#<- I feel like I already have 3 different tags like this for my ramblings

[popcornkwantum]

Dndads names and why I won't steal them for myself

Starting of strong with: Henry. Beautiful. Wonderful. I feel like other people have a different mental image of someone called Henry tho, but it's almost near perfection. Might also fit better with someone a bit older than me

Darryl. Never heard of the name before listening to DnDads. Don't think that Dutch people will pronouns or spell it correctly (including myself when I realized I have spelled it wrong this whole time until I checked it specifically for this post)

Ron. No offense to all the Rons out there, but no thanks. Sounds a bit too old. Also, I know a Ron

Glenn. If rock music would have been my personality. Also, Dutch pronunciation sounds awful

Taylor. Too many people associate it with the real Taylor Swift obviously. Would have been a considerable choice otherwise

Lincoln. Actually, I like the sound of the the name. Not for myself probably, but it sounds nice. I hate the spelling tho

Scary. No.

Normal. Absolutely not

Hermie. I absolutely love this name. But then I would want to have Hermie as a nickname and Herman as the full name, but in my understanding, the name Herman in Dutch is mostly popular with middle-aged emotionally distant men. But Hermie sounds so good aaaah

Terry. Pretty solid. Don't see it for myself, but it has something going for it

Sparrow & Lark. Same reason: if I would have been into birds as much as I'm into ants, I would have definitely stolen one of their names. Probably with a preference for Sparrow. A tiny bit sad that I'm not into birds that much

Grant. Nah. Also, Dutch pronunciation is awful. Kinda funny, but awful

Nick. No cons at all?? I love it??? It's PERFECTION. You can even go with Nicholas as a full name and use both Nick and Nicky as nicknames and !! I don't know anyone irl with that name, the most famous person with that name I can come up with is the character Nick from heartstopper, but I like the books, so I don't mind? Nick is just chefs kiss to perfection. But also, I can't keep collecting names like a dragon hoarding gold. But they're just all like tiny little shiny jewels I want to keep in my pockets

[cressidagrey]

White Horse - Chapter 18: May 2024 - Part 3

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 apartment smelled like raspberries the moment they opened the door.

Belle blinked. “Do you… smell cake?”

Max grinned. “I wasn’t the only one who remembered.”

“Max,” came a voice from the kitchen. “If you let her cry in an elevator last night and didn’t bring her back to a full-blown party, I will break your nose.”

Emilie.

She stepped into the room holding a knife in one hand and a bouquet in the other, a dishtowel slung over her shoulder like some kind of aggressively nurturing chaos fairy.

“Oh my god,” Belle whispered, stunned.

There were balloons—floating near the windows, tethered in groups of gold and pink and white. A stack of wrapped gifts sat near the sofa, all tagged with labels like “Open when you want to feel dangerous” and “This one is soft because you deserve softness.” A cake—raspberry, of course—sat on the dining table, frosted with piped lettering that read “HAPPY BIRTHDAY BELLE.”

Max just closed the door behind them and kissed the top of Belle’s head as she stared, speechless.

Emilie crossed the room, shoved the flowers into Max’s hands, and pulled Belle into a full-body hug that somehow said I love you, I see you, and I will never let this happen again all at once.

“You’re early,” Belle whispered.

“I’m me,” Emilie said. “Of course I’m early. Of course I brought gifts. And of course I brought lunch, because I knew you two wouldn’t eat anything but adrenaline and each other today.”

Belle laughed—actually laughed—and Emilie pulled back just enough to study her face.

Then her eyes dropped.

“…What is that?” she asked, already grabbing Belle’s hand.

The ring glinted in the light. Emerald. Gold. Hers.

Emilie shrieked.

“You didn’t!”

Belle smiled. “He did.”

Max, very smug and still holding the flowers like a schoolboy in love, nodded. “She said yes.”

Emilie let out an actual squeal, tackled Belle in another hug, and then pointed the cake knife at Max.

“I’m planning the engagement party. You don’t get a vote.”

“Fair,” Max said, amused.

Belle just stood there, blinking back another round of tears. But they were different now.

Not the kind you cried because you were forgotten.

The kind you cried because someone—multiple someones—never stopped remembering.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Emilie squeezed her hand. “Always.”

***

The dishes were still in the sink. Balloons floated lazily near the ceiling. Emilie had slipped out with a wink and a leftover box of cake, promising to return with champagne and chaos “once you’ve finished your romantic post-engagement spiral.”

The apartment was quiet again.

Max and Belle were curled up on the couch, legs tangled, her head resting on his chest. One of the cats was asleep on the windowsill. The other had made a throne of the discarded wrapping paper pile.

Max's fingers moved gently through her hair. “So,” he said, voice soft. “What kind of wedding do you want?”

Belle blinked up at him. “You’re asking now?”

“I’m curious,” he said. “You’ve had a Pinterest board for this since 2013, don’t lie.”

She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. Her fingers curled into the edge of his sweatshirt.

“I used to want the whole thing,” she said. “The cathedral. The dress with a five-meter train. The champagne tower and a dance floor with my name in lights. I used to picture a wall of flowers and an aisle that took two minutes to walk down.”

Max watched her quietly.

“I think,” Belle said slowly, “I wanted it to feel like something big enough that they’d have to see me. Maybe if the day was big enough, loud enough… my family would finally pay attention.”

He didn’t say anything.

She didn’t need him to.

“But now?” she whispered. “After this week? After all of it?”

She sat up a little, just enough to look at him. Her voice stayed soft.

“I just want you.”

Max’s eyes softened in that way that made her feel like a secret being cherished. “You’ve always had me.”

Belle smiled—small, but certain. “Then I don’t need anyone else in the room. Not unless we want them there. I don’t need to prove anything. I don’t need anyone to clap for a day they didn’t help me dream about.”

Max nodded, his hand moving up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “So… Vegas?”

That made her laugh, for real this time.

“Maybe not Vegas. I don’t think I am the Elvis Chapel kind of girl,” she teased him. 

“We can do whatever you want,” he said. “We can elope. We can do something quiet in the mountains. Or a beach. Hell, we can marry at the stable if you want. Just you, me, Fleur, and a priest who doesn’t ask too many questions.”

Belle’s heart tugged in the gentlest way. “I want it to feel like… peace. Like home. Not performance.”

Max leaned in and pressed a kiss to her temple. “Then we’ll make it peaceful. We’ll make it ours.”

She exhaled into his shoulder, her ring glinting softly in the low light.

“I spent so many years trying to imagine what it would feel like to be loved loudly,” she said. “But being loved quietly by you is so much better.”

Max didn’t say anything. He just kissed her again, softly—like a promise.

And in that moment, Belle knew: She didn’t need chandeliers or glittering crowds or performances wrapped in lace.

She just needed Max.

“I just want you,” she said, eyes closing. “I want to marry you in the quiet. Somewhere small. Somewhere soft. No cameras. No pressure. Just… us.”

Max’s hand found hers, threading their fingers together gently.

“Good,” he said. “Because that’s all I ever wanted too.”

Belle opened her eyes and looked up at him, searching.

“You’re really okay with that?” she asked. “No big party, no headlines, no Red Bull-themed fireworks?”

Max grinned. “Fireworks are overrated. And I already won the only prize I ever actually wanted.”

Belle rolled her eyes. “That was cheesy.”

“I’m in love. It’s allowed.”

She leaned up and kissed him, slow and sure, and when she pulled back, her voice was lighter. “Let’s elope.”

Max blinked. “Wait—really?”

She nodded. “Let’s find somewhere just for us. Paris. Nice. I don’t care. As long as it’s you.”

He looked at her for a long moment. His whole expression softened, all edges gone.

“Then let’s do it,” Max said.

Belle smiled. Really smiled.

And for the first time in years, the future felt like hers.

***

After dinner—if leftover cake and Max feeding her strawberries from the fridge counted as dinner—Belle curled back into the couch in her softest pajamas and his hoodie, legs tucked under her. Her hair was slightly damp from the bath she hadn’t even realized she needed, and her engagement ring still caught the low light like it had something to say.

Max was in the kitchen, drying two wine glasses that had only been used for juice. She could hear him humming under his breath, some melody half-remembered from a road trip months ago.

Belle opened her phone.

Not for Instagram.

Not for texts.

Just… curious.

She searched: “How to get married in Monaco.” Then refined it: “Civil wedding Monaco how.” Then, after clicking through a very official-sounding government page with questionable font choices: “Monaco City Hall marriage appointment calendar.”

And there it was.

A calendar. A short list of dates and times.

And one of them—the very next morning—was wide open. Unclaimed. Slotted between some dignitary from the Chamber of Commerce and a local couple named Elise and Jean-Luc.

Belle stared at it.

Blinking.

The kind of opening that didn’t just feel like coincidence.

It was like the universe had sighed and said, Here. Have something just for you.

“Max?” she called, still staring at the screen. Her voice sounded strange even to her own ears—half laughter, half disbelief.

He appeared around the corner in an instant, towel slung over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

She turned the phone toward him.

“Monaco City Hall. Tomorrow. 11 AM.”

Max leaned in, reading it, then looked at her with a slow, blooming grin. “Are you serious?”

“I didn’t expect it to be available,” she said. “But… it is. And I live here. You have residency. The paperwork is fast. They’ll process it same-day if we show up with our IDs and two witnesses.”

Max’s grin widened. “We have IDs.”

“And Lando owns a suit,” she added, deadpan.

Max laughed, that warm, throaty sound she loved. “You want to do it tomorrow?”

Belle nodded once, heartbeat flickering behind her ribs like a match just caught flame.

“I think I really do.”

Max dropped the dish towel on the counter and walked straight over, pressing a hand to her cheek, thumb brushing along her jaw.

“Then it’s tomorrow,” he said. “Let’s get married in the place where it all started.”

Belle smiled—dizzy, delighted, a little breathless. “This is insane.”

“This is us.”

And it was.

No big parties. No cathedral. No guest list with people who only remembered her when it was convenient.

Just a city she loved, a man who never forgot her, and an appointment slot.

Perfect. Just like them.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Gianpiero Lambiase 

Max: You already back in the UK?

GP: Nope. Flight got rescheduled. Still in Monaco. Why?

Max: Perfect.

GP: …Why is that perfect. Max.

Max: Because I need a witness.

GP: A what now.

Max: Witness. Like for legal purposes. You’re free tomorrow morning, right?

GP: Max.

Max: City Hall. 10:45. Wear something decent. I’m getting married.

GP: I’m sorry. You’re WHAT.

Max: Marrying Belle. Surprise.

GP: Surprise???

Max: We’re keeping it small. Quiet. Just us and a few people who won’t ask stupid questions or ruin it.

GP: Max.

Max: I’m sending you the location. And yes, I already have the paperwork.

GP: Of course you do.

Max: You in?

GP: Like I’d miss the moment you marry the best decision you’ve ever made.

Max: See you at 10:45.

GP: I’m bringing tissues. Don’t judge me.

Max: Never.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Isabelle: Max and I are getting married tomorrow. City hall. Just something small. Just for us. Will you come?

Emilie: EXCUSE ME???? TOMORROW??? CITY HALL??? SMALL???

Isabelle: Yes. No fuss. Just us. That’s all I want.

Emilie: Oh my GOD. You are not getting married like you’re renewing a driver’s license. You need flowers. A cake. A moment, Belle.

Isabelle: I don’t need any of that. I just want him. That’s it.

Emilie: Yes, yes, eternal love, devotion, blah blah blah. BUT. You are still getting married. You will wear a dress. You will hold a bouquet. You will eat something that tastes like joy and sugar and victory.

Belle: I’m not even sure what I’m wearing yet 😅 We haven’t thought that far ahead.

Emilie: THAT IS WHY YOU HAVE ME. Do you still have the white dress we got a few weeks ago? The one that made you look like a romantic novel with legs?

Isabelle: ...Yes.

Emilie: Good. Wear that. It’s perfect. Simple. Elegant. You. I’ll take care of the rest.

Isabelle: Em—no pressure, really. Please. I don’t want a production.

Emilie: This won’t be a production. It’ll be a love letter. With flowers. And maybe a three-layer cake.

Isabelle: Emilie 😭 You really don’t have to—

Emilie: Belle. You’ve planned everyone else’s birthdays, surprises, parties, and holidays since you were like what, twelve?! Let someone do it for you this once. Let me.

Isabelle: ...Okay. But just a little. No spark machines. No confetti cannons.

Emilie: Deal. But I am bringing champagne. And I will cry.

Isabelle: I wouldn’t want it any other way. 💛

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Lando Norris

Max: You have a camera, right?

Lando: …yes?? What kind of question is that?

Max: Like, a real one. Not your phone.

Lando: Yes, Max, I own a camera. Why??

Max: I need you to document something.

Lando: What kind of something?

Max: Just be at Monaco City Hall tomorrow. 10:30. Bring your camera. Wear a suit. Preferably not orange.

Lando: MAX.

Max: Yes?

Lando: ARE YOU GETTING MARRIED TOMORROW???

Max: Yes.

Lando: YOU’RE JUST DROPPING THAT ON ME AT MIDNIGHT???

Max: It’s 11:43.

Lando: Oh, my mistake. PLENTY OF TIME TO PROCESS THE FACT YOU’RE SECRETLY GETTING MARRIED.

Max: Not secretly. Just quietly.

Lando: Max.

Max: What.

Lando: I’M HONORED BUT ALSO PANICKING. Do you want, like, pictures or VIBES?? Do I need a tripod?? Am I the witness?? Do I bring champagne?? WHAT’S MY ROLE HERE.

Max: Your role is “friend with a camera who knows how to shut up.”

Lando: I can be that.

 Wait—can I still cry a little?

Max: Only if it’s behind the camera.

Lando: Deal. Lando:I don’t even know what shoes to wear for a Verstappen emergency elopement

Max: Don’t overthink it. You’re just the photographer.

Lando: You’re getting married in Monaco city hall and I’m the photographer?? What the hell kind of fairy tale speedrun is this?

Max: The efficient kind.

Lando: Who else is gonna come?

Max: Just us. People we trust. 

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Victoria Verstappen

Max: Hey. Don’t freak out.

Victoria: That is exactly how you make someone freak out.

Max: Belle and I are getting married tomorrow. Monaco City Hall. It’s just us. Very small. Wanted you to know.

Victoria: MAX EMILIAN VERSTAPPEN

Max: Uh-oh

Victoria: YOU ARE NOT GETTING MARRIED WITHOUT ME THERE I WILL WADDLE DOWN THE AISLE MYSELF SEND. YOUR. BLOODY. JET.

Max: Vic. You are literally weeks off of from giving birth.

Victoria: And I will do it IN THE AISLE of City Hall if I must. Tell Belle I will not miss her wedding. I love her more than most of our blood relatives.

Max: I mean. Same.

Victoria: SEND THE JET. I will sit like a queen with my feet up and my compression socks on.

Max: You sure Tom won’t tie you to the couch?

Victoria: He’s already packing snacks. You think he wants to deal with me if I don’t go?

Max: …That’s fair.

Victoria: Also I already picked out your wedding gift. I knew you two would elope. I felt it.

Max: You're terrifying.

Victoria: I'm hormonal. There's a difference. See you tomorrow.  PS: tell Belle I cried. But like, emotionally. Not hormonally. Even though it was a little bit both.

Max: You’re completely insane.

Victoria: You’re the one marrying a Leclerc.

Max: Touché.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Sophie Kumpen

Sophie: So. I hear you’re eloping.

Max: …Hi, Mama.

Sophie: Don’t “hi mama” me. Are you really getting married tomorrow?

Max: Yes. City Hall. Small. Just us. And apparently my 34 weeks pregnant sister, because Victoria is very dramatic and refuses to be excluded.

Sophie: So am I. You are not getting married without me there. 

Max: You’re not mad?

Sophie: Why would I be mad? You’re marrying the woman you love. If you’d done it with cameras and fireworks, I might’ve been suspicious.

Max: It just felt like the right time. After everything. She needed to feel chosen. Not tolerated. Not remembered late.

Sophie: She is chosen. By you. By all of us who actually pay attention.

Max: She still thinks she’s too much. Or not enough. Depending on the day.

Sophie: Then tomorrow, you remind her that she’s both. Too much for the wrong people. And more than enough for the right one.

Max: I’ll remind her every day.

Sophie: I know you will. Now go to sleep. You’re getting married in a few hours and I expect you to look well-rested in photos.

Max: Love you, Mama.

Sophie: I love you too, Maxie. Now go love your girl.

***

Group Chat: WHAT IS HAPPENING

(Members: Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri and Daniel Ricciardo)

Lando: GUYS

Lando: EMERGENCY

Lando: MAX IS GETTING MARRIED TOMORROW

Oscar: I… sorry, what?

Daniel: Did you hit your head again? Like, genuinely. Because this feels concussion-coded.

Lando: I’m serious!!! City Hall. 10:30. Monaco. To Belle. IT’S HAPPENING

Oscar: Wait wait wait. Like married married??

Lando: YES LIKE “I DO” MARRIED

Daniel: Holy shit. I did not have “Max Verstappen casually elopes with Charles Leclerc’s sister” on my 2024 bingo card but here we are.

Oscar: Did they even tell anyone??

Lando: They told ME. And then Max was like “you have a camera, right? wear a suit” like this is just a casual errand.

Daniel: Does Charles know

Lando: ABSOLUTELY NOT HE WILL COMBUST WE’RE TALKING INDEPENDENT-NUCLEAR-REACTION LEVEL MELTDOWN

Oscar: I need you to calm down so I can freak out at a normal pace.

Lando: WHAT DO I EVEN WEAR WHAT IF I CRY I’M NOT READY FOR THIS I WAS EMOTIONALLY UNPREPARED

 I’M GOING TO SOB THROUGH THE LENS BELLE IS GOING TO LOOK SO PRETTY MAX IS GOING TO BE SO SOFT I’M GOING TO NEED A DESIGNATED HUG

Oscar: What are we supposed to wear?! Are we coordinating?? Do I bring flowers?? 

Lando: I DON’T KNOW I’M PANICKING I DON’T EVEN KNOW IF I’M A GUEST OR THE PHOTOGRAPHER OR BOTH

Daniel: You’re definitely crying, though. Let’s be honest.

Lando: 100%. I already feel it building

Oscar: Okay but seriously—do we all go? Did he actually invite us?

