off by your cold expression. It feels so isolating to see everyone laugh and talk amongst themselves as you stare from the dias. 

Gojo tries to make conversation with you a few times but each time it is cut off swiftly. You give him short, blunt answers to each question. He looks confused at your mood and that makes you even more angry than before. Of course he doesn’t understand how you feel, he has a choice in this, you didn’t. He eventually gives up and goes to mingle with the others.

At one point during the party your father walks up to the dais. It is bold for how he has treated you for the past month since he sold you. You glare down at him coldly as he bows to you. 

“My beloved daughter, how happy I am to see you on this blessed day.” He says as he stands back up.

“I am happy that you find today joyful.” You return, practically spitting out the word joyful.

He doesn’t even flinch or show any other emotion, just pure apathy. 

“Now, please remember your new status daughter. It is not one easily won.” He states the threat plain in his voice.

‘I got you this position. Don’t mess this up for me.’

“I hope you enjoy the rest of your night.” You dismiss him. There is a flicker of rage in his eyes as you dismiss him. He turns on his heel and storms away.

Halfway through the night your maids get you and get you ready for your wedding night. You feel so tired as they attend to you. The day has drained you. You just want to sleep and not think about what will happen next. You have heard about wedding nights and how hard they are. But you know that you won’t be able to avoid this.

They put you in a short blue dress and a long white robe. You wrap the robe around yourself, trying to find some semblance of warmth in the large unfamiliar room. Sitting on the bed you dismiss the maids. They look at one another with looks of pity for you. 

Over the course of the day they have grasped the situation and try to make this as easy for you emotionally as possible. You can’t thank them enough for all of their help and companionship. Back home you had preferred to do everything yourself, it was easier that way and you liked it that way. But maybe their help would not be so bad here.

The door creaks open slowly as Gojo slips into the room. His legs are a bit wobbly as he enters, most likely from the wine. Carefully he shuts the door behind him as stares at you. His blue eyes trace your face gently, almost reverently. 

“Let’s get this over with.” You say and shift so you are sitting on the bed. 

Gojo blinks at you in confusion, “What?”

You close your eyes with a sigh.

“The consummation. I am tired and want to sleep.” You say, letting the unspoken emotions slip into your voice.

“If you are tired we don’t have-“ He starts but you cut him off.

“No, you paid for this so let’s just do this so I can sleep. Unless you want me to beg for it.” You say, irritated that he wants to drag this out.

“Paid for? I didn’t pay for you.” He says with a furrow to his brows.

“The trade routes on the border between our countries, the coal and iron you gave us were the bride price or do you not remember what deal you made?” You explain to him as if you were explaining it to a child.

“I made a deal with your Father for your hand but I didn’t buy you.” Gojo says and walks closer to the bed.

“Oh really? If you didn’t buy me then why didn’t I have a say in this?” You ask him and he flinches hard.

All of the anger and frustration you had built up over the past month comes bubbling to the surface. 

“Do you know how hard it is to be told that you are going to be married to someone you hardly know? To have your whole plan for your life thrown out because your father found a man’s offer better than your own opinion?”

Tears stream down your face as you let him have all the pent up emotions you have felt for a month now.

Gojo just stares blankly at you as you rage and that only enrages you more. 

“Maybe you should take other people’s opinions into the matter instead of just yours!”

Gojo watches as you cry on the bed. He looks almost lost, like he doesn’t know where to begin with you. But you see genuine remorse and sorrow in his eyes. That hurts more than what he has done. It makes your empathy kick in and makes you want to apologise for your outburst. 

“I- I will go.” He says and rushes out of the room leaving you alone with your guilt and despair.

Satoru Gojo walks through the walls of his castle quickly. He doesn’t know where he is going but he is outrunning his suffocating guilt. The look on your face will haunt him for the rest of his days. He never wanted to do that to you. 

When he first became king he had wanted to improve the relations his country had with others. His father had been a conqueror. He had pushed the borders and boundaries of other countries and even overthrown a few. So Satoru’s goal was to attend to his people instead of trying to push outside of his borders 

And after a year he wanted to have a partner to help him with his goal. His mind kept drifting back to you and that night all those years ago. He does go back to that night a lot but even more so around that time. The way you treated him as a person and not a sparkly prop for someone’s day dream, the way you handled your subjects have always caught his eye. If he could envision anyone by his side it would be you. 

It had taken him a couple days to gather the courage to write to your Father. A response came within the week and they began talking about the bride price. Gojo had asked in his letter if you had been okay with this but your father had assured him that you were okay with it.

So when you had told him that he bought you it felt like his world was crashing down. He now sees why you were the way you were all night. He had chalked it up to you being nervous and tired but he should have known better.

Gojo opens the door to his office and walks into the dark room. Walking up to the desk he just decides to sleep here tonight so that he doesn’t bother you. He turns on the lamp with a sigh and stares at the paperwork he had put off since it was his wedding day.

“What are you doing in here?” Suguru says from the doorway, leaning in the doorway. His jacket is slightly askew and Satoru can see the wine induced flush to his cheeks. 

“She didn’t agree to the marriage.” Satoru says plainly, taking his head into his hands.

“What?” Suguru says, disbelief in his voice.

“I have trapped her into this marriage and she is miserable here.” He says. 

They sit there in silence for a while. 

“I will make sure that she doesn’t see me.” Satoru says, lifting his head up to look Suguru in the eyes. “Make sure she has anything she needs- no matter how expensive.”

The morning after no one comes to wake you up at eight so you sleep in. You curl around a pillow in the too large bed and think about last night. At first you were angry, now you feel depressed. You feel like Atlas holding the sky, you can’t get out of this bed.

Around noon a knock comes at the door. You don’t want to answer but Riko’s voice talks softly to you through the door.

“My Lady? It is almost midday and I wanted to see if you needed anything.” She says but it is muffled through the door.

When you don’t answer she opens the door and walks in. You lift your head to look at her. Riko’s face immediately turns to concern. She walks to you and puts a hand on your cheek, running a thumb under your red eyes. You lean into the touch.

“I need you to eat My Lady. Is there anything in particular you would like?” She asks you, her concerned eyes searching yours for any reason as to why you were like this.

“No.” You say and your voice is hoarse from not being used and not drinking water. She just nods and walks out to get you food. 

About half an hour later she is back with food. You only pick at it for a while, taking a small bite here and there. Riko watches you carefully, trying to gauge whether you just don’t like the dish or if it is something else.

“Is there anything else you would like, My Lady?” She says when she takes your empty plate. 

An idea comes to your mind, “Do you have a library here?”

Her face lights up.

“Yes! We have a huge library.” She says excitedly, “Would you like to go?”

“That would be wonderful Riko.” You say and get out of bed. She helps you into a dress. It feels so restrictive but you bear with it. 

The walk to the library is long but Riko’s idle conversation fills the space between you. She tells you about her life and asks you questions about yours to get you out of your shell. You tell her about the large wisteria garden that your mother helped to cultivate. She nods a bit wide eyed as you tell her how large it is.

When you get to the door Riko opens it to reveal the biggest library you have ever seen. The library back home was large but this one is two stories full of books. Large windows illuminate the space and give it a bigger feel. Riko leads you through the shelves.

You have lived most of your life in the library back home and you still miss it but this is a beautiful place. You will use this place often.

“What books do you like?” She asks as you look around. 

“Almost any. I have read books about any subject that I can get my hands on.” You tell her, some light returning to your face for a moment.

“Amazing!” Riko says with childlike enthusiasm.

The two of you walk over to the section that has history books in it.

“Well, since I live here I should know your history.” You say and reach for a history book. You also grab a few more by different authors so you get an unbiased account.

Next you walk to the romance section. A good romance book will balance out the pile of history books you have. You run your hands over the covers, relishing in the textures of the spines. Your eye catches on a smaller book with a light purple spine. There is not the regular gold lettering on the spine so it peaks your interest.

Carefully you pull it out and study the blank purple cover. Usually there is a title or something but it is completely blank. When you open the cover you see two initials on the inside left side. 

H.G.

The handwriting is elegant and loopy. You run your hand over it, trying to decipher the letters. Shutting the book you put it on the pile that you have in your arms. 

“Do you need me to hold those, My Lady?” Riko says, a bit frantic.