Lando: He said it’s small. “Just us. People we trust.”  Which… I think is us?

Oscar: Do we need to bring gifts?? What’s the etiquette on emergency weddings?

Daniel: I can’t believe we’re invited and Charles isn’t

Oscar: I can. Max said “people we trust.” That tells you everything.

Daniel: God, I love this sport.

Oscar: This isn’t the sport. This is a secret Verstappen wedding at City Hall with zero warning and maximum chaos.

Daniel: Exactly.

Lando: I need to sleep so I don’t have puffy eyes but I’m emotionally compromised

Oscar: Same. See you both in the morning?

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Jos Verstappen

Max: You still in Monaco?

Jos: Yes. Leaving tomorrow evening. Why?

Max: City Hall. 10:45.

Jos: …What’s happening at City Hall?

Max: Getting married.

Jos: To Belle?

Max: Obviously to Belle.

Jos: You’re telling me this now?

Max: We decided tonight. There was an opening. She doesn’t want a big wedding. She just wants peace. Me. Us.

Jos: Good. She’s smart. And you’ve taken long enough.

Max: Will you come?

Jos: Wouldn’t miss it.

Max: It’s quiet. No press. No team. Just us. Some friends we trust. Family.

Jos: I said I’ll be there. Don’t make me get sentimental about it.

Max: Too late. You already like her more than you like me.

Jos: She’s never crashed a go-kart out of spite.

Max: That was one time.

Jos: Still counts.

Max: Thanks, Papa.

Jos: You’ve done good, Max. Really good. See you in the morning.

***

Emilie Abadie had been awake since three in the morning. .

Not because she was nervous. She wasn’t the one getting married. 

It was Belle’s wedding. And that meant it had to be perfect.

Because Belle would never ask for perfect. Belle would shrug and say “just something quiet, just us” with that soft look in her eyes like she didn’t dare hope for more. But Emilie had spent the last seven years learning the difference between what Belle asked for and what she deserved.

And today, she deserved everything.

And perfection, as it turned out, required bribing a florist with a bottle of Dom Pérignon, whispering at a baker’s front door like a criminal, and coordinating a last-minute restaurant buyout with a maître d’ who still remembered Belle and Max’s first date like it had happened yesterday.

It was still early. The sun hadn’t quite cleared the rooftops of Monaco. But Emilie was already in motion—dressed, phone in hand, espresso in the other, a determined woman on a mission.

The florist had said it couldn’t be done. Snowdrops weren’t in season. They’d laughed—laughed—when Emilie asked.

Laughed. Emilie still remembered when Belle had told her about her favourite flowers. Fragile, quiet, perfect. Blooming in the cold, when nothing else did. Just like Belle. 

Emilie Abadie didn’t take no for an answer.

She made five calls. 

Then ten. 

Then offered double the price. 

Then triple. 

Someone from a specialty hothouse near Nice came through. A courier had arrived an hour ago, carrying a chilled box like it held diplomatic secrets.

Now, the bouquet sat in a vase on Emilie’s kitchen counter. Fragile white snowdrops, soft eucalyptus, and one or two sprigs of pale forget-me-nots.

Because Emilie was dramatic, and because Belle deserved to be remembered in every way that mattered.

The cake was next.

Not a tiered monstrosity. Just something beautiful. Elegant. White chocolate and raspberry with buttercream. The baker—an angel Emilie had gone to culinary school with for exactly three weeks—had rolled her eyes at the timeline and then agreed with a huff. “Only because it’s for Belle.”

Of course it was.

Emilie knew how much Belle had given. To her family. To her brothers. To Ferrari. To everyone except herself.

She’d watched Belle quietly shrink herself for years—make room for Lorenzo, for Charles, for Arthur, for Charles’ career, for the Leclerc family myth. 

Belle never asked for much. Never expected anything back.

So today, Emilie would give her everything.

The final piece fell into place just after sunrise: lunch at the restaurant where Max had taken Belle on their first date. The cozy one tucked behind the port with the ivy-covered terrace and the little hand-painted plates. Emilie had called the manager at 6:15 a.m.

“I need the whole place,” she’d said. “15 people. Three bottles of Perrier-Jouët Belle Époque. No fuss. No press. Max and Belle Verstappen.”

The Manager had paused and looked at Emilie:. “Ah,” he’d said, eyes twinkling. “For the couple who ordered the wine, then forgot to drink it because they were too busy falling in love?”

By 6:00, the venue was booked. The menu was set. The staff had already started laying out fresh linen.

Emilie checked the list one more time—flowers, cake, lunch, Max’s boutonnière, Belle’s shoes.

Everything was ready.

Emilie slipped her phone into her bag, gave the bouquet one last fond glance, and smiled to herself.

Because today—finally—was about Belle. Not Charles. Not their mother. Not a team or a trophy or anyone else’s spotlight.

Today was hers.

And Emilie Abadie would make sure not a single petal was out of place.

***

The morning sun filtered through the gauzy curtains, casting golden light across the kitchen tile. It was quiet, peaceful, and smelled faintly of toast and coffee.

Max stood barefoot at the stove, his curls still messy from sleep, flipping something in a pan with practiced ease. Belle was perched on the counter in one of his old shirts, legs swinging gently, a mug of tea cradled in her hands.

“So,” Max said, without looking at her, “do I get to call you Mrs. Verstappen by noon?”

Belle smirked into her cup. “You say that like it’s a threat.”

He turned, brandishing the spatula. “It is. You’re marrying a man who owns three sim rigs and talks to his cats.”

“Bold of you to assume that’s not the exact reason I said yes.”

Max grinned and came closer, slipping between her knees as she set her mug down. His hands landed on her hips. “You nervous?”

“No.” She let her forehead rest against his. “Just… full.”

“Full?”

“Of everything. Gratitude. Peace. Butterflies.”

Max kissed her, gentle and grounding. “Good. Me too.”

The moment was quiet again. Warm and soft.

Until—  BANG.

The front door flew open.

“—DO NOT PANIC,” came Emilie’s voice from the hallway, “I have the cake, I have the emergency double-stick tape, I have the snowdrops—do not ask how—and I am here to take the bride.”

Belle groaned and leaned against Max’s shoulder. “She’s already started.”

Max was laughing when Emilie rounded the corner, her arms full of garment bags, shoe boxes, and a box of pastries balanced precariously on top.

She froze at the sight of them. “Okay, this is cute and domestic, but time is ticking and you—” she pointed at Belle with a dramatic flourish, “—need to be in a robe, drinking champagne, and pretending to be relaxed.”

Belle slid off the counter. “We haven’t even had breakfast.”

“I brought croissants. And mimosas. And eye masks. Let’s go.”

Max raised a brow. “Should I be worried?”

“Absolutely,” Emilie said, already dragging Belle toward the hallway. 

Belle shot Max a helpless smile over her shoulder as she was swept away into the bedroom. 

Max chuckled and turned back to the stove. “She’s been waiting for this since the day we met.”

“YOU PROMISED NEVER TO SPEAK OF THAT,” Emilie shouted back.

The apartment settled for a beat.

And then the doorbell rang.

Max opened it to find Victoria, already glowing despite being eight months pregnant, her husband Tom hauling what appeared to be a bouquet the size of a toddler, and both of their sons clinging to his legs like adorable koalas.

Sophie was right behind them, holding a wrapped box and beaming. “Where’s my daughter-in-law?”

Max stepped back. “Currently being kidnapped by a woman wielding florals and threat-level energy.”

“Ah,” Sophie said brightly, brushing a kiss to his cheek. “So the usual.”

Victoria waddled in and immediately headed for the kitchen. “Where’s the coffee? I need caffeine and at least one chair that won’t collapse under me.”

Tom followed with the flowers. “We brought noise. And crumbs. You’re welcome.”

The boys immediately made for the cats, causing a small riot in the living room.

Max leaned back against the counter, a smile tugging at his mouth as he watched his family pour in. “This is going to be a day.”

“Of course it is,” Sophie said, setting down her gift. “You’re marrying the best girl in Monaco.”

And just then, as if summoned, Emilie poked her head out of the hallway.

“Max,” she said solemnly. “You’re not allowed to see her for at least three hours. Also, she’s glowing. Prepare yourself.”

Then she vanished again.

Max laughed, shaking his head. “I already am.”

***

Max was mid-cleanup from the first round of croissant carnage when the intercom buzzed again.

He pressed the button. “Yeah?”

“Delivery,” came Oscar’s voice, dry and very much not a delivery person.

Max buzzed them in.

Thirty seconds later, Oscar and Lily walked in—Lily looking radiant in a pale floral dress, Oscar in a navy suit that made him look vaguely uncomfortable but also suspiciously good. There was box of macarons in Lily’s arms and Oscar carrying a bottle of champagne with all the solemnity of someone delivering a newborn child.

Lily kissed Max’s cheek. “Where’s Belle?”

“Bedroom,” Max said. “Emilie has barricaded the door. I’m not allowed to breathe near it.”

“Good,” Lily said. “You’ll see her when she’s ready. And not a second before!” she call over her shoulder as she made her way to where all the women had disappeared to. 

“Do we look like well-adjusted guests?” Oscar asked, holding out the champagner, just as the doorbell rang again

Tom opened it this time—and immediately stepped back to avoid being hit in the face by a wildly enthusiastic Daniel Ricciardo, who practically burst in with his arms open.

“IT’S WEDDING TIME, BABY!” Daniel yelled, already grinning like he’d won the lottery.

Max raised his coffee cup without looking up. “You’re three hours early.”

“I brought champagne. I’m never early. I’m… emotionally prepared.”

Before anyone could respond, the door buzzed again.

“Please let that be someone calm,” Max muttered, walking to the door just as Lando arrived—In a grey suit, camera strap across his chest, looking like a documentary filmmaker who’d taken a wrong turn into a very glamorous rom-com.

“Okay,” Lando said in lieu of a greeting, “I brought the camera, the backup camera, the battery pack, and three lenses I don’t know how to use, but they make me look professional. Also, Lily said if I forgot to wear a tie, she’d strangle me with it, so here.” He pointed to the pale blue tie knotted (badly) around his neck.

“You’re fine,” Max said. “Unless Emilie sees that knot.”

“I tied it,” Lando said defensively. “I didn’t say I tied it well.”

“You’ve had years to learn how to tie a tie,” Oscar muttered.

Daniel patted Lando’s shoulder. “It’s fine. You look like a best man in a Netflix wedding movie about a surfer who marries his childhood pen pal.”

“That’s oddly specific.”

“I know what I said,” Daniel replied, stealing a macaron.

Max raised an eyebrow at Lando. “You know how to use that camera, right?”

“Please,” Lando said, lifting it and adjusting the lens. “I’m going to make you look like Vogue Monaco meets soft romance. This is going to go viral.”

Before Max could close the door, a final knock came—this one slower, more composed.

He opened it to GP, impeccable in a dark suit with a navy tie, and Jos, arms crossed, expression somewhere between “approving” and “this is ridiculous.”

“Everyone’s here?” GP asked as he stepped in.

“No explosions yet,” Max said. “Just Daniel.”

“Rude,” Daniel yelled from the kitchen, where he was now petting Jimmy the cat and eating a croissant at the same time. 

Jos gave Max a firm nod as he walked in. “You’re dressed?”

“Soon.”

Jos looked around the apartment, at the whirlwind of laughter and movement, at the family Max had built around himself. He gave the smallest huff—soft, for him. “Good turnout.”

“I think Daniel invited himself,” Max said dead pan. .

Jos glanced around again. “Still. Good people.”

Max nodded. “Yeah. The best.”

***

Belle had always imagined getting ready for her wedding surrounded by chaos.

She thought it would feel frantic, like the final fifteen minutes before a birthday dinner she wasn’t sure anyone would show up for—stressful, too loud, a little heartbreaking.

Instead, it felt like calm.

It felt like quiet laughter drifting in from the kitchen, the scent of espresso and lilacs filling the apartment. It felt like warm hands braiding the back of her hair, like silk slipping over her skin, like music humming low from the speaker on the windowsill.

It felt like peace.

She sat on the edge of the bed, barefoot, as Victoria carefully clipped the final snowdrop into her hair. Emilie was crouched by the full-length mirror, fussing with the hem of Belle’s dress, hung up. Lily and Sophie were there too, with Lilly the cat having decided that Lily the human was her new favourite person, while Sophie was rooting around Belle’s jewellery box for earrings to wear. 

It should’ve hurt.

That it wasn’t Pascale doing her hair. That it wasn’t her mother reminding her not to forget earrings or perfume or to stand up straight when she walked. That there was no Leclerc fussing around her, pretending to know best.

But somehow, it didn’t.

She’d braced herself for the ache—for the empty chair, the hollow weight of what should’ve been. But the ache never came.

Because these women? They were enough.

They were more than enough.

Then Victoria cocked her head, glancing toward the bedroom door. “By the way, are your brothers coming?”

Emilie stiffened subtly from her place near the hem. Lily glanced down at her nails.

Sophie, sipping her tea, looked up in quiet expectation.

Belle hesitated.

And then—because the lie felt too heavy in her throat, and because this was her wedding day, and she was done making excuses for people who couldn’t be bothered—she exhaled and said, simply, “They forgot my birthday.”

The room stilled.

Victoria blinked. “What?”

Belle looked down at her hands, resting in her lap. “It was race day. Monaco. Charles was on pole. Ferrari was chaos. I was in the garage all day and no one said anything. Not Charles. Not Arthur. Not Lorenzo. Not even Maman.”

Sophie sat very still. Her expression didn’t shift immediately—like she hadn’t quite processed what she’d just heard.

Victoria, on the other hand, reacted instantly.

“You’re kidding,” she said, straightening up. “They forgot? All of them?”

Belle nodded once. “I didn’t remind them.”

“But you were there,” Victoria said, voice rising. “You were literally standing in the garage wearing red! You’re his sister—how do you forget that?!”

Sophie’s mug landed gently on the vanity table. She didn’t speak, just watched Belle carefully, her eyes full of something Belle couldn’t name yet.

“They looked right through me,” Belle said, not bitter, just… quiet. “Like I wasn’t even there. Like I was just…invisible.”

Victoria stood up abruptly. “I swear to God, if I wasn’t about to pop out a baby I would’ve dragged Charles by the ear into a flower shop myself.”

“Vic,” Belle said, soft but firm.

“No,” Victoria said, eyes shining now. “You stood by them. All weekend. All year. You show up for every stupid photo call and PR stunt and family function, and they forgot your birthday?”

Emilie stayed crouched on the floor, head bowed over the dress, silent but trembling with restrained rage.

Lily’s hands were folded tightly in her lap.

Belle reached out and touched Victoria’s hand, grounding her. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay.”

“No,” Belle agreed quietly. “But you remembered.”

That made Victoria pause. Her face crumpled for a second before she leaned forward and pulled Belle into the gentlest hug she could manage with her belly between them. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered fiercely. “You didn’t deserve that.”

Belle blinked, eyes stinging but dry. “It doesn’t matter today.”

Sophie knelt beside her then, unexpectedly, and took her hand.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. 

“I know,” Belle said. And she did. “You’re here. That’s more than enough.”

Victoria wiped under her eyes. “Do you want us to say something? To tell them?”

Belle shook her head. “No. I want to see how long it takes.”

The silence settled again.

And then Sophie squeezed her hand and said, with quiet certainty, “You’re not invisible anymore, sweetheart. Not here. Not ever again.”

And that was what Belle held onto, as she stood and turned toward the mirror—surrounded not by the family she’d been born into, but by the one she’d found along the way.

The right people had remembered.

And that was enough.

***

The bedroom door clicked gently shut behind Sophie as she stepped into the hallway, needing a breath. Just a moment of stillness. The wedding would begin in a little over two hours, and Belle—darling, radiant Belle—was in her bedroom with snowdrops in her hair and an ache buried so deep behind her smile Sophie could feel it like a bruise under her own ribs.

She leaned lightly against the wall, one hand wrapped around her teacup, the other resting protectively over her heart. She didn’t cry—not easily, not anymore. But her chest felt tight.

Footsteps approached, soft and quick. Emilie, Belle’s best friend, slipped out of the bedroom a moment later, arms crossed, mouth pressed into a thin line. She looked like she was holding back a war.

Their eyes met.

“You knew,” Sophie said quietly.

Emilie stilled. Her expression didn’t change. “Max told me,” she said quietly. “Belle didn’t want it to become a thing. She didn’t want pity.”

Sophie’s grip on her teacup tightened.

“She said she wanted to see how long it would take them,” Emilie added, her voice softening. “How many days would pass before someone noticed.”

Sophie looked away, blinking hard at the hallway wall. “Her own mother,” she murmured. “Her own brothers forgot her birthday.”

Emilie’s jaw clenched. “Her brothers. Her mother. Ferrari. Nothing. Not even a text. Carlos was the only one who remembered, and she begged him not to say anything because she didn’t want pity.”

Sophie’s stomach twisted. “And she stood in that garage, all day…”

“In red,” Emilie said, voice flat. “Supporting Charles. Watching them celebrate. She didn’t ask for much, Sophie. She never does.”

“She gave them everything,” Emilie said. Her voice cracked, just slightly. “And they forgot her birthday. They forgot her.”

Sophie nodded, eyes shining but clear. “Not anymore. Not after today.”

There was a long pause, filled with the sound of faint laughter from the living room and the low hum of a wedding morning in motion.

Then Emilie exhaled shakily. “Max said she broke down the second she saw him.”

Sophie closed her eyes for a beat.

It wasn’t just forgetfulness. It wasn’t a mistake. It was neglect wrapped in a red suit and family pride. It was inexcusable.

“She’ll never be alone again,” Sophie said, her voice steel beneath the softness. “Not while I’m breathing. Not while Max is.”

“I know,” Emilie said. “That’s the only reason I didn’t walk into Ferrari and slap someone.”

They stood in silence again, shoulder to shoulder.

Then Sophie reached over and gently squeezed Emilie’s hand.

“You did this for her,” she said. “The flowers. The cake. The restaurant. You gave her the kind of day they never thought to.”

Emilie’s eyes went glassy. “She deserves perfect. I couldn’t give her perfect, but—”

“You gave her love,” Sophie said firmly. “And that’s what matters.”

***

The apartment had quieted.

Everyone had settled into easy, pre-ceremony chaos—little moments scattered across the rooms like confetti before the storm. Daniel was dramatically explaining champagne etiquette to Oscar, who looked halfway between fascinated and alarmed. Lando was on the floor, coaxing Jimmy the cat into an impromptu wedding-themed photoshoot. Tom sat cross-legged on the couch, reading a picture book to Luka and Lio, the boys draped over him like sleepy lion cubs.

Max stood in the kitchen, coffee mug in hand, back to the counter, staring out the window toward the glittering stretch of Monaco coastline. The city buzzed quietly beyond the glass. But in here, for now, there was stillness.

The kind of stillness right before the most important lap of your life.

GP stepped up beside him without a word, mirroring his stance with practiced ease. They didn’t speak at first. They didn’t have to.

“She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you,” GP said eventually, voice low.

Max nodded. “I know.”

“You were always good,” GP added. “But you’re not just good now. You’re… grounded. Steady.”

Max exhaled, eyes still on the view. “She gave me somewhere to land.”

GP’s expression shifted just slightly—quiet pride, maybe. “You’ve always fought for every tenth, every inch. But with Belle? You stopped fighting yourself.”

Max glanced at him, something tired and raw in his eyes. “She sees everything. Even the parts I didn’t want anyone to see.”

“She never asked you to change.”

“She didn’t have to,” Max said. 

They stood in silence again, until a familiar voice cut in behind them.

“She’s not just your landing place,” Jos said, stepping into the kitchen, arms folded. “She’s your spine.”

Max turned, but didn’t speak.

Jos’s face was set. Not angry, but serious in that sharp, bone-deep way that came from decades of knowing how to read race tape and sons in equal measure.

“I wasn’t easy on you,” Jos said quietly. “I know that. I pushed too hard. Expected too much. Thought it was the only way you’d be great.”

Max swallowed, but didn’t interrupt.

“But Belle…” Jos looked toward the hallway, where a burst of laughter echoed from the bedroom. “She gave you something I couldn’t. Peace. Balance. You didn’t slow down. But you stopped burning out.”

GP gave a soft hum of agreement, but said nothing.

Jos stepped forward, brow furrowed now. “And she shows up for you. For everyone. All the time.”

Max nodded slowly. “She does.”

Jos shook his head, voice tight now. “So why the hell did her family forget her birthday?”

The silence hit like a dropped hammer.

Max looked up, sharp. “You know?”

“I overheard Emilie talking to Sophie in the hallway,” Jos said. His voice was low, but thunderous. “You’re telling me her entire family forgot? Her mother? Her brothers? Even Ferrari?”

Max’s jaw clenched.

GP was still, hands in his pockets, but his voice came out even. “They didn’t just forget. They looked straight through her in the garage. Carlos was the only one who noticed. She told him not to say anything.”

Jos looked furious in the quiet way only a father could—like he was cataloging every hurt, every slight, and filing them away for later retribution.

“She stood there,” he muttered. “All day. On her birthday. Wearing red. And they didn’t see her?”

“She didn’t cry until after,” Max said, his voice low. “But when she did… it broke her.”

Jos looked at him. “She tell them?”

“No,” Max said. “She’s done reminding people she exists.”

Jos’s shoulders shifted, like he was bracing himself against something. “Good. Let them feel that silence.”

Max stared down at his coffee cup for a moment, then set it aside.

“I’m going to spend the rest of my life making her feel seen,” he said, steady now. “The way they never did. The way she deserves.”

GP gave a quiet, approving nod. “Then you’re ready.”

Jos didn’t say anything for a long beat.

Then he stepped forward, placed a firm hand on Max’s shoulder, and said, with something rough in his voice, “She’s already ours. But make it official.”

Max blinked hard.

***

The kitchen had been peaceful—a relative term, given there were six men, two toddler, three cats, and a bottle of champagne open by 9 a.m.—but peaceful by Verstappen standards. 

Max was leaning against the counter, sipping his coffee while Jos surveyed the chaos in thinly veiled amusement, and Tom tried to get jam off his shirt collar thanks to a child-induced pastry incident.

Then the storm arrived.

Emilie swept into the kitchen like a tiny, immaculately-dressed hurricane, her eyes narrowing the instant she caught sight of Lando.

“Why,” Emilie said, appearing in the doorway like a Roman general entering enemy territory, “are half of you not wearing ties?”

“You,” she declared, pointing with a precision that would’ve made a military officer proud.

Lando looked up from where he’d been fiddling with his camera settings. “Me?”

“You call that a tie?” she said, already moving toward him like a missile in heels. “What is that knot? A shoelace? A cry for help? Is that your idea of a tied tie?”

Lando looked down at the pale blue knot that resembled something between a tangled seatbelt and an existential crisis. “Technically… yes?”

Emilie sighed so dramatically it could have won an award. “Come here.”

Lando, blushing furiously, stood like a man facing execution. “You’re kind of scary,” he muttered.

“I’m not scary,” she said, adjusting his collar. “I’m just French and disappointed.”

Max leaned against the counter, watching with mild amusement as Lando was wrangled into place. Emilie was adjusting the tie like she’d done it a thousand times, completely unfazed by the 5 feet, 6 inches of confused British man blinking at her.

Lando stood frozen, blinking down at the very pretty girl fixing his tie with the terrifying precision of someone who had made wedding planning a full-contact sport.

“Can I breathe yet?” Lando asked, voice faint.

“When I say you can,” Emilie replied sweetly, stepping back and tilting his chin. “Fashion is pain,” Emilie said sweetly, patting his cheek. “Suffer with dignity.”

“I’m… scared of her,” Lando muttered to Max once she turned away.

“You should be,” Max replied, utterly unbothered.

“Okay,” Emilie said, spinning on her heel, “who’s next—”

Her eyes landed on Tom.

Tom, who had attempted to get away with a cravat.

She narrowed her eyes. “What is this? Pride and Prejudice?”

“I was trying to be elegant,” Tom said defensively, one child clinging to each of his legs like barnacles.

“This is Monaco, not Pemberley,” Emilie replied, already reaching into her tote bag like Mary Poppins from hell. “Lose the cravat.” 

Five seconds later, Tom had a new blue tie around his neck. 

Jos, leaning near the counter with a coffee, smirked.

“I’d like to see her try that with me,” he muttered.

Emilie pivoted.

Jos raised a brow.

She raised both.

“Unless you’d like to be mistaken for security and asked to stay outside,” she said coolly, “you’ll put one on.”

There was a pause.

Then—without breaking eye contact—Jos slowly reached for the tie GP handed him with what looked suspiciously like amusement.

“I like her,” he said to no one in particular.

Emilie snapped her fingers at Daniel next. “No.”

“What do you mean ‘no’?” Daniel asked, grinning. “This tie is excellent. It has tiny cartoon race cars on it!”

“And you are a groomsman not a children’s birthday clown,” Emilie replied. “Change. Now.”

“But—”

“I will burn it,” she said calmly. “I have a lighter in my purse.”

Daniel blinked. “Wow. Okay. Yep. Good. I’ll change.”

Only Oscar and GP escaped unscathed—Oscar because Lily had pre-approved his ensemble, and GP because he was actually a functional adult. 

Emilie gave them a nod of silent approval. “Finally. Men who understand basic dress codes.”

Max was watching all of it from the corner, leaning against the counter, arms crossed over his chest and a fond smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Emilie spotted him.

“You’re next.”

“I already did mine,” Max said, lifting his chin.

Emilie narrowed her eyes, came closer, and tugged gently at the knot. It was fine. Almost perfect.

“It’s crooked.”

He didn’t even argue. Just tilted his chin and let her fix it. She did so with practiced fingers, then stepped back and gave him a once-over.

“You’ll do.”

Max smirked. “High praise.”

“You’re marrying my best friend. You’re lucky I didn’t make you wear the floral pocket square.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Max said, grinning.

Then the apartment stilled.

Because the bedroom door opened.

And Belle stepped out.

Max looked up—and every word left his brain.

She stood there in the soft light of morning, her white dress falling like water around her, the snowdrops tucked into her curls catching the sunlight. Her hands were folded gently in front of her, her eyes finding his across the room.

Max didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

The chaos of the morning vanished.

It was just her.

Standing in the archway in a white dress that somehow managed to be simple and devastating at the same time. Her dark hair was curled and loosely pinned, a few snowdrops tucked gently above her ear. She had one hand loosely holding a bouquet, and the other nervously adjusting her sleeve. Her eyes swept the room, soft and uncertain—

Until they found his.

Max forgot how to breathe.

“Hi,” she said, voice quiet, like it was just for him.

Max swallowed. His throat was suddenly too tight.

He took a slow step forward, then another, like any sudden movement might shatter the moment. When he stopped in front of her, his hands hovered for a second before finally settling on her waist.

“You’re—” He couldn’t finish.

Belle tilted her head. “I’m what?”

Max blinked, and his eyes burned. He hadn’t expected that.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, barely above a whisper. “You’re so—”

She smiled, soft and real and a little shy.

“Max,” she said gently, reaching up to brush her fingers against his jaw. “Breathe.”

“I can’t,” he admitted, voice cracking. “You look like a dream I’d never let myself have.”

Belle’s smile faltered—just for a second—then turned into something deeper. Warmer. Her eyes shimmered.

Daniel, somewhere behind them, sniffled. “Okay, I take it back. This is romantic enough to ruin my day.”

“Shut up, Daniel,” Oscar muttered.

But Max didn’t hear any of it.

He only saw her.

The girl who’d stood in a Ferrari garage on her birthday and been forgotten. The woman who’d cried in his arms and still said yes. The one person who saw him fully and never once turned away.

And now she was standing in his kitchen—in their kitchen—in a white dress and snowdrops.

Looking at him like he was home.

“Ready?” she whispered.

Max nodded, his hands tightening gently on her waist.

“More than ever.”

And when he kissed her—just once, careful not to smudge her lipstick—the whole room exhaled with them.

They had a wedding to get to.

But for that moment, they were already everything.

***

Belle had walked into a hundred government buildings before. Cold hallways. Beige walls. Bored clerks behind scratched counters. Monaco’s city hall should have felt the same—official, impersonal, municipal.

But today?

It felt like walking into a cathedral.

This wasn’t the wedding she had imagined as a little girl.

There was no aisle of flowers. No choir. No dramatic gown or fanfare or chandeliers. Her mother wasn’t there. Neither were her brothers. There were no headlines.

And still—it was perfect.

This was hers.

This was theirs.

Small. Quiet. Real.

She squeezed Max’s hands. He squeezed back.

And as the officiant began to speak, Belle felt a slow warmth fill her from the inside out.

You’re not invisible anymore, she told herself. You never were. Not to him.

And in that moment, under the soft light and quiet vows and steady eyes of the only man she’d ever trusted with her whole heart—

Isabelle Leclerc became Belle Verstappen.

And for the first time in her life, she didn’t need the world to notice.

She had everything she needed right in front of her.

She hadn’t written anything down for the vows.

There was a version of Belle that would have. That would’ve planned every word, practiced every pause, agonized over saying it all just right.

But not today.

Because nothing about Max had ever needed performance.

The officiant nodded to her gently. “Belle?”

She took a breath. And then another. Max didn’t rush her. He just waited—hands in hers, thumb brushing lightly across her knuckles, grounding her.

“I don’t think I ever believed love could be soft,” she said quietly. “Not the kind that lasts. I thought it had to be earned. Proved. Negotiated into place.”

Her voice wavered. Max didn’t blink.

“I spent so much time being the one who remembered everyone. Who carried everything quietly. And I think I started to believe that was the best I could hope for. That if I was useful enough, maybe I’d be loved in return.”

She looked up, eyes shining.

“And then I met you,” Belle continued. “And you didn’t ask me to perform. You didn’t ask me to be anything but exactly who I already was. You saw me. Even when I didn’t want to be seen. Especially then.”

Her voice shook, just a little. Max’s thumb brushed across her knuckles.

“I’ve spent so much of my life holding other people’s pieces,” she said, “but you—Max—you were the first person who held mine. Quietly. Gently. Steadily. You never tried to fix me. You just stayed.”

A tear slipped down her cheek, and she let it. Didn’t wipe it away.

“So I promise to stay, too. To be soft where the world is hard. To be the quiet when everything gets too loud. To love you in the way you’ve always deserved but never asked for.”

And when she smiled, Max smiled back—like the sun had finally come up.

The officiant nodded to him.

“Max?”

He exhaled, but didn’t look away from her. He lifted her hands to his lips first, kissed them gently, and held them between them like they were the only steady thing in the world.

“I don’t remember the moment I fell in love with you,” he said softly. “It just happened, like a breath you take…quietly and then all at once.”

Belle’s breath caught. He held her gaze, steady and unwavering.

“I never thought I’d be lucky enough to love someone like you,” he said softly. “Someone who sees through everything. Who remembers the smallest things and never asks for credit. Who holds the weight of the world and still has room to make me feel like I’m home.”

His voice cracked then.

“You are not invisible. Not to me. You never were. I see you, Belle. Every version. Every scar. Every soft edge you try to tuck away. And I love you for all of it.”

Belle’s lips trembled.

Max’s thumb brushed along her hand again.

“I promise to hold you, every day. To never let you feel alone in a room full of people again. I promise to be your quiet, your home, your person. Forever.”

There wasn’t a sound in the room. Not a breath. Even the officiant cleared his throat like he needed a second.

Belle didn’t speak.

She just leaned forward—slow and sure—and pressed her forehead to Max’s.

And everything else fell away.

Her hands were still in his. Her forehead was resting against Max’s. Her heart was loud—but steady.

She could feel his breath on her cheek. The way his thumbs brushed hers. How he didn’t look away. How he never did.

The officiant’s voice was calm, warm. “Do you, Max Emilian Verstappen, take Isabelle Amélie Thérèse Éléonore Leclerc to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

“I do,” Max said instantly. No hesitation. No breath between.

“And do you,  Isabelle Amélie Thérèse Éléonore Leclerc, take Max Emilian Verstappen to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do,” she whispered, and it was the easiest truth she’d ever spoken.

The officiant smiled.

“Then by the authority vested in me by the Principality of Monaco, I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

A pause.

“You may kiss—”

But Max didn’t wait.

He kissed her the second the words left the officiant’s mouth.

It wasn’t rushed, but it wasn’t gentle either. It was grounding. Fierce. Like he’d been holding his breath for a lifetime and could finally exhale.

Belle kissed him back just as hard, hands in his hair, heart pounding.

There were cheers. Scattered applause. Laughter.

And then—

“NOW!” Daniel’s voice rang out from the back like a commander on a battlefield.

Belle broke the kiss just in time to see it:

A blur of chaos. Daniel and Oscar  tossing flower petals like overenthusiastic flower girls, flinging them directly at them. 

Belle let out a laugh so sudden it startled even her. Max was still holding her hand, laughing softly too, eyes never leaving her.

“Seriously?” he murmured under his breath.

“This was always going to happen,” Belle replied, grinning.

Victoria was crying. Sophie was dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief Jos was blinking suspiciously fast. 

And Emilie?Emilie was smiling so big Belle’s heart almost burst.

Belle looked back at Max—her husband. Her husband—and felt something settle in her chest.

This was hers.

Messy. Soft. Completely perfect.

And just beginning.

Max leaned down again, kissed her forehead. “Mrs. Verstappen,” he said, voice low and thrilled and a little overwhelmed.

She smiled up at him. “Mr. Verstappen.”

And Belle had never, ever felt so seen.

***

Belle hadn’t stepped into Overture in over a year.

It still looked the same—tucked into a quiet side street just off Port Hercule, all pale stone and soft wood, sunlight spilling through ivy-wrapped windows. There were no banners. No “Congratulations” signs. No garish floral arches.

Just one long table set under a canopy of olive branches in the back courtyard, decorated in quiet whites and soft greens. Candles flickered in the breeze. Snowdrops—snowdrops, in May—were tucked into every napkin ring.

Belle turned to Emilie, who only raised an eyebrow and said, “Don’t ask how. I threatened a florist and bribed an importer.”

“You’re terrifying,” Belle whispered, blinking back tears.

“You’re worth it,” Emilie replied.

Laughter echoed as guests filtered into the courtyard. Daniel declared he would be in charge of pouring champagne. Lando was trying to fit three cameras into one discreet corner. Jos already had a drink in hand and was engaged in a deeply serious conversation with Oscar, who looked vaguely terrified. Lily and Sophie had settled into a side table with quiet smiles and quiet tears.

Their table filled slowly—Victoria easing into a seat with a dramatic sigh, her hand protectively on her bump, Tom at her side, two rambunctious boys wrecking havoc. Emilie adjusted every flower and napkin with military precision. Someone had even tied the cats’ names onto little placeholders even though they were obviously not present.

They toasted with champagne and laughed until they couldn’t breathe.

There was no DJ. No cake tower. No press outside.

Just a warm breeze. Clinking glasses. The people who had shown up.

Midway through lunch, Daniel stood abruptly, champagne flute in hand. “To Max and Belle,” he grinned. “May your love be as steady as GP’s voice in Max’s ear, and as dramatic as Oscar trying to parallel park.”

Oscar, mid-bite, choked.

Belle laughed so hard she had to put her fork down.

And then, as the laughter died down, GP stood. Slowly. Unassumingly. Everyone quieted with the kind of instinctive respect only earned by someone who rarely asked for the room.

GP cleared his throat, glancing briefly toward Belle, then Max.

“I’m not one for speeches,” he said, hands loosely folded, gaze sweeping the table. “But I’ve watched Max for a long time. Through wins and losses. Through fire and fury and everything in between. And I’ve never seen him more certain. More grounded. More… at peace, than when he looks at you, Belle.”

She looked down, blinking fast. Max took her hand under the table.

GP’s voice softened. “So thank you. For being that peace. For loving him the way he didn’t even know he needed. You make him better, Belle. But not because you ask him to change. You make him better by seeing him. Fully. And somehow, without ever stepping onto the track, you’ve become the most important part of our team.”

He lifted his glass. “To you both. For reminding us that there’s strength in stillness, and love in the quiet corners.”

Belle blinked fast, lips parted, chest aching in the best way.

Max reached over, tangled their fingers together under the table.

The meal ended with a cake—simple, white, laced with raspberry and white chocolate. Belle stared at it, already emotional, as Emilie leaned over and whispered smugly, “Don’t cry. You’re wearing mascara.”