“I got them!” You reassure her and put a romance novel on the pile.

It looks interesting, a knight falling in love with a princess after escorting her to her betrothed. You have always been a sucker for a good love story.

Over the next week you settle in. It is easier than you had imagined. You had imagined that you would be too depressed and angry to do anything but that isn’t true.

In this last week you have studying the history and the geography of your new country. Even if you don’t want to be here you don’t want to take it out on the people. You want to do a good job in your new role.

Riko is a big help. She helps you decorate the Queen’s chambers and the hall. You both decided on bright greens and silvers for the color scheme. It makes you feel at home and Riko seems to adore the color silver so you slip some in to make her happy. 

The head maid had asked if you wanted another personal maid but you had turned her down. You were far too attached to her to have someone else take her place.

One problem is that not once this week have you seen Gojo. You want to apologise for your outburst but you haven’t heard a whisper of the man all week. It would be impressive if it wasn’t infuriating. You don’t want to ask after him in case he doesn’t want to see you.

But as the first ball of the season approaches you can’t sit idly by. 

When a Queen is not approved of by a King, rumours spread like wildfire. The people will try to discredit anything you do and for you to rule successfully you need to be able to do your job. So you need to make a truce with your Husband so that this can work.

You walk down the halls of the west wing of the castle with Riko behind you. She looks nervous as you approach Gojo’s office. You give her a reassuring smile which doesn’t really work because she still fiddles with her sleeves. Knocking on the door you breathe deeply. 

“Come in!” A voice says from inside the room and you open the door.

Gojo looks startled behind his desk as you breeze into the room, the image of composed. He blinks in surprise as you approach his desk. You almost want to laugh at his dumbfounded expression but hold in your laughter.

“Husband.” You say in greeting.

If you looked closer you would have noticed the hitch in his breath as you called out to him. 

“Wife.” Gojo responds to you, looking you over.

A tense air falls over the room as the two of you stare at one another. The other people in the room seem to find the floors very interesting at the moment and you don’t blame them. Taking a deep breath you speak,

“I would like to speak to you alone.”

Gojo looks like he would be more comfortable if you set him on fire. 

He looks so wildly uncomfortable that you feel maybe you should just leave but he dismisses the other people in the room. You hear at least two sighs of relief as they exit, leaving you two alone for the first time since your wedding night.

“What would you-“ He clears his throat nervously, “-like to talk to me about?”

“The first ball of the season is coming up. I need us to put aside our differences and act like we are at least on good terms.” You explain to him, not bothering with small talk. “Your approval will be necessary for me to do my job as Queen.”

He contemplates this for a moment before nodding, “I can do that.”

“Good!” You say, happy to get that off of your mind. “I will see you in two days then.”

Gojo nods and you lose the motivation to say anything else. His quietness has all the words you wish to say die on your tongue.

“I will leave you then.” You say goodbye and walk out of the room. 

Shutting the door behind you you sigh in relief. Riko is waiting for you outside and rushes over after you begin to walk from the door. She gently asks questions about your conversation, trying to understand the situation but you keep it under wraps. 

As much as you trust and enjoy her company, you can risk putting your situation in jeopardy.

Tag list - @tenaciousavenueavenue @hyori2 @joyfulweaselbananapanda

[calder]

In every mainline Fallout game except for New Vegas, players can earn the loyalty of a dog known as “Dogmeat.” As part of the main quest of Fallout 4, Dogmeat assists in tracking down the antagonist, even if the player has never encountered him before. When you leave Kellogg’s home, Nick simply starts talking about Dogmeat as if he’s a known quantity.

Perhaps related to this quirk of the world, Dogmeat is first named in this game when the clairvoyant Mama Murphy recognizes him and addresses him by name. The game’s UI calls him “DOG” until he is recognized by Valentine or Murphy. It seems clear that this german shepherd is somehow an independent agent with a good reputation, or something.

Dogmeat does not have a loyalty quest associated with him, which is how the player would earn the other companions’ perks. However, upon finding Astoundingly Awesome Tales #9 within the Institute, Dogmeat becomes more resistant to damage. While this isn’t coherent or conclusive evidence of Dogmeat being a synth, it’s plainly prompting the audience to consider that idea. In light of these factors, his origins have been fiercely debated among the community.