“I hate you,” Belle whispered.

“You love me.”

Belle reached over and took her hand, eyes shining. “I do. I really, really do. Thank you for all of this. For… everything. You gave me the kind of day I didn’t know I was allowed to want.”

Emilie’s expression softened. “You deserved it. All of it.”

This wasn’t the wedding Belle had once imagined—the ballroom, the crowd, the spectacle.

It was better.

It was quiet, and full of laughter. It smelled like eucalyptus and honey. It tasted like home.

And most importantly: it felt like love.

***

Group Chat: HELP ME

 (Members: Daniel Ricciardo, Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Lewis Hamilton, Carlos Sainz Jr., George Russell, Alex Albon, Nico Hulkenberg, Nico Rosberg, Sebastian Vettel, Mark Webber, David Coulthard, Sergio Pérez, Fernando Alonso, and Kimi Räikkönen)

Lando: 👀

[sends: 5 stunning, sun-drenched wedding photos from Monaco city hall. Max in a dark suit, Belle in a soft white dress, snowdrops in her hair] ❤️💍

Lewis: wait. wait. WHAT?

George: Lando Norris what the hell is this

Carlos: wait wait wait is that— IS THAT BELLE??? AND MAX?!?

Alex: THOSE ARE WEDDING PHOTOS REAL WEDDING PHOTOS WITH FLOWERS AND RINGS AND A WHOLE EMILIE IN THE BACKGROUND??

Mark: Holy shit they did it.

George: WHO TOOK THESE?? THESE ARE VOGUE-LEVEL

Fernando: Monaco’s lighting really is superior.

David: YOU DID NOT JUST POST THAT

Nico H:  Lando WHAT

George: I— IS THAT MAX?! IS THAT BELLE?! IS THIS—THE WEDDING???

Daniel: ICONIC UNHINGED NO NOTES

Lewis: That’s the softest chaos I’ve ever seen. Also: beautiful. Congratulations to them both ❤️

Sebastian: That’s what love should look like. Simple. Fierce. True. Charles is going to set something on fire when he finds out.

Mark:  He’s going to kill Max. Actually. Kill him.

David Coulthard:  What are the odds we have to physically restrain Charles on sight

Nico R: Charles has not seen this yet, has he?

Carlos: …Charles is actually going to try and murder Max.

Nico R.: I give it 48 hours before Charles makes it about himself.

Nico H.: With his bare hands.

Sebastian: I’ll visit Max in prison. Bring snacks.

Lando: do you think if we just… don’t answer his calls… we can delay this

Kimi: Congrats. Cake looks good.

Lando: in conclusion: love won (also please someone hide me)

***

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/SpottedInMonaco: Saw Oscar Piastri and Lily Zneimer leaving Monaco city hall earlier today. Suit. Dress. Smiling. That wasn’t a casual brunch outfit, I’m just saying.

@/GridGossip: I BEG YOUR PARDON.

@/TifosiTears: oscar piastri getting married and not telling us would be the most oscar piastri move of all time

@/mclarenmoments: DO NOT JOKE ABOUT THIS. I AM FRAGILE.

@/NicolePiastri: OSCAR. OSCAR JACK PIASTRI.

If you got married today and didn’t tell your MOTHER, I swear to GOD—

@/NicolePiastri: Do you think I don’t have Twitter alerts? Do you think I wouldn’t FIND OUT???

@/NicolePiastri: TEXT. ME. RIGHT. NOW.

@/OscarPiastri: Hi Mum. Deep breaths. I did not get married.

@/NicolePiastri: Are you SURE?

@/OscarPiastri: Very sure. I was just a guest. Completely unmarried and ringless.

@/NicolePiastri: Then WHY were you at city hall in MONACO??

@/OscarPiastri: Because people get married and sometimes I get invited!

@/NicolePiastri: Noted. But if you actually do get married without telling me, I will start a podcast called "My Son Got Married Without Me."

@/OscarPiastri: Duly noted.

@/PitLaneParanoia: Okay but if it wasn’t Oscar’s wedding… then whose was it???

@/gridshenanigans: WAIT. Wait wait wait. What if it was Lando’s wedding???

@/McLarenSpy: He has been weirdly quiet since the win in Miami…

@/chaoticpaddock: IMAGINE if Lando Norris just casually got married and let everyone spiral about Oscar instead.

***

Stream Transcript: Lando Norris & Max Fewtrell

Lando: (leans back in his chair, stretching) “Okay, chat, before you all start spamming—yes, I saw the Twitter stuff. Yes, I was at Monaco City Hall. No, I didn’t get married. You can all calm down.”

Chat:YOU GOT MARRIED?! WHO WAS IT THENOSCAR OR LANDOOOOOWHAT DO YOU MEAN "NO" STOP LYING TO US NORRIS

Max Fewtrell: (joining the stream, headphones askew) “Wait, wait, wait. Back up. What did I just walk into?”

Lando: (grinning way too hard) “Twitter thinks I got married.”

Max F: “...Did you???”

Lando: (sputtering) “What?! No! No, mate—God—why would I—? No!”

Max Fewtrell: (squints at him through the screen) “You’re acting weird. That’s exactly what someone who secretly got married would say.”

Lando: (waving his hands) “I was just at the city hall, okay? I was a guest. I brought my camera. That’s it.”

Chat:"JUST A GUEST" SUUUREHE’S FREAKING OUT OMGLANDO WHO WAS ITWHY ARE YOU SO SHADY

Max Fewtrell: “Wait… was it Oscar?”

Lando: (visibly sweating) “I—NO—it wasn’t Oscar. He was also a guest! He brought… macarons. Like a very elegant little wedding guest. And he wore a suit!”

Max Fewtrell: (laughs) “So if it wasn’t you or Oscar… who got married?”

Lando: (looks directly at camera, then away, then back again) “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Max Fewtrell: “Oh my God. It was someone! You little cryptid! You’re hiding something!”

Lando (visibly flustered): I WAS A GUEST. I HAD A TIE. THAT’S IT.

Max F: You’ve never worn a tie willingly in your life.

Lando: (panicking, adjusting his headset) “I’m just saying… maybe some people like their privacy, alright? Not everyone wants a big flashy wedding. Some people like… small things. Quiet things. With like… flowers and—”

Max Fewtrell: “Mate, you’re digging a hole. You might as well tell us.”

Lando: (points at camera) “Nope. I’m loyal. I’ve been sworn to secrecy. That’s it. That’s all I’m saying.”

Max Fewtrell: “Sworn to secrecy means it was someone! Confirmed! Chat, we’re getting somewhere.”

Lando: (leans forward, whispers into mic dramatically) “Chat, if I mysteriously disappear after this stream… I was never here.”

Chat: RIP LANDOHE’S GOING TO BE TAKEN OUT BY THE WEDDING MAFIATHIS IS BETTER THAN DRIVE TO SURVIVEFREE HIM

Max Fewtrell: “So to summarize: Oscar did not get married. Lando did not get married. But someone did. And Lando is freaking out.”

Lando: (facepalming) “Why did I open my mouth.”

Max Fewtrell: “Because you love chaos. That’s why.”

[storieswithvenus]

Honeymoon anxiety - Tyler Owens x Fem! Reader

.*･｡ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

The fire crackles, spitting out small bits caught by the fire guard Tyler had placed in front of it an hour or so ago. you were currently sitting with your recliner up and head in your laptop.

“You know, it would be nice if you spoke to me instead of having your head in the laptop all night”, Tyler's voice gains your attention looking up towards the doorway where he is currently leaning up against, a teasing smile on his face.

“I'm sorry baby, I'm just trying to work out all the plans for our honeymoon, I’m convinced this is harder to plan than the actual wedding.” you speak for the first time in a few hours. you had been sitting researching all these different places across the world to see what would fit yours and Tyler's respected interests.

“I told you, we could just go on a solo storm chasing trip for a few weekends, then we aren’t spending as much money,” your head immediately snaps up to look at him, your eyes narrowing into a glare. “Tyler owens. I told you we are not celebrating our honeymoon by going and storm chasing. We already do that everyday, and you know damn well the gang is gonna turn around and tag along” you spit at him, he knew this was a non-negotiable issue with you.

You watch as he walks into the living room and towards the sofa where you are sitting, Tyler sits beside you and pulls you closer towards him ending with you on his lap facing him.

“I cannot wait to marry you my dear,” he leaves a gentle kiss on your lips, he can taste your vanilla lip balm which causes him to lean in again for a second taste. “I'm sorry I haven't been speaking to you, ty. I'm just so worried we won’t have everything planned and booked before the wedding.” You let your worries out to him, he watches you with the most love ever as you ramble on about the small details which were causing you anxiety. every so often you would feel him squeeze your waist so you knew he was listening to you.

Your wedding has always been made a big deal, even since you were a kid. That was your biggest dream, to marry your prince charming. Tyler had many conversations with your parents, mainly because they gave him the rundown of how you are going to act like when he does propose.

You start to fiddle with your engagement ring, playing and rubbing the small diamond in the middle of the gold ring. You had stated on your first date with Tyler that you only wear gold jewellery and have never been into silver, that was something he has taken a mental note of when you started to get serious - eventually using that to pick out the engagement ring 3 years later.

“Everything will come out perfect my love, stop worrying, we still have 7 months until the big day,” his voice immediately calms you down, his green eyes staring into yours, the love for you shown in the look he is giving you.

“We are still not having the honeymoon in tornado alley though.”

[bahngarang]

chapter 7.0 ☆ the lock and key theory

ss: 3

wc: 1,763

cw: swearing, food mentions, jokes about disability (from a disabled writer)

a/n: seeing my work while I'm innocently scrolling through the skz x reader tag is WILD y'all

yn's office hours were... interesting. during their first year as a part-time professor, it had initially been pretty boring. no one really came to their office. the students preferred to go to their more serious professor, as it were – and dr jang was definitely more serious and more experienced. she had more of a reputation. which was fine, yn was perfectly happy to lesson plan and do the more computer heavy side of their research in that time. they enjoyed working alone. no distractions.

the second year? not so quiet.

it had started small. justin being the main instigator. he was always one of the more outgoing ones. he came in once or twice a week, bothering them with questions about the material. things he probably could have figured out on his own, but it was kind of nice. 

now, yn had justin, and oftentimes a few of his friends, hanging out with them during office hours. doing homework, asking about assignments and essays and sometimes just yapping. and, strangely... yn liked it. sure, sometimes they had to use urban dictionary to decipher the young people language, and deal with the occasional millennial/old person joke, but it was pretty fun.

today was one of the more yappy days, clearly. justin did have his laptop out, precariously placed on his legs, but he was completely ignoring it except to make sure it didn't drop to the floor. instead, he was rambling on about how painstaking sewing beaded fabric was, and stitching and so on. don't get them wrong, yn was absolutely listening, but they were also having something close to a religious experience with today's cheesecake that dr jang had brought up from the cafeteria for them.

"–and i've already managed to break two needles on that stupid stuff, even though I spent ages unpicking the beads by hand, like, at this point, is it even worth it?"

"mmh," yn hummed sympathetically, taking another bite of cheesecake, chewing slowly. shifting on their desk chair, they crossed their right leg over their left to get more comfortable. "well, considering how much you've been talking about this for the last couple of months, I don't think you should give up now just because you're frustrated over some fabric."

justin huffed. "yeah, but it's annoying, and-" he stopped, and yn looked up at him from their lesson plan after a few moments of silence.

"what?"

"nothing, it's just..." he squinted at their knee. "has that tattoo on your knee changed? did you get a cover-up or something?"

"it's not a tattoo, it's my soul mark," yn said, before looking down at their knee in confusion. they were less averse to showing it now that it was pretty much unreadable. or... it was.

"what the fuck..." yn muttered to themselves. it wasn't completely as it was before all the knee surgeries, but it was definitely... closer than it used to be. and even through their sheer tights, they could read a few initials – b.c., s.c., and y.j.. well. shit.

"do soul marks... usually change?" justin murmured.

yn's area of expertise was not soul marks in any capacity, but it couldn't be a coincidence that the only three of their soulmates that they'd seen – and touched – were the ones who's initials they could read now. one? sure. two? weird, but okay. but three? yeah, something was definitely going on. yn hadn't heard of soul marks changing after interactions with soulmates, but then again, they also didn't know anyone else who'd had their marks fucked up, especially to the extent of their one. "uhm... not that I know of..."

"that's... weird."

"... yup."

"does it feel any different?"

"i would have noticed earlier if it did," yn replied.

"do you know why it's doing that?" justin asked curiously, leaning further over yn's desk to look closer at it.

"i... have an idea," yn said to their chagrin.

"cryptic."

"you're my student, you don't need to know about my love life," yn said. "i'm sure you have much more pressing matters to worry about. like... studying..."

"boo. that's boring," justin said, heaving a sigh and draping himself over the back of his chair.

"i feel i should remind you that you have a test next week," yn said flatly. "and while studying may be boring, it does help your results." yn left out that they had not been the most avid studier during their university years. do as i say and not as i do, right? justin didn't have to know.

not that he listened, continuing his impassioned rant about beaded fabric and other things, while yn silently had a mini crisis over the new development in the soulmate department.

"hi," yn mumbled, frowning down at the pan in front of them. they were... attempting to cook dinner, their phone set up against the back wall of their kitchen counter. but it was one of those days when they had to drag a chair into the room so they didn't have to stand up, so it wasn't a particularly nutritious meal. still better than not eating, though.

"hey." the audio from minji's end was... crackly. the connection in the gym she went to was shitty, to say the least. and she'd chosen to accept the video call while on the treadmill, which was a choice, for sure.

chika giggled quietly, and the half-drunk margherita that she held told yn she was at least a little tipsy. her location was unclear, but it was clear she'd found some room away from the main party where she wouldn't be disturbed for a while. "guess who I'm with," she hummed out in a sing-song voice, before turning the camera to bring her companion into frame.

yn, at this point, wasn't surprised at who it was. it was, in their mind, only logical – chika was at a versace event, so was hyunjin, and fate seemed to have it out for them recently, so why wouldn't it be him?

"we're hiding," chika whispered. "it's very loud. and there are too many people. i am quite overstimulated."

"hello," hyunjin said shyly, giving a small wave to the camera.

yn, for all the repressing of their feelings, still couldn't deny how cute he was. it was just one of those things. they suspected it had a little to do with the fact that he was their soulmate... but it was also just one of those things.

"so, what was the stuff in the group chat about your soul mark changing?" chika asked, a shit-eating grin spreading across her face, as if one of my soulmates wasn't unfortunately right beside her.

"shut the fuck- oh, my god, get your furry ass off my counter!" yn complained, getting up off their chair to grab bingus, who was making his daily escapade into the kitchen cabinets. honestly, they wouldn't really have a problem if it was the ones at ground level, but trying to haul the cat's fluffy body out of the top shelf of the higher cupboards every day was just... it took far too much effort. they sighed, walking back into frame, holding bingus like the little baby he was, slumping back down into their chair, breathing a little heavy. "he's such a pest."

"just grabbing your cat has you breathing like that? damn..." minji said with a slight laugh, the background noises of her running slowing down as she lowered the speed of the treadmill.

"yeah, well, health is wealth and I am dirt poor, if you catch my drift," yn said, scratching bingus behind the ears and kissing his little forehead.

hyunjin gasped from the other side of the camera, his eyes going wide. "you have a cat?"

yn chuckled, picking up their phone to hold the camera closer to their kitty. "he's called bingus. i woke up to him sitting on my face this morning."

hyunjin muttered something that the microphone didn't manage to pick up, but evidently chika found it absolutely hilarious in her drunken state. "he's so cute..."

bingus meowed gently at the camera, blinking his wide eyes innocently like he wasn't just trying to use yn's ramen stash as a cat bed, instead of literally any other surface in their apartment. he was a strange one. although, maybe that was just cats in general.

"that he may be, but he also made five escape attempts in the past hour and was sulking until about ten minutes ago because I wouldn't let him risk his life in seoul traffic," yn replied in exasperation.

minji sighed sarcastically, rolling her eyes. "you clearly don't love him then."

"yes, i hate my cat and want him to live an unfulfilling life. he reminds me of that often. maybe i shouldn't have trained him to come with me on my bike. i've given you a taste for danger, hm?" yn smiled down at bingus, kissing his cheek.

"you have a bike?" hyunjin asked.

"yeah," yn confirmed. it was pink, and had hello kitty detailing – what more could you want?

"they're objectively less safe, you know that, right?" minji said. it was a conversation they'd had many times, but it always ended the same.

"i never said it made sense," yn protested. "but, unfortunately, i don't have the luxury of being able to walk everywhere, i'm scared of cars, and me and public transport don't mix well because it's usually too busy to sit down, so... this is my solution."

"i think we should go back," chika said, finishing the conversation abruptly. "i think donatella has some attachment issues," she whispered, not that it was any quieter.

yn chuckled. "alright. see you in a few days."

minji's pout was practically radiating through the screen as she said her goodbyes, to no surprise. it wasn't just donatella versace who had attachment issues.

and so, yn was left alone with their thoughts again while they ate their noodles – and simultaneously tried to stop bingus eating them as well. hyunjin was... nice to talk with. not that they expected otherwise, but... a part of them wished he wasn't. it would have made it easier to reconcile staying away for so long.

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[peachypine]

the roomies!!! i originally designed this ososan oc trio in full about a year ago to write on an rp blog. it's not really active rn, but i still want to talk and post about 'em, so here they are! just basic rundowns, but i'd be curious to hear which one (if any) is your fav of the three (feel free to leave it in the tags?? if u want!)

bonus transparent of them all together:

aaand some rambling under the cut about their designs

anzu:

i wanted to use orange as a character colour bc it's one that wasn't already used in the matsu rainbow, and i had a concept of a gyaru character named anzu kicking around in my head for a long time as well, so here we are. miwa from the mixer ep inspired the eyeshadow (orange rather than miwa's blue obv, to keep with her colour theme) and delinquent totoko's design inspired her ombre dyejob! i went with a blonde-to-orange look as a nod to anzu's namesake fruit (apricot).

the strands framing her face are split into 3 sections at the end (2/3 are grouped together and 1/3 flips in the other direction) which is a little nod to her being one of 3 siblings (eldest), as well as the "三" character used in her surname (mikado) meaning 3. the rest of her hairstyle is just because i thought it looked cute, though.

ososan's style is more simplified, but i wanted to convey makeup that was a little bold, but cute (long false lashes, eyeshadow, & and a soft pink or nude glossy lip). clothing-wise, she mixes and matches a few different substyles (agejo and onee are prominent, with some ane, tsuyome, and general old school gal influences as well?), with a particular fondness for animal prints, esp. tiger print. (that said, orange tiger print doesn't seem all that common in gyaru clothes, so in-universe i like to think that the top pictured above was originally a black-and-white zebra(?) stripe print she thrifted and dyed at home--close enough!)

her nails day to day are usually medium length since she has a lot of hobbies that involve her hands and anything longer makes those things a bit more cumbersome. sometimes they're decoden/bedazzled, sometimes they're just painted a cute colour/pattern, depends on the day! and i think she opts for press-ons over extensions for longer nails, since it's cheaper.

ran:

i'm just a bitch who loves purple, that's the reason for this one. i think the hime cut with shorter bangs is nice because you can showcase the eyebrows (i think eyebrows can really elevate a character design so i gave all 3 their own brow shape) without worrying about the lines for the eyebrows and bangs intersecting in an annoying way when you draw it. i like shorter, slightly sharp eyebrows like these because they're easy to draw, lol. i think they're usually furrowed like she's displeased with something, but that may just be her resting face. i also thought this blunter, sharper-looking cut (bold, standoffish) was a fun contrast to anzu's flippy half-updo (bright, bouncy) and yuzu's short, wavy hair (languid, relaxed).

5 piercings on each ear (2 spiked helix & 3 lobe) = 5 siblings including ran (4 older brothers). the other reason for this number of piercings was that her namesake flower (orchid) had--i thought--5 petals, but as it turns out i'm a fool, it's actually 3 petals (including the lip) and 3 sepals??? ah, well.

clothing-wise, influences from various punk/vkei styles alongside some rokku gyaru. (maybe anzu introduced her to this one?) this brash style is the total inverse of how she was expected to dress growing up. (when she and anzu first met, she was an OL with no piercings, undyed hair, and positively miserable, but that was a number of years ago now.) i'm really not reinventing the wheel with "small and angry", but y'know, we have fun here.

yuzu:

is teal distinct enough from blue to count as its own colour? i think so. for yuzu, i really loved the concept of a deadpan-looking character who is very much not the straightman, who in fact wants very badly to be the funnyman 99% of the time. that kind of straight-faced but silly comedic character is always really fun to me.

half-lidded/heavy-lidded eyes paired with thick brows are always a winner to me fsr, and i wanted to give her a more "handsome" looking face with a bit more of a defined jaw than you typically see on women in ososan. as a treat. i wanted her to look a bit like a mysterious prettyboy, but she's not actually mysterious, she's just a space cadet. (and very straightforward about her thoughts and feelings, saying them with little fuss or thought.) expectation vs reality, people deciding what you're like based on their own perception vs what you're actually like, etc. etc.

i don't have anything deep to say about her hairstyle, but maybe that's how yuzu would like it, what you see is what you get. (again, eyebrows vs hair... let that eyebrow scar that i gave her for no reason shine.) as for clothing, she prefers things that are easy to move around in, so her style is the most "matsuno"-like (t-shirts, hoodies, basketball shorts, sweats, etc.). in particular, she likes shirts with phrases, usually in english, that are funny or almost make sense but not quite ("for background visual gags" and "for the english speakers in the audience").

[loolilyumm]

I really like your interpretation of 3! Would be super excited to hear more about your 8 (or any other characters) :D

YAY THANKS FOR THE ASK!!! And I am so sorry about the late reply. I literally forgot I had this drafted 😭 I actually already rambled on about 8 a couple of posts ago - If you scroll down (or look for the agent 8 tag on my acc) you’ll find it! I think so much about her I hope you enjoy…!!!!!!! I’m so happy you like my little guys :))))))

AHEM Since you said..any other characters….I DO HAVE OTHER CHARACTERS!!!!! NOW I AM GOING TO YAP ABOUT MY AGENT 4!!!

THIS IS ELLIS! I actually love drawing him so much. I will admit that I have not thought too much about his backstory BUUTTT he makes up for it in personality!

Ellis was about 16 during splatoon 1, and he moved to the city for college when he was 18. Shortly after, he was recruited to the NSS by Marie. As of splatoon 3, he is 21 years old! He mains the Slosher Deco.

He is a freakishly tall lanky dude. He’s very book smart but acts goofy and stupid and snarky and lacks common sense. He’s a bit of a flirt and Marie acts like she can’t stand him. They tease each other a lot but they genuinely care for each other a LOT! But they’d never admit it!! Ew gross!!

He feels like a bit of a disappointment to his parents because he was supposed to be going to this fancy college in the city, but ended up leaving it and becoming an agent full time. PLUS he can’t tell them that he’s a secret agent saving the world, so they just think he works at a gas station or something 😭

Hero mode was a totally new experience for him. Marie never doubted him though. Now he’s an extremely talented agent. He’s really good at coming up with strategies and is extremely intelligent on the battlefield. He’s just so goofy that everyone forgets he’s actually smart.

In the beginning, he didn’t know who the squid sisters were at ALL because he basically lived under a rock until moving, and he was like, “pff, you can’t be that big of a deal.” LMAO.

He and Marie quickly became best frenemies. They often teased each other and had a lot of good banter and really good chemistry. Ellis developed a little crush on her but never thought it would be reciprocated!

One night, Ellis was injured on a mission. He is very deliberate about his missions, always having a plan - so he rarely gets injured.

When he came back, he saw a side of Marie that he’d never seen before. She was worried for him, helping him with his injury. The two of them realized that this was serious work. Ellis could have died. It also brought Marie to a realization. She really, really cared about agent 4. There was maybe a little crush starting to form…!!!

But the two of them STILL haven’t done anything about it. It’s been 3 YEARS. They are the definition of slow burn. Just because neither of them wants to admit that they like the other.

Near the end of splatoon 2 hero mode, Ellis became an agent full time and dedicated all his time to finding Callie. And they did!!!!! It was super awesome yay!!!!!

Currently, the NSS is bigger than ever before and they even made agent 3 the captain.

Ellis is still a goofball and loves to be silly with Callie and agent 8 (Olive.) Those two are like his sisters. The New agent 3 (Margot) is a little off putting but that doesn’t bother Ellis at all. Every once in a while, he works a salmon run shift with her, and it’s crazy how good she is.

Ellis understands that 3 and 8 went through a lot down in the metro and wants to do anything he can to help them free the sanitized octolings. (This is what led to him working on the memverse with Marina!) Sometimes the agents go down to the empty remains of Kamabo to see if they can find anyone. They are usually unsuccessful but it seems to clear 8’s conscience.

I still don’t really understand side order. Um. I kind of didn’t like how it was all virtual 😭 maybe I will make it a little different just for the sake of story. Idk yet. But yea!

That’s all I have on Ellis, he’s my boy! I think he’s my favorite to draw, and his design has been the only one not to undergo any change.

And that concludes my agent yap sessions! If you guys want to know anything about them (or send them asks or something) my askbox is always open! I love answering questions :) ((even if I am a little slow ahhhh sorry!!))

But yeah!! I’ll make official character sheets and stuff sometime soon :D thanks so much for sticking around if you made it this far!! 🫶🫶

[so-long-soldier-writes]

Overwhelmed

elijah mikaelson x reader | requested

summary: you were warned that the transition would be hard, but words can only prepare you so much. experiencing it for yourself is way different, and harder than you could’ve ever imagined. you’re just glad your boyfriend’s got your back through it all, otherwise things would be going even worse than they already are.

tags: neurodiverse reader / sensory processing disorder, overstimulation, mild panic attack, comfort, some fluff

word count: 2.2k

a/n: requested to be like my other work, One of These Days, but just for Elijah! I tried making this one just a little different from the other, just for some variation, so I hope it's okay! <3

Every emotion you’ve ever felt is ten times stronger. Every bit of anger, sadness, joy, or pleasure. Your body seems to burn with discomfort, or melt with adoration, as your heightened senses take on a personality of their own. Your mind races. Your thinking is quicker, your reflexes are faster, and your feet can move you across a room almost at the speed of sound. It’s strange. Anxiety bubbles in your chest as you try to adapt to each new scenario. Every room in the mansion feels like a new challenge. The bright lights seem to burn into your retinas. Their faint buzzing is like a gunshot close to your ear. 

As a human, your senses were already sharp. You could hear someone’s footsteps from the third floor from your top floor room, and you could smell even the faintest scent of chocolate, or coffee, and you could notice the tiny details about someone’s speech, or pick out a lie from a monologue of rambling. Now, you can do all those things still, but they seem to yell at you. The whole world is yelling and you can’t avoid it. Everything is begging for attention - to be seen, to be heard, to be smelled - and there’s no shutting it off. You’re trapped inside your own body, your own mind, and there’s no escape. The yelling of the voices, the buzzing of the lights, the smell of the cologne that lingers in the air, and the feel of the denim clinging to your hips. Everything’s so strong now. Everything’s so-

“Y/N!” A sharp summon yanks you back to reality. A gentle hand rests on your shoulder, squeezing slightly. “Take a deep breath.”

Your dissociated eyes focus on the man in front of you. It takes you a second to recognize him, but his presence soon makes you calm. You look at him, then breathe, before giving a slight nod. He takes his hand off your shoulder. “Hi.”

“Are you okay?”

You blink a couple times, taking in your surroundings. You’re in the mansion, in Mystic Falls, in the middle of the day. The sun peeks through the windows, but your ring keeps you safe from the rays. “Yeah. I think so.”

“Are you sure? You looked startled.”

“Startled?”

“Panicked. Zoned out, even.”

“I’m okay, ‘Lijah. Just a little… yeah, zoned out.”

“If you want me to find you some herbs to settle your nerves, the Bennett witch might still feel bad about getting you turned,” he starts.

You shrug your shoulders. “No, I think I’m okay. I don’t really want to talk to her right now. Have you gotten any news about your brother?”

Elijah sighs. “Nothing of any use. But don’t you worry about that, okay? I have many contacts who I’ve promised protection as long as they tell me everything they find about him. He won’t be able to sneak up on us, nor will I let him hurt you. Rest your little head.” He kisses your forehead sweetly, cupping your chin. Elijah strides towards the kitchen and fills a cup of water. “Is there anything else I can get you? Something to eat, perhaps?”

The thought of blood kicks up your senses again. The buzzing light occupies its usual space in your mind. 

“Um…”

“Y/N?”

“Can you turn off that light?”

Without question, Elijah flicks it off. He smiles softly before handing you the water. “Hungry at all?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Positive? I don’t want you passing out on me from hunger again, love. I know it’s odd, at first, but you’ll get used to it.”

You hesitate. You don’t want to admit that it was overstimulation, not hunger, that caused your first episode. Yes, drinking human blood is something you’ll have to adapt to, but the real struggle is the sensory overload brought on by your transition. It’s worse than you ever thought it would be. And while Elijah warned you, it seems your previous human sensitivities have only multiplied. 

“I’m not really hungry. I think I might be tired, actually.”

The man looks at you as if willing the truth out of your sealed lips. He wants to prod, you can tell by the way he purses his lips, but he respects your response. If you don’t want to share, that’s okay. 

“Will you be here? Or do you have something to do in town?” You ask, partly changing the subject. 

He glances towards the window, but then back at you. “I have one thing for which I have to go into town, but I will be back shortly. Nothing dangerous. Rest easy.”

“You don’t mind if I take a nap?”

“Not at all. All I ask is that you stay here, stay safe, just while I’m gone.”

You nod, before carrying your tired legs up to your room. There, you finally strip yourself of your jeans and t-shirt, then turn off the lights and curl under a mount of comfortable blankets. Your noise canceling headphones block out what the four walls don’t, and sleep comes easy once you shut off the world. 

You sleep half the day away and wake up foggy-eyed around eight. Only a bit of sunlight still peeks through your curtains; much of the townspeople should have retired to their homes by now. Slowly, you rise from your bed for a more comfortable set of clothes. Your original plans to go out for one of your first days as a newly transitioned vampire were ruined by your overstimulation and rather long nap, but that’s okay. It’s not something you were looking forward to doing, if you’re being honest. 

When you make your way downstairs, Elijah’s in the kitchen. He’s busy with a task, but looks up to acknowledge your presence. A glass of blood rests beside him, but you’re not craving it right now. Instead, a peculiar smell catches in your nose, upsetting your stomach. You cough and try to ignore it.

“Did you get done what you needed to do?”

“I did, mostly, until the students and townspeople decided to gather in the square and distract me from my errand. I’ll just have to finish it tomorrow,” he says with a slight roll of his eyes. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah, actually. But do you know what that putrid smell is? Nothing like waking up to that. It feels like it’s burning a hole in my head.”

“That, my dear, is the bonfire that interrupted my conversation. I tell you, I have never seen a town with more social events than this one. It’s a wonder those alone haven’t attracted my brother here.”

“Ugh! And I used to have to go to all those before my friends all turned on me,” you muse. Ever since falling for the original and helping him in his quest to locate Klaus, they haven’t talked to you much. Their disapproval of your relationship is half the reason you were turned in the first place. “I didn’t enjoy them then, up close, and I still don’t like them now.”

“I can imagine it is quite the headache. The smell alone, coupled with the noise.” He pauses. “I sealed the windows to try and block some of it out, but it seems to have managed its way in anyway.”

“So it has,” you reply bitterly. “God, I was finally feeling better, but the minute I came out of my room, it all comes back.”

Just before Elijah can answer, an overexcited “woohoo!” from a local student carries from somewhere outside. You slump your head to the counter with an utterance of disgust. The simple shout is like a dagger between the eyes. 

“Y/N…” Elijah begins, hesitantly, “it’s important to feed when you’re this early in your transition. It’ll help with the senses.”

“Are you suggesting I go eat him?”

The man smiles. “No, but I have bags in the fridge. I can pour you a glass.”

Drinking from the rowdy man outside seems much more appetizing than getting a meal from a cold, three day old bag. Your stomach curtles at the thought. “No, I’m fine.”

“Love, your cravings are half of the problem. You can curb your senses when you feed properly. It does you no good to go hungry. What do they call it in this day and age?” He snaps his fingers. “Hangry.”

You glare up at him for a moment, then drop your gaze. “I’m not hangry, ‘Lijah, I just don’t feel like eating.” His pushiness is now adding to your uncomfortable state. You know he does it out of love, but right now, his love is rather suffocating. 

“Y/N… I really would feel better if you ate something. It’s been nearly ten hours since your last meal, and-”

“I’m not hungry!” You snap. “I told you already! I ate this morning, and I don’t want anything more. I just want everything to stop! I want the sounds to stop, the feelings - I feel everything, inside and out. I want the stupid smell of the wafting bonfire to get out of my nose. And I want this off me, because it’s touching me, and I don’t want it!” In a rage, you rip off your daylight ring and send it flying across the room. 

Elijah startles, fear shooting through him, but then he remembers it’s nighttime. He settles his anxious bones through a few deep breaths and waits for you to calm. “I didn’t mean to upset you,” he says softly, “I hope you accept my apology.”

The dam breaks at that and tears flood your eyes. You cover your face with your hands and try to fight them off. “I’m not mad at you. I’m just… stressed. There’s so much going on and so little I feel I can do about it. Everything is different, and loud, and overwhelming, and I’m taking it out on you.”

“None of that is your fault. You didn’t ask to be turned.”

“No, but I could be handling it better.”

“Y/N… you struggled with such things when you were human. How could you be expected to adapt quickly as a vampire? Your senses are heightened regardless of what you faced as a mortal; yours are even more sensitive than most. That makes you stronger than you even believe yourself to be. You should give yourself more credit.”

“I don’t feel stronger. I feel like an already weak person dumbed down.”

“Well I see the exact opposite. Your transition isn’t easy, but it’ll make you better in the long run. You’ll learn how to master your strengths and adapt to your weaknesses. You’ll make weapons out of them, and they’ll save your life. And, probably at times, mine, too. It’s a rare thing that you have, but you can make a disability into an advantage.”

“Maybe. If I ever manage to cope with it.”

“You will. I know you will. And I will be here to help you through it.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.” He smiles. “So, if you’re up for it, put the ring back on? Give this thing another chance?”

You sigh. “Tomorrow? When the sun comes out? I can’t wear rings for too long at a time; I don’t like the feeling, it’s like it suffocates my skin.”

“Let’s make a deal. You can take it off when the sun goes down, but at night, you have to wear it or keep your blinds tightly shut. And don’t misplace or lose it, because witches can be hard to find.”

Smiling, you agree. “Okay. I’ll keep it close.”

“Thank you, Y/N.”

“Thank you, too.”

“Now… when you say that the ring is suffocating your skin, is that just the ring, or everything?”

The question goes a bit over your head at first. You miss the way he’s looking at you and focus on answering honestly. “Sometimes, it’s everything, but other times, I can tolerate certain things. Right now, everything is overwhelming. Even my hair touching my head right now is stressful.”

“Okay.” 

“Wait… were you asking something else?”

He shakes his head. “I was just wondering if you’d like to sit with me, but I understand if you need some space.”

You think about it, wanting desperately to have some time with him, and willing away your discomfort. “What if we… what if we sit, and in a little bit, I might feel better?”

“As long as you’re up for it.”

“Okay. I can do that.”

For about twenty minutes, you sit in your respective chairs and laugh along to a sitcom that’s airing reruns on the tv. Elijah turned off all the lights and shut the curtains beforehand, creating a soft atmosphere in which you could relax. Your ring sits on the table in between you both, but the pressure to wear it is absent. You’ll put it on when it’s necessary. 

At the next commercial break, you silently slide out of your own chair and catch his attention. He gives you a quizzical look, about to ask where you’re going, but then you crawl into his lap in three quick movements, and his hands automatically reach out to support you. Your feet hang over the armchair, but your head is against his chest. Wanting to feel a bit more cozy, you grab a nearby blanket and drape it over the both of you. Elijah kisses your hair, then rests his lips on the side of your head. His contented breathing slows your own. 

“Comfortable?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

“Thank you. I love you.”