The skeptics and “hard sci-fi” fans out there would have you believe that he’s merely a famous stray dog who solves crimes. But I believe there's something more remarkable at work.

There's a section in the Fallout 2 instruction book called the Vault Dweller's Memoirs, where the player character of the first game recounts what canonically happened. Due to Fallout’s famously terrible companion AI, if you travelled to Mariposa with Dogmeat, he would consistently run into the force fields and get vaporized. So, in the Memoirs, we learn that this is exactly what became of Dogmeat Prime, in canon. He loyally sprinted into a wall of solid light, and disappeared. What if our buddy simply awoke in a new, confusing place?

In Fallout 2, Dogmeat must be found at the Cafe of Broken Dreams, which is explicitly a liminal space. It appears randomly to travellers in the desert. The NPCs within are frozen in time, such as a young version of President Tandi, who mentions that Ian went to “the Abbey,” an area cut from the game. To gain Dogmeat’s trust, the Chosen One must equip the Vault Dweller’s V-13 jumpsuit, which Dogmeat recognizes as belonging to his dead master. You can also attack him to spawn Mad Max, who claims ownership of the dog. Max fits the description of Dogmeat's original owner given in Fallout.

There’s also the “puppies” perk in Fallout 3, which enables you to restore Dogmeat, in the event of his death. “Dogmeat’s puppy” inherits his base and ref ids. In other words, they ARE the same NPC, just renamed. So, the way this actually articulates is that whenever Dogmeat dies in combat, you can find him waiting for you back at Vault 101. In practice, it’s almost Bombadilian.

Lastly, please consider the following developer context.

In June of 2021, the dog who performed Dogmeat’s motion capture and voice for Fallout 4 passed away. A statue of her was placed outside of every Vault in the China-exclusive sequel to Fallout Shelter. She still watches over each player.

River's owner, developer Joel Burgess, honored her in a brief thread about her involvement in the game, and shared much about his thought process and design goals while leading the character’s development. The Dogmeat project changed course early on, after Mr. Joel saw a new member of the art team gathering references of snarling German Shepherds. This motivated him to bring River into the studio, so the artists and developers could spend time with her.

He wanted to steer the team away from viewing Dogmeat as a weapon, and towards viewing him as a friend. Everything special about Dogmeat was inspired by River. For example, whenever you travel with Dogmeat, he’s constantly running ahead of you to scout for danger, then turning to wait for you. This was inspired by River’s consistent behavior on long walks. The only way they were able to motivate River to bark for recordings was by separating her from Joel while he waited in the next room. Reading the thread, it’s very clear that he hoped Dogmeat would make players feel safe, encouraging them to explore, and to wonder. In his closing thoughts, he said the following:

-Joel Burgess

Mr. Joel felt it was important to express that the ambiguity of Dogmeat’s origin in Fallout 4 was deliberately built into his presentation. He also felt it was important that you know Dogmeat loves you. Dogmeat was designed, on every level, to reflect the audience’s inspirations, and to empower their curiosity.

The true lore of Dogmeat is a rorschach test. The only “right” answer is to pursue whatever captures your imagination.

[dollvls3]

aglaja asteroid (47) in the houses

the asteroid Aglaja (43) is named after one the Three Graces from greek mythology. Splendor, Glory, and Beauty. Her mythology revolves around the idea of radiant charm, elegance and an aura of harmony, often tied to the beauty of spirit and physical grace.

aglaja in 1st house

aglaja in 1st house, they carry themselves with elegance and possess an alluring personality that naturally attracts others. their outward appearance and demeanor exude beauty. their presence lights up any room, and their personal style reflects an eye for aesthetics. they have a desire to be admired for their grace, beauty — whether physical, intellectual or emotional. these individuals may also struggle from insecurities if they don’t meet their standards for their appearance or personal conduct.

aglaja in 2nd house

aglaja in 2nd house, these individuals have an appreciation for luxury, quality and beauty in material. these people are often drawn to art, jewelry, or other beautiful objects that resonate with their taste. they can earn money through their creativity and artistic pursuits, like design, beauty related industries, and luxurious goods. their sense of value is tied to aesthetics. remember not to overspend on beautiful but unnecessary items or overly associating your self worth with financial success.