He kisses you again, a response of his own, and smiles. “I love you, too.”

[viperbunnies]

It's officially New years for me here! I am not the best at words, but I'm thankful for the support that I've received for the short amount of time that I've started posting art more often.

What started off as me wanting to just Archive some art I'm proud of snowballed to so many memories that I'll look back fondly to, so many silly ideas that breached containment that I remember seeing people do (Like the draw your oc reacting to their fave card that me and addie just talked about as a joke, and the Shroompocalypse that was just meant to be an Jade stealing people's yume joke)

I'm glad that I met so many amazing people and discovered new artists on this site! With that said I want to drop a few words of thanks to some of the amazing people that I've met here <3

Firstly, thank you to @oya-oya-okay being my first ever follower and mutual! If it weren't for you sharing my art I wouldn't be able to meet so many of my moots, your words of encouragement means a lot to me (and to other people that you also support!) I wish you well in life!

Thank you to @natsukishinomiyaswife ! If it weren't for you reaching out to me back then I probably would've continued lurking. You're a dear friend to me and I enjoy our random talks! May it be about life, or our own interests 💕 I hope the new year treats you kindly.

Thank you to @justm3di0cr3 ! For giving me so many ideas (some I've yet to finish...) and for listening to me whatever the topic maybe. I'm thankful that I met you! You're such a considerate person, always checking in on me whenever I feel down. If something's bugging you, I'm always all ears!

Thank you to @scint1llat3 , your overwhelming support has helped me so much. It's always fun seeing your currynoodles, and just your art in general. But it's just as fun just reading your thoughts! Your comments/tags are always so fun to read 😭 I hope you never get tired doing what you love! Labyu lodicakes (/p) kain ka ng madaming pansit sa new years for long life

Thank you to @jovieinramshackle ! I remember feeling so scared due to some inevitable changes, but seeing your general words of encouragement during that time helped me so much. Wishing you the best on your journey as well!

Thank you to @fell-e ! Your keysmashes and memes are so fun to see 😭 Genuinely need to know how you make them so quickly. Thank you as well for being my earliest supporters, I probably would've been burnt out so quickly if you didn't show genuine interest in my arts.

Thank you to @part-sadist ! For the laughs that you give me from your silly sketches, and for acknowledging some of my ideas. You've contributed so much ideas to my to do list as well, to the point that I don't think I'm gonna run out of any drawing prompts any time soon (They just need to give me the time already...)

Thank you to @taruruchi ! for being one of my earliest supporters, it's just so nice to see someone with similar interests as me! I still have so many Oz and Taru interactions that I want to make, so I hope you look forward to them hehe.

Thank you to @jadelover69 (i miss your old name /j) Thank you as well for your overwhelming support! I love seeing the things you rb on my tl, may it be twst or different fandoms you're interested in. They help lighten up my mood whenever I need it!

Thank you to @the-travelling-witch ! We haven't been mutuals for long, but you've always been so supportive of me! Thank you for showing genuine interests in my ocs! And for sharing me rambles about yours as well! If you ever get any new ideas, I'd love to hear them :> (Probably not asap due to Timezones and schedules, but of course I'll get to you soon!)

Thank you to my friend (alias Melone) If you see this I hope you know that I'm thankful that you pushed me to draw more. You'll always be my no. 1 hypeman, and I wish we can spend more time together soon. 2024 really is cursed-- our annual meetup didn't happen 😔 I hope we can meet soon! I still need to give you my gifts from your birthday.

If I could add everyone I've met here I genuinely would 😭 I love all of my moots/supporters /p.

Honestly I feel like I'm more cynical qnd negative irl... due to many reasons, but perhaps it's due to the people that I've met here that I'e had such a positive influence, which I'm honestly so thankful for. It's helped a lot with my personal struggles.

If you've made it this far, I hope you know that life gets better. A struggle today, doesn't determine the wind's path tomorrow. Wishing you all Happy new years! I hope that this coming year will be kind to us as all ^^

[envythesnow]

waiittt i love the idea of them going on another trip after Thailand where they reconnect and try to work things out without each other. if you have anymore headcanons about their post-canon trip id love to hear. 🥺🫶🏻

ahh i'm so glad you asked! i love thinking about this stuff😁 full answer under the cut bc i rambled on way too long and i don't want to clog the tag<3

assuming that saxloch don't work things out in the finale (i really hope they do), i imagine that they would probably go back to their respective lives for a bit (lbr piper is not letting lochy join her meditation program LMAO). but i think the shift in their relationship would gnaw at them, especially saxon. i feel like he will leave thailand with a different look at life and what he wants from it, and lochlan is a big part of that. i think he will realize that he'll never achieve true happiness (or even contentment) if he doesn't explore this 'thing' between him and lochlan. so eventually i think he will be the one to reach out first, also since lochlan will most likely keep his distance because he thinks that's what saxon wants :'(

anyways, the trip! in my mind it's saxon who proposes it, he might frame it as one final boys' trip before lochlan leaves for college but he really just wants to bridge the gap between them and get closer to lochlan<3 and lochlan will be ecstatic no matter what saxon's reasoning is of course. some snippets from the trip i've been thinking about:

lochlan's nerves throughout the flight to their destination; he feels like he's to blame for the distance between them and wants desperately to make things right on this trip. saxon is acting strange around him - a timid, gentle version of himself - almost like he's the one who's nervous, and it confuses lochlan even more.

at their arrival, the hotel staff emphasize the romantic setting and activities and saxon and lochlan realize the staff assumed they're dating. lochlan is already cringing internally and expecting saxon to shut them down, but surprisingly (to lochlan🤭) he lets it go.

from the get go there's a tension in the air between them; unspoken truths and long kept secrets waiting to be spilled. they both feel it, from the way their eyes linger (this is nothing new for lochlan, he's been looking for years. but feeling saxon's eyes on him is new - as nerve-wracking as it is thrilling) to the way they orbit each other, never making room for anyone else.

saxon is more possessive than usual; he only has eyes for lochlan and rebuffs every guest trying to get to know them - even the beautiful women. #whipped

spurred on by all this, one night during dinner lochlan finally broaches the unmentionable: thailand. layer by layer, saxon opens up, and it hurts and heals them in equal measure 🤧💗

then, drunk on wine and relief, they have their first real kiss (aka without outside pressure) in their hotel room, probably in a disgustingly romantic way where they "jokingly" ballroom-dance and they spin each other around and end up face to face or something. sigh.

their pillow talk would be insane to witness like i need to be a fly on the wall for their deep cosmic soul connection ass conversations...

they wouldn't be able to keep their hands off each other for the rest of the trip 😌 i don't think they'd be comfortable with PDA bc of obvious reasons but in their hotel room they get downnnn 😋

anywho! that's just a few of my brain worms. lmk what you think! i'd love to know your thoughts about them post-canon :D

[roomwithanopenfire]

Six Sentence Sunday

Hi! Thanks for the tags @confused-bi-queer @valeffelees @thewholelemon @bookishbroadwayandblind @artsyunderstudy

@monbons @bookish-bogwitch @prettygoododds and @run-for-chamo-miles!! I love seeing so many people share and i'm excited to dive into all your stuff today <3

I've been writing quite a bit, the only problem is I can't really share most of it. If I share anything of the fic I've started for COBB this year, I'll give away the whole premise, and I've been working on the end of The Way We Are and I'm pretty sure I've already shared all the parts I can from the beginning already.

Anyways, I had a hunt through my deleted scenes doc for The Way We Are and this piece of Simon & Penny dialouge needed to be shared with the world in some way, even if it's not in a fic. So have six-ish sentences of that, and feel free to listen to me ramble under the cut.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Penny asks, looking at me through the mirror, paused halfway through her makeup.  “Yeah, you look great with the winged eyeliner,” I tell her. “You seem fierce.” “Not the eyeliner, Simon,” she sighs. “This whole plan. It seems… risky.”

Finally working on this fic again makes me remember why I stopped and put it off for so long. Compared to anything else I've written, this one is so hard. I'm pretty sure I wrote most of these chapters 2 or 3 times over, and it's so much more than i orginally thought it would be. Which is a good thing in many ways, and I'm happy with the way the story is shaping out, and i'm so SO excited to share more of it.

But it's definitely the most challenging thing I've ever written, and the words have never came easy when I'm writing it. (The scenes that seemed to come easy often were the ones I got rid of first—like the scene above lol.) I have to work to get the words to work with me in a way that I've never had to before for any other fic.

And I don't say all this as a bad thing, but it's certainly different, and I'd forgotten about how hard it all was before I started it again. But idk, even though I have to use a completely different method for this fic than any other, i feel like it's working. I'm creating something. I'm moving slower than I'd like, and I'm getting into my own head about it sometimes, but the story is slowly taking shape (and wrapping up right now!!)

Most of my other long fics that I've written, I've felt like the story just existed inside me and all I had to do was tell it, but for this fic I feel like I have to craft it—mold the words into shape all by myself. Which is fun, but is also so fucking difficult lol. (Idk what the point to this ramble was, so maybe you can tell me ahaha)

Tags and Hellos!

@alexalexinii @aristocratic-otter @arthurkko @beastmonstertitan @blackberrysummerblog

@best--dress @brilla-brilla-estrellita @cccloudsss @cutestkilla @drowninginships

@facewithoutheart @emeryhall @fiend-for-culture @hertragedyconnoisseur @horsesarenotdeer

@hushed-chorus @iamamythologicalcreature @ileadacharmedlife @larkral @meanjeansjeans

@m1ndwinder @nausikaaa @noblecorgi @raenestee @rimeswithpurple

@rbkzz @shrekgogurt @skee3000 @supercutedinosaurs @sweetronancer

@talentpiper11 @terra-fae @you-remind-me-of-the-babe

[cementcornfield]

hello! i am incredibly new here to the joe’marr community and am finding it kind of difficult? to navigate the tags and um blogs because wow there is a lot of stuff outside of joe’marr in particular? but i see you primarily show up as a content blog for bengals and joe’marr friendly! would you mind recommending some joe’marr blogs and ways to navigate the tag for the ship? and also maybe some favorite fics of yours if you have any!

but thank you really for all the content i have scrolled through your joe’marr tag pretty religiously this past few days and kind of bummed i didn’t start liking them when the season started! hopefully i can watch them next season!

Hello!! ahhh how exciting, welcome to the fandom <3 <3. i truly do love when i see people going through my tags, it’s like hello!! i see you!! i’m glad you are enjoying the same things i’m particularly unhinged about! 

but i’m sure as you noticed, my blog is kind of a mess in terms of tagging 😔 whoops. i am just not organized at all, it’s a travesty. and i really try to avoid going into any of the big tags in the fandom (the joey b tag in particular is often a horrible place lmao.) so i’m afraid i can’t really help you tag-wise (i will say that you should make sure to search through both joe’marr and joemarr without the apostrophe, because people use both, and i think the apostrophe might actually mess things up on this broken-ass website lol). 

but i can definitely recommend some blogs and some fic i enjoy! 

blogs that approach joe’marr in a similar way to me: 

chasedeys - now if you want organization, cleo is way more on top of things than me, and has some FANTASTIC long rambling thoughts on our boys <3 

saviorified - combination of hockey and joe’marr/bengals stuff. kia's got great bits of analysis AND tremendous adorable fantastic art that you should definitely look through! 

always-silly-season - my dear wonderful friend annie who is more of a bball poster this time of year BUT is also an OG joe'marr blog. unmatched takes (plus her bball ships are also compelling!!)

agender-adrastea - nik keeps a great archive of joe’marr stuff on their blog and is also one of my favorite fic authors in the fandom! 

realtapiocafan - newer to the fandom but already knows everything to have ever happened in the lore lol. does a great job researching and presenting all of it for the fandom, an essential follow for the joe’marr lore enjoyer! 

cazluvsu - a bills bro, but also a fellow joe’marr poster! including this video that i am Obsessed with (among other great stuff!)

k8023 - more of a general bengals blog who posts a lot of the latest news in the fandom as well as cute joe’marr posts! 

chasing-clovers - always good for some good joe’marr analysis and moments! 

chase2pole - has lots of good clips and other joe'marr content for our general fandom uses!  

glittersgloom - actually more of a ravens fan (and has a lot of great info about that fandom and their different ship dynamics if you’re interested in exploring those! good stuff there honestly!) but has also lately been writing for joe’marr (again among many other great nfl ships!) and i really really love her writing :')

some fic to check out!

(it’s crazy how MUCH there is these days! i’ve said before but when i joined the fandom there were 2 (two!!) fics and now we’re at 83??? hell yeah!! i love all the fic authors for contributing truly i do, thank you!!)

keep them bright eyes focused on the coastline (waiting for you) - by the aforementioned glittersgloom, absolutely breathtaking MASTERPIECE of a joe’marr fic. and it’s 30k!!!

you look good in my shirt - a classic by nik, dealing with how they got to the point of joe wearing ja’marr’s jersey to the saints game 

run pass option - a smutty lil one-shot that i feel like really nails their dynamic (set when joe hurt his calf 2 years ago) 

so scarlet it was maroon - set after the afc championship loss :( :( sad but very sweet. 

even when the sun don't shine - dives into the tension/angst at the start of this season with ja’marr’s contract but with a nice happy ending <3

I don't want you like a bestfriend - this one is just super fun and porny and a great time all around lol. features jealous joe and desperate ja'marr (and even a bit of treymarr lol) which i’m alllll about. 

there’s lot more to check out, like i said, 83 fics! but these are just some that have stuck with me!!

[softpascalito]

I To Dig a Grave I Chapter 3 I

Summary: Twenty-one years after the outbreak, you come to Wyoming looking for something and end up in Jackson after a stranger saves your life.

But he doesn't stay a stranger.

Turns out Joel Miller is looking for something too. It feels like a fresh start. But when bad luck seems to follow you, Joel is the only one to turn to, forcing both of you to confront your feelings about your pasts- and each other.

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader Rating: Explicit / MDNI Word count: 12k+ Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Age Difference, Smut, Explicit Content, Grief/Mourning, Mental Health Issues, Canon-Typical Violence, Chose not to use Archive Warnings, Tags to be added

AO3 LINK // Series Masterlist // Playlist

notes: very excited for this chapter because you guys finally get to see what a big part of fic will deal with. keeping everyone who reads on in my prayers <3 (you'll need it)

i've also added a small playlist for this fic. in case you'd like to dive in the link is above!

this fic will deal with heavy topics. please note that it doesn't use archive warnings and tags will be added as we go in order to avoid spoilers. each chapter will have detailed warnings in the end notes on ao3.

Chapter 3 - The Sky

‘‘The sky here’s very strange. I often have the sensation when I look at it that it's a solid thing up there, protecting us from what’s behind.’ ‘But what is behind?’ Her voice was very small. ‘Nothing, I suppose. Just darkness. Absolute night.’’

- Paul Bowles, The Sheltering Sky

The body is resting against the only intact wall of the cabin, to Joel's left. Propped up next to the fireplace, the scene around it leaving no doubt about the finality of it. Blue hair drenched in red, thick liquid pooling below and running through the crevices of the weathered and beaten wood.

He barely registers Tommy’s footsteps behind him nor that they come to a sudden halt.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters under his breath. 

Joel is the one that steps forward, kneeling down next to the fireplace, his hand gently reaching out to touch the pale skin of her hand. “She’s already cold. Must’ve been a few hours,” he whispers, his voice dangerously close to cracking.

“We need to alert the others. What if these guys are already at the gates? Maria has no clue-”

“Tommy-” Joel gently tries to stop the rambling of his brother, but he can't bring himself to take his eyes off her. But the other man is barely listening, his feet shuffling anxiously as he reaches for his rifle.

“Joel, goddamn it, I mean it. Get up. They may be waiting for the moment to attack-”

“There is no attack,” Joel says, again, and his voice feels too calm for what he’s implying. 

He stalls for a moment, the realization coming to him that he’s gotten too good at this. He’s gotten too good at being in the presence of death, likely better than he ever has been in the presence of people.

He carefully leans forward, using his free hand to gently push the fabric of her hoodie out of the way, glancing down at the wound and giving a small nod. He doesn't need to see the way Tommy’s shoulders fall. He feels the air shift as his brother comes to the conclusion Joel has found much faster. They both know why he got there quicker. Takes one to know one.

“Why would she-” Tommy breaks off, turning his gaze away from the thing he doesn't understand. “I don't know,” Joel mutters under his breath. It hasn't hit him yet, the full force of what this means. Of the consequences it will draw. “We need to get her back to Jackson.” But he can’t really focus on that. Not when he has your best friend’s lifeless body next to him without a clue where you are.

“Do you think-” There's a heavy pause. “Did she do this alone?” Tommy asks, placing his rifle next to the door and beginning to look around the cabin for something useful.

Joel immediately knows what he's asking. But he shakes his head. “I don't think she would have- There's no sign anyone else was here.”

His head is spinning, screaming at him to do the one thing he knows. He needs to find you.

And then he doesn't. Because before they can even begin to move the body, he can hear hooves approaching outside. He recognizes the fast gallop of your horse even before you call their names.

“Lane?! Joel?! Tommy?!” Your lungs hurt from calling them. It was easy enough to follow the tracks, spurring your own horse on much more than you dared on any patrol so far. The mare almost seems relieved when you reach the two other horses and you slide off her back in one quick motion.

It's at the same moment that the door flies open, Joel crossing the small veranda in a few strides. You freeze in your tracks. “Where-?” The words die in your throat. Joel carefully makes his way towards you, his steps slow and controlled. Your eyes fly to his hands. They’re bloody. He has almost reached you when you find his eyes again. There is a gentleness in them that confuses you for a split second.

And then it all makes sense. You don't want the blood, you don't want that look in his eyes, you don't want any of it once you realize what it means.

“No.” Your voice comes out all wrong and you don't know if he heard you. If anyone can.

“It's okay. Come here,” Joel mumbles as he reaches you, carefully sneaking his arm around you. He tries to pull you close and he's not sure whether it's for your or his sake. Maybe both.

“No. Joel, where is she?”

He shushes you again, readying himself to catch you if your knees give out, his grip around you tightening ever so slightly.

Joel Miller has come to know you fairly well over the past years. At least he likes to think he does and you've rarely caught him off guard. But today you do.

“Where is she?!” Your knees don't give out. Not even close. They bend just enough for you to slip past the broad man in front of you, taking off with a run towards the door of the cabin.