aglaja in 3rd house

aglaja in 3rd house, natural storytellers, writers and communicators. their words carry a unique charm, they speak with beauty and elegance. they use their way of words to uplift others and to bring light into intellectual exchanges. they express themselves through writing, speaking, or teaching. these individuals may need to learn to balance honesty and their charm, to communicate with others authentically rather than trying to please others.

aglaja in 4th house

aglaja in 4th house, places that feel like home are their haven, they often feel compelled to create a space filled with their personal aesthetic, peaceful and harmonious. they may excel in interior design or may have a special talent to form warm and inviting environments. these natives could look at family relationships through in idealized lens, often wanting to maintain and keep balance at home. this can make these natives peacemakers but also prone to suppressing deeper family issues. these natives could also inherit artistic talents.

aglaja in 5th house

aglaja in 5th house, this is the best placement for aglaja. It expands natives artistic talents, romantic creativity, and the ability to channel beauty into all forms of self expression. they are highly romantic and passionate that reflects elegance and mutual admiration. If these natives have kids/ or want kids they can be very connected to their children. avoid perfectionism in artistic pursuits, beauty also lies in imperfection.

aglaja in 6th house

aglaja in 6th house, work places are transformed by these natives, their refinement and organizational skills. they could be drawn to jobs in fashion, beauty related or any type of artistic pursuits. they often approach health with a balanced mindset, they could enjoy practices like yoga🧘‍♀️, holistic healing or any mindful pursuits to align body and soul. remember to not get caught up striving for perfect in every detail.

aglaja in 7th house

aglaja in 7th house, relationships are the center to their sense of balance and grace. they look for partners who share their appreciation for aesthetics and emotional harmony, often attracting creative people. these natives shine in collaboration where beauty, diplomacy and artistic vision is needed. they could meet partners through creative or cultural activities. these natives may need learn to address challenges and conflicts rather than avoiding them.

aglaja in 8th house

aglaja in 8th house natives find beauty in transformative processes, including deep emotional experiences, intimacy and even themes like death or rebirth. these individuals exude a subtle, powerful allure that others may find intoxicating. their charm lies in their ability to negative deep, emotional states with grace.

aglaja in 9th house

aglaja in 9th house, these individuals are drawn to exploring beauty through philosophy, art, and cultural understanding. they find grace in traveling and experiences in foreign land. these natives tend to become a big inspiration for others (ex: marylin monroe taurus aglaja in 9th house) they often blend their creativity with their wisdom. they seek harmony in their beliefs, finding beauty in religion, spirituality or anything they strongly believe in.

aglaja in 10th house

aglaja in 10th house, these individuals are known for their elegance and charm in public settings. they often excel in careers tied to beauty and art, becoming admired figures in their field of work. they like to keep a refined and polished public image, people often see them as role models. they leave behind a strong first impression making it hard for people to forget them and inspiring others. these natives should avoid becoming to obsessed with appearance and public perception.

aglaja in 11th house

aglaja in 11th house, they bring elegance and harmony to group settings and are often involved in artistic or humanitarian causes. their friendships may revolve around shared love, beauty, and creative ideas and collaboration. they inspire others with their ideas and may play a key role in bringing people together for a common goal.

aglaja in 12th house

aglaja in 12th house, their connection to beauty and grace comes deep within their subconscious. they may receive inspiration through dreams, meditation or spiritual practices. they find healing and connection to the divine through art or other creative outlets. their grace often shows behind the scenes or in ways other people may not immediately see.

[meanbossart]

How did Du Drow’s personality and behavior change after turning away from Bhaal and losing his urges?

Very minimally, really. His personality changes most dramatically throughout the course of the campaign, but it's gradual enough a process that it shouldn't feel that way, at least.

Barring the standoffish-ness that he starts with (which I think is an understandable reaction to losing all of your memories and suddenly being in a life-or-death situation with a bunch of strangers) DU drow starts off as a person who isn't interested in anyone's well-being but his own, nor is he invested in anybody's story or their outcome. Everything he does is in the interest of his own survival or personal, subjective ethics (saving Arabella because she's an individual child in distress- not saving the tieflings in act 2 because they've served their purpose and he doesn't care for them as a group). He's charming, and even polite, but he makes it very transparent that he doesn't care for the happiness or comfort of others.

By act 2, he finds himself with people to care about and whose goals he's invested in - he kills Yurgir so Astarion can get his answer from Raphael even though he thinks it's an objectively dumb idea. He helps Shadowheart fullfil Shar's trials despite the fact that her religion seems like absolute nonsense to him - he wants to make these people happy when there is nothing in it for him., and that's absolutely novel. He's also a slightly warmer person by then who is friendly to, like, half of the party.

By act 3, he's been inspired by Shadowheart's rebellion and is kind of mirroring that in his own way. He enjoys occasionally helping refugees in the outskirts of the city if for no other reason than to go against the grain - he develops a bit of a "fuck the rich" and a Stick It To The Man attitude that I think is inherit to the man that he is, and harkens back to his forgotten days of living-rough as a youth; when he would only enter cities to thieve or collect supplies and looked at the more privilege sects of society as weak and pompous. He lets Yenna into camp after she shows up because dude just loves an urchin, he tries to free the prisoners from the Iron throne and then help out the slaves at the Steel Watch Foundry, he gets Minsc back to afford Jaheira some peace of mind and doesn't hesitate to refuse his father's gift.

Besides Shadowheart's and Astarion's stories, I think learning that the bloodlust he thrived in was imposed upon him rather than organically acquired was what most sent DU drow into an identity crisis. The idea of doing things against his will unbeknownst to himself, or of being a pawn in an authority figure's game, is something that brought him equal amounts of shame and anger. It also triggers him to want to get in touch with the less violent side of himself - since, supposedly, that was actually all him - and leads him to want to do the best by all of his party members (to mixed results, considering Karlach's and Gale's fates) and establish the depth of his existing relationships.

...Ironically, I think being killed by Bhaal and then resurrected by Withers led him to slightly stray off that path of improvement. I mean, the TRUE evil's been banished! Now he can stop feeling guilt and shame and worry and just live his life COMPLETELY free from critical thought! Literally the first thing that he does upon waking up is declare that he's cured, and then announce that he's a blank slate - he isn't, and we all know that.

DU drow then proceeds to be confused as to why he still enjoys murder and mayhem for like 2 months, until Shadowheart and Astarion gently knock some sense into him (not by dissuading him from enjoying murder and mayhem - but recognizing that that's a part of him that wouldn't go away at the simple snap of a bony finger, and an urge that he has full control over.) Naturally, what Wither's did also did his invincibility complex no favors.

So... He really is kind of the same. He is slightly more in-touch with his own empathy and open to the pleasures of life, but his base personality has remained pretty intact - I would say he turns out to be what that young, lanky forest cryptid would have been all along, had Bhaal never entered the mix.

[beeftony]

I want to talk about the guillotine scene for a minute because one, that’s an incredibly goth artistic move in a series that already features characters who pattern themselves after Victorian-era dolls and use Latin names for everything, but also because it solidified Nyamu as the surprise standout of this show for me.

The scene serves as a multi-layered metaphor, with Minami Mori acting as the mother in the play who warned her daughter against straying from the plan she had for her life, which resulted in said daughter getting publicly executed. On one level Nyamu sees the death of her career after, as Minami pointed out in an earlier episode, she was too scared to take the hand up that was extended to her because she doubted her own abilities after seeing Mutsumi’s natural talent.

But what makes this a key moment in Nyamu’s character arc is that she also sees how that conversation where Minami revealed her true face was just a taste of how Mutsumi has been treated her entire life. Her own mother resented her daughter’s natural talent so much that she never let Mutsumi think of it as hers, only something she inherited, resulting in a fragmented sense of self that further exacerbated her existing Dissociative Identity Disorder, to the point where “Mutsumi-chan” died, and Mortis’ crude imitation of her only puts a bad taste in Nyamu’s mouth.