It takes him a second to register what has happened. Then, he’s storming after you as fast as his legs will allow him.

“Tommy!” he yells out, hoping that if he won't be able to stop you, at least his brother will. But it's he who catches up with you just as you take the first step onto the veranda, roughly pulling you back by your arm, hard enough that it sends both of you tumbling to the floor.

He barely registers the way the wooden step digs into his ribs and knocks the air out of his lungs. Instead, his fingers stay tightly wrapped around your arm. “Fucking let go, Joel! Let me see her!”

He doesn't know what to say. He can't tell you that he simply can't. That it would stay with you forever, even more than this will anyway.

“Come here,” he just repeats weakly, bringing his other arm around to pull you in. One of your knees is bleeding, your jeans ripped open where you hit the floor with full force. Joel makes a mental note to clean the wound later.

Your body is trembling much harder than you thought possible as you let Joel pull you into his arms. It has nothing to do with the cold. You don't even feel like you're able to recognize temperature. An absurd concept, that your body would adjust to any of it, that it would ever stop shaking and trembling. Joel's arms feel like he's all around you, wrapping his body around yours, sheltering you from what is only a few feet away. 

Your lungs that were burning just a minute ago seem to not be a part of you anymore. They in- and exhale in their own rhythm, one that feels too fast and too slow all at once. You hear Joel muttering into your ear, but you can't make out the words. Your cheeks are wet. You don't know why.

The world dissolves around you and you briefly wonder if you’re dying. It's not a shocking idea that gets you up and fighting. You wonder about death the same way you would about whether or not they have soap at the store. The world has almost gone dark when you realize you are not, in fact, dying. But, even as the strength leaves your muscles and you collapse against the body next to you, you are aware that something has.

***

You regain consciousness, just for a moment. There is a steady rise and fall around you and at first you think it's your lungs expanding and deflating. But as you open your eyes enough to catch a glimpse of your surroundings, they move. Up and down. Slow and steady.

You're on horseback, pressed against a broad chest that has to be Joel’s. His arms are pulling you tightly into him, keeping you upright, making sure you won't fall off. You don't think you could bring yourself to care. It probably wouldn't even hurt. In fact, every part of your body should hurt with the way you were running earlier, with how you fell onto the stairs, bone crunching as it took the blow to your side. But oddly enough, it feels like you're floating, like your mind is far away from your body and equally far away from Joel. There is a disconnect, a faulty wire. One that simmers, undetected, till it snaps one random afternoon and sets the whole house on fire.

You still feel like you’re drifting in and out of consciousness when the movement below you slows and you feel yourself being lifted down by strong, steady arms. They are a constant around you, a shield that protects you from what is beyond.

Word about your disappearances has traveled fast but not fast enough for no one to ask any questions. There have rarely been any runaways in Jackson, except for the occasional teenagers who usually show up again the day after- and the couple last year. The bodies Joel had found in the abandoned hotel. Why was he always the one to find them?

People approach, some calling out to the odd group arriving. Tommy leading both horses and shushing those who call out to them while Joel holds you close, staring down anyone who so much as tries to approach him.

“I’ll go and fetch Maria and we can-” Tommy pauses, his gaze wandering from his brother's face to the curled up body below it. He can't bring himself to say it. Not like this, not in front of you. 

Joel gives a curt nod, understanding. “Tell Maria we're at my place. And-” A small sigh escapes his lips. “Make sure she arranges for a group immediately.”

The younger man swallows hard and turns away. Infected will happily devour any meat they're given, no matter if they've hunted it down themselves. He doesnt think he could bear going back and finding a scene like that. His steps speed up.

You only catch glimpses of the people around you, words being whispered, conversations being started and then abruptly breaking off. And you still feel light, so light that you think you could just float away, disappear into the blue until you’d reach the horizon and whatever lies beyond. But you're wrapped in the dark leather coat that keeps sliding off your shoulders, wrapped in Joel’s arms, and so it won't happen. He won't let you float away. 

For all you know, all of the sounds and glimpses could be figments of your imagination, something like a dream or a fleeting memory of a book you’ve read as a child, one that you remember the cover and smell of, remember that it made you feel something, and yet, the story won't come to mind anymore. Above all, this can be, needs to be, something that is unreal. Because otherwise, you dont think you’ll be able to get through it.

You don't move. You let Joel carry you down Rancher Street, you let him nudge your head further into his chest as you realize you must be passing the corner of the graveyard. It seems impossible that you walked by it just a few hours ago, with your mind on the library and which exams to set and dinner this weekend. It all feels like a lifetime ago, a memory that doesn't belong to you but rather someone else.

The morning fog sunk back into the earth hours ago, the rays of the sun forcing it to clear. The sky above you feels close enough to touch, a vibrant and comforting shade of blue spanning from the tops of the wooden houses to the mountains in the distance.

You were just a baby when your father put up a swing in your backyard, strong ropes tied to the branch of an old oak tree. You must have heard the story a million times. Him, getting out his tools while you were watching from your blanket on the grass, not quite able to move your head on your own yet. But he insisted that your large eyes followed him around, contently staying where you were as he worked. 

You didn't understand, when hearing him talk about it, why he'd build a swing for someone too small to play on it. It only set in years later that he'd simply been that excited to bring home a little daughter and build something for her and fill the backyard with children's and adults' laughter alike.

That evening, he put you on his lap, one arm securely wrapped around the tiny form that was your body then, gently moving both of you back and forth. You’d fallen asleep almost instantly.

It became your favorite spot, and the way he talked about it years after you had left the house and the garden behind, it had been his too. You loved kicking your feet or spurring your father on to push you harder, watching as your legs soared towards the blue sky.

It seemed to you, back then, that you were miles above the ground, imagining what it'd be like to let go and drift off into the sky, to go up, up, up until your house would be nothing more than a small square below you, surrounded by green.

Joel carries you into the living room. He doesn't seem to want to leave you alone. And he seems restless.

He gets on his knees in front of you, soft brown eyes taking in your face. You avoid meeting them, curling further into the couch. His lips are moving but you can’t hear what he says.

After a few moments pass, you can tell he’s waiting for a response so you nod, almost in slow motion. He seems satisfied with that, saying something else before getting dinner started. It probably smells good, but you don't think you know good anymore.

You get through two potatoes, a bit of salad and chicken before you push your chair back, hurrying down the hallway as Joel scrambles after you.

You make it to the bathroom just in time, falling to your knees in front of the toilet as your stomach begins emptying itself. A sharp pain shoots through the knee that collided with the stairs of the cabin earlier. At the thought of the cabin, another wave of sickness hits you. It's violent, the way your throat convulses, your body trying to empty itself of whatever is inside.

But there is no purging the things inside of you. The thoughts and the memories and the images- god, the images. Lane, hunched over a table. Lane, holding a knife while you make dinner. Lane, laughing. Lane, placing a gun to her head. Lane, crying.

The steady flow of scenarios provided by your brain is broken by another wave of nausea, even though this time it is just dry heaving, your stomach already empty. Your head is not.

You don't hear the rushed footsteps behind you, but you feel the calloused hands pulling your hair out of the way and rubbing your back.

“There you go, get it all out,” Joel coos quietly. It's not his fault. That he doesn't immediately connect the dots as you start sobbing, choking for air. The sobs, your lungs demanding air, your stomach blocking the way, clearly insistent on getting everything out of your system.

You’re positive that the noises coming out of your mouth do not sound like yourself or, for that matter, sound human at all. They're a mix of gasping and heaving, back and forth, as your fingers clench around the toilet seat so hard you feel like it may break.

Joel is very lost and very determined not to let you notice. He has never seen you in this much pain, not when he washed you in the bathroom upstairs nor when you were seconds away from being ripped apart by an Infected. He cannot know that on the first night spent with Lane you were hunched over a toilet just like this, throwing up the blueberry muffins that had been too much for your starved stomach to handle. He cannot know she held your hair like he holds it now, fingers firmly wrapped around it, occasionally sweeping a loose strand behind your ear.

You're not sure how long you sit there like this, the cold tiles uncomfortably pressing into Joel's already sore knees, when he carefully leans you against the wall as he fetches a few towels, letting the water run until it's warm, to wet one of them and wipe your face.

His eyes fly over your features, concern etched into every part of his face. You weakly try and raise your arm to take the towel from him, unwilling to just sit and watch. But he shakes his head firmly, his gaze determined. “Let me, okay? You just focus on breathing.”

As he reaches for another towel, you feel your empty stomach filling again. With a heavy, uncomfortable guilt, one you wish you could throw right back up. Tears shoot into your eyes again but this time Joel doesn't hesitate.

“What's going on? Tell me what you're thinking,” he mutters, his thumb brushing over the side of your face as his other hand uses the towel to dab over your chin, carefully wiping the remainder of the vomit away.

“I wasted your food,” you half-whisper, your voice raw. Joel's face falls, for a moment.

“Nothing is ever wasted on you, you hear me?” he mumbles quietly, moving on to wipe your cheek. “I can always make more.”

He doesn't seem to mind that you cry again at that.

***

It must be past midnight when you wake up the next time. The room is only dimly lit now, and a blanket is tucked around you, your eyes facing the worn-out fabric of the couch Joel set you down on earlier. Earlier feels very far away.

You turn, slowly, glad to find that your stomach seems to decide to give it a rest for now. It still lurches slightly as you squint into the dining room, seeing two figures hunched over the wooden table.

“Joel?” you try to call his name, quietly, but your throat feels dry and the word turns into a cough instead. Your fingers rub your throat, willing it to calm down and relax, as Joel appears in front of you, kneeling down beside the couch and offering you a glass of water. You nod your thanks, using both hands to bring it to your mouth and take a few sips.

“Better?” He hums softly, taking the glass back. You give another nod. If he minds the non-verbal communication, he doesn’t let it show. Instead he turns around, returning with the glass refilled. You gratefully accept it again.

It's only after he's placed it onto the small coffee table that your eyes land on Tommy, leaning against the wooden column separating the two rooms as he watches the scene in front of him. He gives you a swift nod when your eyes meet and something that seems like it was supposed to be a smile but, given the circumstances, fails miserably.

Joel motions for him to come closer. “Come on, it's- have a seat.” Their eyes meet and they seem to communicate silently, no doubt continuing the conversation where they left off.

Tommy sits down. He shuffles his feet, his fingers anxiously tapping the lid of a plastic container that holds some food. Courtesy of Maria, no doubt. Joel takes the spot next to you on the couch and you inch towards him, glad for any kind of support even though you have no clue what is about to happen.

“We- We’re still trying to piece everything together,” Tommy says, his voice quiet and solemn. You tense ever so slightly, listening intently. You're not sure you want to know how or why or any of the other details that will undoubtedly make this more real.

“There was a note in- with her,” he goes on, seemingly choosing his words very carefully. “She said she left you a letter, back at home.” Your eyes automatically fly to Tommy’s sides, half expecting him to pull a piece of paper out of his pocket. He seems to notice your train of thought.

“We're still going through her room, just to make sure- we just want to be certain this happened the way she says it did,” he finishes quietly. You can feel two pairs of eyes on you, but you just nod. Of course. Someone could’ve murdered her and staged it as a suicide. Somehow, that idea didn’t cross your mind. Maybe because you don't think anyone could ever truly hate Lane nearly enough to wish her harm or maybe simply because you already seem to feel in your stomach that her life ended on her own terms.

Joel and Tommy exchange a few glances until Joel awkwardly clears his throat and reaches out to take the plastic container from him. “I'll put this in the fridge.”

The younger brother keeps his eyes on you as you listen to Joel rummaging in the kitchen. His hand awkwardly reaches for your shoulder, hovering above it for a moment before patting it lightly. “I'm so sorry, kid.”

“Thanks, Tommy,” you manage to press out, your own gaze fixed on the opposite wall. You don't want to see the look again, the same one Joel had back at the cabin. In fact, you think you may never want anyone to look at you ever again.

You're still staring at the same spot when the two men head towards the front door a few minutes later. Their voices are low and they must be standing half outside, if the cold creeping into the house is anything to go by. You know their words are not meant for your ears but you still stay absolutely still, listening.

“I’ll bring the letter by tomorrow, okay? Let her get it over with,” Tommy mumbles and you think you hear him shuffling his feet again.

“Yeah, yeah, you do that,” Joel responds, equally quiet. There is a moment of silence. They haven't had a moment to talk about all this, for Joel to consider if he of all people should be the one to take care of you. 

Tommy seems to think along the same lines, even though you can't begin to guess the depth of their seemingly simple words.

“Are you okay to-?” 

Joel gives a shaky nod. “Yeah, ‘ts fine. She needs someone and- Ellie’s staying with Dina for a few days, until we've figured things out.”

Tommy doesn't know what to say. He carefully takes in Joel's face, or at least what he can make out of it in the dim light of the porch. He goes for a hug instead, wrapping his arms around his brother for a fleeting moment, a hand rubbing over the older man's back. “Either of you need anything, we're all here.”

His voice has dropped enough for you not to overhear the last part.

Maybe it's because Joel's own hearing is bad, but he doesn't seem to realize you've been listening when he comes back into the room a few moments later. “I'm sure they'll be done tomorrow. But we should all try and get some sleep now.” He takes a step towards you, gently running his hand over the top of your head. “I put some fresh sheets onto the bed upstairs while you were out. I don't want ya sleeping on the couch.”

You're too tired and exhausted to protest. Besides, you know it would be a waste of time. So you let him help you upstairs, let him wait right outside the bathroom door as you brush your teeth and let him tuck you into bed, the soft sheets a stark contrast against your dirty and scratched up skin. Joel looks down at you for a moment, his fingers tapping against his leg.

“Do you want me to stay here?”

It's almost embarrassing how fast you jump onto the offer, nodding as you finally meet his eyes again. He looks concerned and sad and you hate that you're the cause of it. But you also want his company, more than anything.

Joel turns off the lights and climbs into bed with you shortly afterwards. He’s changed into pajamas, made up of a pair of brown plaid pants and a cream-colored, worn shirt. Compared to you, he actually looks put together. You can see his outline beside you, the candle on his nightstand the only source of light left in the room. It gives everything a dim, orange glow, distantly reminding you of a sunset.

You're suddenly aware of how very heavy your head feels, far too heavy to be held up by your neck. There are too many thoughts in there, you think, they don’t have enough room to breathe. Or to make sense. The faulty wires are back. And they keep your synapses from connecting correctly. Nothing makes sense. 

‘We just want to be certain this happened the way she says it did.’

“Can I ask you something?” Your voice comes out small and still, it seems too loud in the quiet around you.

“Anything,” comes the response, equally quiet even though Joel's voice sounds more steady than yours. You ponder your words for a few moments and you feel him shift beside you, propping his head up on one arm to get a better look at your face. “What is it, darlin’?”

“They brought her back to Jackson, right?”

Joel seems to consider his words for a moment, then he nods slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, they did.” Even in the dim light, you can feel his eyes on you, searching your face. You turn your face away from him, staring at the stacked records in the corner instead.

“Why would someone go through all that trouble? Bringing her so far out?” The words coming out of your mouth seem as much a surprise to you as they are to Joel. You can hear him suck in a breath beside you. The mattress dips below his weight as he sits up.

“Can you look at me for a moment?”

You obey, turning your head and resting your cheek against your shoulder. You can see Joel's face above you. He looks like he's about to cry. You must be very tired, you think to yourself. Joel Miller doesn't cry.

Before your eyes and mind can drift away again, he swallows and speaks up again, the southern drawl in his voice more present than ever.

“Honey- No one made her go.”

His words are slow, carefully chosen. He knows he is treading a fine line here.

“She did it herself, darlin’.” A small frown has spread over his face, his eyebrows knitted together. “I told you earlier, downstairs. Don’t you remember?”

You shake your head, painfully aware that the gentleness in his tone is back, the same one he’s had earlier at the cabin. You think you know all the things he’s telling you, but you can’t recall Joel saying it. The picture of him in front of the couch appears before your eyes, but you can’t make out the words coming out of his mouth. Again, you find yourself surprised that you're the one who speaks instead.

“Did anyone check her?” 

He pauses at that, the frown deepening. “What do you mean?” 

You take a small breath, your fingers pulling at a loose thread of the sheets below you. “I mean, did they check if she's really-” You pull a little harder and the thread breaks, the thin piece of fabric remaining in your palm.

You wonder if they have wrapped her up yet. If someone’s put fresh clothes on her. If anyone has checked her pulse.

“What if she's not dead?”

“I need you to listen to me.” His voice is slightly more urgent now. “I saw her. And she's gone. I'm so sorry and I wish she wasn't and I know-” His voice comes dangerously close to breaking but he only gives a tiny shake of his head and presses on.

“I know how difficult this must be but you need to understand this. She's gone. She's not coming back.”

if you enjoyed the chapter, please consider reblogging/sharing or commenting, i promise it will be the highlight of my day <3

[merakiui]

21. Pick an author to co-write with and what you'd write about!

(And/or if you're not comfortable with that question)

32. Do characters influence your writing style?

(writer asks)

21. pick a writer to co-write a book with and tell us what you’d write about.

:O co-writing!!!! Aaaa hmm,,, in advance, I would like to apologize for the sudden tags. Please forgive me if it startled you. T_T

@rel124c41 ! definitely something tweels-related. My fellow eel appreciator. 🤝 it would be an honor to one day exchange ideas or even work on a fic together. :D (I am SO EXCITED for Arnolfini Portrait by the way!! You have no idea!!! I studied that exact portrait for a class assignment once and so it is such a lovely surprise to see it come up once more in my life!!!)

@heyyy11 ! we already exchange ideas so frequently and it has led to wonderful brain worms (one of which was fed with RABU)! I think it would be fun to write something together!!! Your brain is so galaxy, Kheyy…… WAAAAAA MUCH LOVE AND MANY KISSES!!!!

@qierxing the Trey truther of all time!!!!!! As it is only fitting, it would be so lovely to write about Trey. Or Heartslabyul as a whole!! Xing's written and artistic portrayal and characterization of Trey always leaves me so gagged in the best of ways. OHHHH, HE IS SO MISCHIEVOUS. I WANT HIM. OTL

@yandere-romanticaa ! I know how much you hate (love) a certain 11th Harbinger hehehe. 🫣 Childe lurks in the back of my head all the time and I'm often reminded of him whenever I read any of your posts about him. He truly is the menace of all time. I hope to one day talk more about him and write with you!!!!