But later, she makes it clear that she doesn’t blame Mutsumi for others’ envy of her, telling her “愛してる” (ai shiteru), which is the most intimate way to say “I love you” in Japanese (and getting me fully on board with a new ship in the process). Minami told Nyamu she wouldn’t survive in the industry if she was too afraid to put herself up against people of Mutsumi’s caliber. The mother on stage laments that if only her daughter had followed the plan laid out for her, she would have the love and admiration of the people. But Nyamu sees that if they follow that path, both of them will be on the chopping block either way.

Watching the play galvanizes Nyamu into action, and she sweeps up all the broken pieces of the band and tells Sakiko that they gave her their lives, and she’s responsible for that now no matter what. She helps Uika get off her ass, she helps Mutsumi believe she belongs, and she kicks her own imposter syndrome right in the nuts (Umiri was already motivated and doesn’t require her help).

She loves it. She hates it. But she can’t, she won’t look away anymore. And that’s what later inspires Mortis to find the part of herself that she lost.

[rholsof-film]

Krittika & Jennifer’s Body

*Updated*

Krittika Nakshatra:

Aries: 26°40' to 30°00' - Taurus: 0°00' to 10°00'

Sheep Yoni🐑

“A Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing”

Jennifer’s Body takes on a heavy Krittika theme—as the representative of this nak is the innocent sheep yoni. However, the fundamental themes of this nakshatra are opposite of innocent. The themes are sacrifice, renewal, and transformation; In this case Jennifer is the sacrificed sheep for the selfish greed of a band trying to have their chance at fame. Much in a biblical context lamb/sheep, and goat are sacrificial in order to come into a state of renewal and transformation. Making way for the new state of mind, body and soul.

Krittika is to cut, burn and purify, it’s a fundamental hunter as well—Kartikeya being born from Krittika is a metaphysical hunter/warrior. These natives are the untamable but love the game of being a hunter taming their prey. Jennifer Check, played by Megan Fox, who is a Krittika sun native is very much “a wolf in sheep’s clothing”. I believe that is another key theme of this nakshatra that is not often talked about enough. They are often underestimated in the beginning given their image of innocence. Just simmered down to being a seducer but no one ever goes more in depth about Krittika’s ways and how they work and think.

Low Shoulder travels to Devil’s Kettle to put on a mini show as a coverup to their sacrificial ritual. When they lock into their victim Jennifer, they assume she’s this innocent virgin that has no experience sexually, which is vital for their ritual. However, she isn’t a virgin and when she is sacrificed violently, she’s brought back to life. Renewed in a transformative way as a succubus. I must note that during Low Shoulder’s show, the bar burns down and there are dozens of casualties that aren’t accounted for. Krittika burns to create and make room for the new.

As Jennifer embraces her new life as a succubus, her friend Needy begins to notice that many of the boys from school are mysteriously disappearing. Since there are no secrets between close friends, Jennifer eventually confesses the truth about what happened to her that fateful night—revealing that a part of her died in the process. There is a state of darkness within Krittika's transformation, a spiritual death. Now, to survive and maintain her vitality, she must live differently. This journey mirrors Krittika’s process of purification, which I believe is the ultimate granter of beauty. For Jennifer, feeding on boys is the price she pays to sustain her vibrance and magnetic allure.

Krittika’s relation to the birth of the masculine also connects to Jennifer only targeting boys. Although, I like to think it’s because she favors the feminine more and it feeds into her liberation for woman. Jennifer and Needy’s relationship is also homoerotic and I talk about Krittika and queerness more in a different post that you can check out in my tag.

When Jennifer sets her sights on Chip, Needy’s boyfriend, their friendship reaches a breaking point. This betrayal forces Needy to confront Jennifer, ultimately leading to Jennifer’s elimination.

After killing Jennifer, Needy inherits the unique abilities of the succubus—strength, levitation, and heightened aggression. This mirrors Krittika’s archetypal traits: immense power coupled with the challenge of balancing intense emotions.

We see this transformation unfold throughout the movie, particularly at its climax. In the beginning, Needy is in jail struggling with her emotions. This foreshadows her punishment for murdering Jennifer and inheriting her new abilities. However, by the end, she channels her newfound strength to take down the band Low Shoulder in a brutal and cathartic hotel murder. Bringing full closure to the events that started it all. All transformative and inherent to Krittika’s nature.

*Updated Version*