@alj0saray ! Severn, I would like to confess that I have lurked in your Sunday writings for far too long and am only admitting it now due to shyness. ( 〃．．) but your hybrid Sunday……… HE IS SO YUMMY. The way you write him is so amazing,,,,, I fall every time. ALSO, A BIG CONGRATULATIONS ON 3K AAAAAA YAAAYYY!!!!!! 🎉 my ramblings aside, I would love to write about Sunday with you!! >o<

32. do characters influence your writing style?

Absolutely!! I've noticed this only recently, but whenever I write for Malleus my style becomes so flowery and poetic. My hope is that it feels Victorian in essence, but I'm happy as long as it has elegance!

I think the same can be said when certain themes are attached to characters. If it's Rollo I'm writing for, you can expect plenty of religious symbolisms and references. If it's Floyd, there is a lot of deeper meanings hidden within informality. Floyd actually helped me write better dialogue (especially his own dialogue, as it's so distinct and very different from what I normally write). Thank you to Floyb for helping me step out of the rigid confines of dialogue I once trapped myself in. <3

[beekeeperspicnic]

I'm sure someone already asked you this, but I am kinda new to your page, so I haven't seen it.

What inspired you/why did you decide to make the game specifically about them after they retire?

Personally, I love the idea and find it really cute and can't wait when the full version comes out :)

I'm sure I have answered before but I'm very bad at tagging things properly...

So, I think my line of thinking/inspiration went something like this:

I just generally really like hopepunk/utopian/introspective stories where the threat isn't an exterior one but solely comes from characters having to figure out who they are and what they want and what a good life means to them.

When Star Trek Picard was announced, I remember instantly wishing it was about retired Picard on his vineyard solving cosy/philosophical mysteries on solar punk utopian Earth. I knew it probably *wasn't* going to be that and it was going to involve spaceships and battles, but I think I filed that idea away somewhere in my brain.

The fun thing with Sherlock Holmes is that Arthur Conan Doyle ended up putting together a slightly patchwork picture of the lives of his characters, which opens the door for speculation about what was "really" happening. In 'His Last Bow', the final story chronologically, Holmes and Watson seem to have grown apart, but the moment they are together again they resume their old closeness. Holmes speculates they may not see each other again after that story... but did they? It feels like there's a story there waiting to be told!

I wrote something in Volume 3 of So Far Down Queer Street if you want to read me rambling more about why their relationship captivates me.

Also when Adrian Conan Doyle had a go at writing his father's characters, he gave us a slightly different ending which I adore...

[dootznbootz]

Can I ask why you hate OdyDio? I’m not super familiar with Greek mythology yet, and I’ve seen OdyDio as fairly popular so I’m curious about the other side lol (I personally don’t ship it just because I can’t imagine Odysseus with anyone other than Penelope tbh).

Because people are literally mischaracterizing both Odysseus and Diomedes to make it work and it spits in the face of what Homophrosyne means 🙃

And people are nuts about it in a way that pisses me off more than any other NOTP/crackship I've had before.

I guess this post, This one, This one, and my friend Thane explained it very well in the tags of her post as well. that people have done about vague fandom is a good explanation if that's all you want as I do rant here lol. NGL, I don't...really care if I'm being mean right now. Like block, unfollow, or ignore me. I wanna rant.

Btw, yeah, I'm being a "hater" but I'll tag right so you can block "#anti odydio" if you must.

I already didn't care for it in the first place, (I've vented about it before) as I agree, OdyPen are literally soulmates. To the point where they have their own WORD for their love. And yet people will fucking insist that "Oh, Odysseus and Diomedes are more compatible". WHERE?

The Odyssey is literally about him trying to go back home to Penelope and their son. And even in the Iliad, Odysseus mentions her. The Odyssey only mentions Diomedes three times and never once by Odysseus (once by Nestor, twice by Menelaus) so... that goes to show how Odysseus feels about him. 🤷 Kind of wild that Odysseus mentions his wife multiple times in both works but says fuck all about his war co-worker. Menelaus was the one who talked about Odysseus so warmly in the Odyssey as well. Y'all just don't "blorbo" him enough to pair him with Odysseus.

I was just neutral about the ship existing because it's like one of those absurd crackships to me but with how popular, fanonized, and just...With HOW people have behaved about it to me ;~;

Ofc, I'm a huge Penelope fan but even with Diomedes, you can't go into his tag without OdyDio. I'm not even joking. I'm sad I've had to block Diomedes' tag as well because people don't tag right AND don't apparently see him as more than Odysseus' "fling" ;~; (I mean at least Penelope and Diomedes can relate to the fact that it sucks that a lot of people are only caring about them because of Odysseus and not because of who they are. :/ )

Just in general, with my own reading of the Iliad, I...WHERE?! xD Where is the "ship"? They are comrades and they're very different from one another personality wise. Sure, they're a good team in combat but in life??? They are not "likeminded" at ALL.

They also have a fairly large agegap, Odysseus being one of the older kings while Diomedes is one of the youngest. I have them around a decade apart in my writing If you bring up pederasty, you will be smited. You're fucking disgusting.

They also have very little in common other than them both being Athena's pets (which um. Penelope is one too, you know?). Odysseus is a fucked up lil warrior trickster who loves his wife and child more than life itself while Diomedes is a young child soldier boy who is incredibly duty bound and war is where he feels most comfortable.

Diomedes would not put up with Odysseus' rambling about his family and Odysseus WANTS to talk about that. They're co-workers.

Diomedes is a younger king who looks up to all these older and more experienced kings. "Notice me, senpai" energy, and I love it!

And I really hate this "Male/Male relationships didn't 'count' back then so it's not cheating!" like, it may not have counted THEN but it should count NOW. Male/Male relationships have counted to THOSE COUPLES and it has ALWAYS counted. Like by saying that, you're already fucking undermining this supposed beautiful relationship by saying "It wasn't seen as real :3 ".

Like is it a real relationship, important and meaningful for both, in which yeah, Odysseus IS emotionally and physically cheating. (unless Pen and him have agreed to be Poly which yes! Go forth if that's the case! :D Give Penny a GF too!) or was it a casual thing that actual just meant "nothing", therefore OdyDio means nothing? WHICH IS IT?!

You can't have your cake and eat it too. You can't vehemently talk about how Odysseus doesn't cheat on Penelope and then think he canonically fucked Diomedes and even had a romantic relationship with him. Is Odysseus a loyal wifeman who adores Penelope or is he a weak-minded "wifeman" who immediately starts fucking his co-worker as soon as his wife is out of sight? He has the self-control for not wanting concubines (correct) but then lacks it with Diomedes? That's not Odysseus. Make an OC at this point.

Like Admit and have fun with a crackship and then yeah, just do it because you find it hot. You don't have to pull stuff outta nowhere in order to have fun with a CRACKSHIP. (I crackship MenOdy sometimes. I know they didn't do that. I admit to the fact that it didn't happen and it goes against their characters to do so. )

OR delve into the possible feelings of Odysseus feeling like he's betraying Penelope by falling in love with another or whatever! And if it's just "casual fucking", y'all. He's fucking married and deeply in love. Have OdyPen KNOW they can both be casual so she won't feel betrayed when he tells her "Oh yeah, me and this guy were fucking during the war. :) Yeah, I fell in love with him too! No, thoughts of you weren't enough to keep me sane, I needed a fuck buddy too. Wait, why are you mad at me?"

As from what I know, with kings especially, you did NOT interact with someone like that of the same rank without consequences of being ridiculed by the others. Odysseus is older and more respected than Diomedes, and Diomedes, who is TRYING to prove himself, would not want to be with another king as that would make people respect him less! If you want to write about it, at least delve into that possible JUICY type of drama that would occur with a CRACKSHIP relationship like this! It's okay to ship something JUST because it's a fetish y'all!

That's just the Canon texts itself as to why I just simply disliked it. The fandom was... yeah ;~; made me hate that it even exists. (Not all! Some of y'all are incredibly kind and respectful of boundaries and I appreciate that! It's just that...Some were not.)

I mean I've had to deal with Aphobia surrounding my OdyPen and along with some asks/people in the past who were TRYING to make me write about OdyDio despite the fact that I've never liked it.

"Hey, I know you don't like this thing, but maybe THIS will change your mind. You have fun ideas so I wanna see what you do with OdyDio!"

Do you know how shitty that feels? 😞 To have people, WHO KNOW YOU DON'T LIKE SOMETHING, try to make you like it? By sending you links and "headcanons" that will "still work in your writing?" Sending in your asks, DMING YOU SOMETIMES.

That was like, half a year ago and thankfully it's stopped for the most part but I was in such a funk that I didn't even wanna write ANYTHING for a while.

Funny enough? I USED to have this "Oh, Odysseus and Diomedes are exes who fucking hate each other." idea where I aged up Diomedes to make it work, which I now no longer have because I realized I only wrote that way because I thought I HAD to in order to get people to be nice to me. ;~; Because if they're romantic at some point but simply don't click, maybe that'll be enough. To get people to just shut up and stop sending me things. (fuck the anon who sent smut last December. you suck.)

I changed that (now it's Greater Ajax who's his ex. lol. idk ask about it if you want.) because I realized yeah, it was making me unhappy and because I felt like I HAD to. ;~;

I also think it's weirdly because some Odysseus fans almost block out the Odyssey, you know, HIS story, and pretend like he didn't do everything to get home to his loved ones.

I've seen some ridiculous shit about Penelope as well. >:( like holy shit, misogyny everywhere.

"Oh, she didn't trust him and made him cry when she tricked him. She's abusive!" Literally one of the most stupid things I've ever fucking heard. She HAD to be sure it was him and when she knows for sure, she apologizes, explains, and kisses him. Kisses that he desperately and happily returns btw.

"After all Odysseus goes through from the Goddesses, he's afraid of women so he and Penelope separate." ...WHAT?! He literally wants to "embrace in love in their bed" as soon as they stop crying! And she holds him back only to know Tiresias' prophecy, which he DOES TELL HER BTW, before they DO "show love".

"Penelope becomes Odysseus' and Diomedes' surrogate!" ...Wow. Just wow. Love how people will talk about how ancient men in the past only saw women as "breeders" as though they're any fucking different with THIS fucking take.

It's annoying that I'll post a headcanon on tumblr and then the tags are "This but with OdyDio." or that people will often only like/reblog my ODYSSEUS shit and not my Penelope. ;~;

I love how people will be adamant about how "Odysseus never cheated" (true), and yet have him with Diomedes :/ Like at LEAST have OdyPen agree to have an open marriage before they're separated if you're going to pull that stance. (also give Penelope a girlfriend if Odysseus gets a boyfriend, you cowards.)

So many people for some reason only see Penelope for what she is for her husband and that's all. As though that's all she is. And as if Odysseus isn't as intertwined with her as she is with him.

Even with OdyPenDio. I've noticed that it mostly means "OdyDio + Penelope in the fujoshi cuck chair." I've only heard about ONE fic where it's actually about PenDio. (In which Author, you give me hope. It's not my thing but thank you for writing that. <3 The "Sidepieces" deserve love too.) It feels like people masking micro misogyny by forcing M/F couples to be throuples with the man they’d rather see the dude with. Or acting like the only way to enjoy a couple is to make them gay by erasing the woman entirely 🤮

I just... stdrfgyh ;~; I wouldn't hate it so much if people were nice about someone not liking it but the fact that I literally cannot escape it and because some people were just so pushy, I just negative memories I guess.

Either way, I love Diomedes and Sthenelus together :) whether as a QPR or romantic or whatever, those two are like bonded pairs that cannot be adopted separately.

I could go on but yeah. I'm done :)

[meo-on-prairie]

Amor

Getou Suguru x Reader

Prompt: “Ladies and gentlemen, will you please stand? // With every guitar string scar on my hand // I take this magnetic force of a man to be my lover” - Lover (Taylor Swift)

Words Count:1.3k

Tags: Suguru x reader, AU, Fluff, pure fluff and good time.

Rambling: Back with my Swiftie agenda. This fic wrote itself ngl, I planned something completely different idk how I got here. Life has been putting me through the meat grinder so I’m writing fluffy fanfic to cope.

“We need to take down the Christmas light.” Suguru brought up while you two are washing the dishes after dinner. 

“Yeah we should. Or… we can keep leaving it up for another month.” 

Suguru pauses and gives you a pointed look, “Hun, it’s already April.”

“Exactly. We already procrastinated to this point, might as well procrastinate all the way. If we never take it down, we won’t have to put it back up in December.” you pointed out. 

You just find it’s useless to take it down. Not like you guys have it plugged in so you're not wasting any electricity, they're just there. There is no reason to waste time to put it up and take it back down every year. 

“You’re unbelievable” Suguru chuckled 

“Thank you, my genius knows no bounds.” you joke as you hand him another plate to dry.

He leans down to kiss your temple, “You’re lucky I love you.”

“I know,” you said smugly “I love you too.”

After you finish with the dishes, the two of you decide to watch a movie before going to bed. You cuddle up to Suguru. You enjoy this little routine you two have. You both wake up an hour earlier than you need to cuddle with each other, you eat breakfast together before going to work. If possible, you two would have lunch together. Suguru would cook dinner, you would wash the dishes and he insisted on drying them. Then you would spend the night doing things together or doing your own things while being in the same room. It’s a mundane and boring cycle, but to you, it’s anything but boring.

You always thought that love is all about butterflies in your stomach, heart racing, excitement, going on dates to fancy restaurants. And yes, those are always fun and lovely. But if you really have to choose, you would choose this mundane life with Suguru over everything.

“Would you like to go on a date with me this weekend?” Suguru asked you out of the blue. 

“Do you even need to ask?”

“It’s a polite thing to do.”

“Well then, Yes. I would love to go on a date with you.” you said with a small laugh. It’s cute, you have spent 3 winters with Suguru, but somehow he always manages to make you feel like you've been with each other for 20 seconds and 20 years.

“Where are we going?” you asked

“It’s a surprise, just dress pretty.” Suguru replied softly, placing a kiss on your hair. 

You hum softly at his response, “How pretty would you like me to be?”

He takes his eyes off the TV and looks down at you. Feeling his gaze, you tilt your head back to look into his eyes. 

“As pretty as you are right now.” Suguru muttered before capturing your lips.

////

You decide to wear a white tube dress you bought a week ago. You love the way this dress looks on you, it shows off all your curves in all the right places. But you’re not the only one that enjoys the way this dress looks on you. 

“It looks lovely on you, but I think it’ll look lovelier when I take it off you.” Suguru whispers in your ears from behind. He has his hands wrapping around your waist, his face buried in the crook of your neck, breathing you in. 

“I bought it so you can take it off.” you hinted, turning your head to kiss the top of his hair. You can feel his smile against your skin.

Suguru reserved a nice Italian restaurant downtown. You’re seated near the window. The dimmed light makes Suguru look extra alluring. The way the light cast over his form brings out all of his best features.

You watch as Suguru pours himself his second glass of wine. The foods you order haven’t come out yet and Suguru is already on his second glass. He’s also oddly quiet, usually he would flirt with you as if it’s a first date. You also noticed that he has his left hand in his pocket this entire time. 

“What’s wrong?” you questioned, “You seem anxious. Did something happen at work?”

“Nothing, Love. you’re just looking so gorgeous it’s making me a little bit nervous.” He replied. You hum in response, deciding not to press it further. He’ll tell you when he’s ready.

////

After dinner, Suguru drove you to what looked like an empty parking lot. 

“Where are we?” 

“You’ll see.”

“This place is both dark and empty, and if movies have taught me anything, this place is a good place to murder someone.” you point out.

“I can’t with you,” he shook his head, laughing a little “come on.”

Suguru opens the door for you and offers you his hand. You take his hand and step out of the car. Your hands intertwine with his as he leads you to this flight of stairs you can't seem to see the end of.

“You’re making me climb these stairs, in this dress?” you lamented.

“I’ll carry you when you get tired, it’s shorter than you think.” Suguru compromised.

“Ugh, you’re lucky I love you.”

“I know.” he acknowledged with pride.

Suguru was right, it’s not as bad as you thought it would be, though it did take the wind out of you. When you reach the top, you can’t help but stop and stare in awe. At the top of the stairs is a small shrine with a few cement benches around the vicinity. This place is at the perfect height where you can overlook the town and see the wide sky at the same time. 

“You like it?”

“Yeah, it’s gorgeous” you breathe out, not taking your eyes off the sky. 

You have never seen so many stars in the sky before. They're glistening and shimmering, as if they are beckoning you toward them. You were so mesmerized you didn't notice how Suguru is kneeling behind you on one knee. A small box in his hand.

“My love?” Suguru called out to you.

“Yes?” you answer, finally taking your eyes off the sky. You turn around to face Suguru, gasping when you see the position he’s in. Tears welling up in your eyes.

“I have been practicing this for weeks, I have about 100 thrown out speeches. No words were strong enough to describe my love for you. Even the word “love” itself falls short. But even if I don’t have the right words, I do know what I want to spend the rest of my days waking up next to you, cooking dinner for you, and falling asleep with you. So will you grant me the greatest honor, of being by your side for the rest of this life and beyond?” he pleaded, voice shaking with every word.

You were crying at this point. Full on sobbing. You can barely see through the tears. You can’t find your voice either. So you nod. Furiously. Before dropping down to his level and throwing yourself around him.

“Hey now, don’t make me drop the ring.” he teased.

You pull away from him, still sobbing. He wipes your tears away with his thumb before taking your hand and slides the ring on you. You can see the reflection of your lips in his eyes.

To Suguru, your lips look like a question begging for an answer, so he answered. He kisses you hungrily, full of relief and sheer joy. He cupped your jaws to deepen the kiss. His lips move against yours like a well practiced tango. He can’t wait to throw out another 100 speeches as he writes his vow to you.  You kiss him back desperately, trying to convey him all your joy and show him how much you love him. Because he was right, the word “love” does fall short. You can taste the wine he's been sipping on during dinner. His liquid courage, you realized. It’s almost unbelievable how much you love this man. You want to go wherever he goes. You want to be with him forever. You would gladly take this magnetic force of a man to be your lover, in this life and the next.