#I THOUGHT THERE WERE MORE SKETCHES but apparently not ?????????!!
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Me, rambling to my wife about this crackpot theory I came up with in the shower about how Les Miserables may have been an answer to The Count of Monte Cristo, or at least could be read as such: ... But then Valjean didn't personally screw Javert over like Dantes' enemies did-
My wife: Are you sure Valjean didn't screw Javert? I thought I read that on AO3 once.
#the train of thought leading up to my statement was whether it was Valjean one could read as a foil to Dantes or Javert#'cause of Javert's whole obsession with bringing Valjean to justice#bookblr#les miserables#the count of monte cristo#anyway nothing's gonna come of this crackpot theory of mine 'cause I am no longer in school and have no more essays to write#but by golly this would be a delicious topic to write a big ol' thesis style paper on#still an English major nearly 10 years out of cool leg apparently#well both these books are French but still#OKAY BUT LISTEN the two authors were contemporaries#and maybe arguably friends? according to the bio sketch of dumas in the intro of my CoMC copy?#I would have to do more research on their relationship and also whenabouts each was writing their respective thing#cause iirc aren't both books set around the same time period as well (mid-19th century) with a lot of the action being in Paris?#anyway right#ignore me and my nerdy nerdy book thoughts#these have been rambling tags with usagi
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Idek If Cafae Latte has a fandom on here but have a Bob!!
(Close-ups under the cut)
#cafae latte#Bob cafae latte#digital art#art#my artwork#my art#Obviously this is rlly hc heavy since we dont actually see her canon design#But in this Ig shes glamoured herself to appear more human vut the purple still stays yknow--??#I hc a similar thing with cyrus#Like he also glamours himself to appear more human but keeps the ears and a bit of the blue#Also turns out hes blue#didnt know that lol#Also in the little sketch in the corner I imagine thats what she looked like during Jc's sobriety party yknow#“I thought Jc said casual” “This IS casual for her”#Also I suck at shinies apparently#Her bracelets and rings were meant to be gold but the sure as hell dont look that way lmaoo#Also this is a more casual look for her#tried to do her in uniform but apparently I suck at drawing aprons and caps#Also couldnt do her crowns cuz DAMN that shits hard to draw lmao#Apparently really innacurate to how the creator sees her but oh well lmao
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oh lol i forgot to post this robit sketches! because i have one (1) bit and im sure as hell gonna commit to it apparently
#rolling with difficulty#art I made#'shut your up' is a verbatim quote from an ex classmate i just thought it was funny#i dont think it was intentional i think he was just so angry that Words Failed on him#anyway im absolutely not keeping that maxim design. god i fucking hate clothing design *so* much#austin: 'hes a gold plated mechanite dressed in blue and grey robes' me trying to figure out colour placement: 'what FUCK'#i had one (1) good idea and that was 'skeleton shaped robit' and every other part of that design went to hell apparently#bc all the other mechanites we've had were either like... flesh..? shaped?? like that sorta silhouette (basically most of the old crew)#or more mechanical/geometric (vr-la's designs and like.. k-lb? i guess? if that counts)#so. therefore. bone shaped mechanite. also if i was gonna try that concept on anyone it may as well be maxim if you think about it#idk i thought it would be interesting. and also undertale was my first fandom so uh#ANYWAY. MOVING ON FROM THAT THOUGHT.#this started as a 2am intrusive thought of like#'we (artists in the discord) keep joking abt how k-lb would be a nightmare to draw but like.. how hard is it really'#anyway as you can probably expect. famous last words#i mean genuinely mad respect to noir but i think i said to one of my friends when i showed them this sketch#'i mean this in the nicest way possible but you can just tell he was designed for an audio only storytelling format' LMAO#if anyone is unwise enough to attempt this (so basically @ my future self lmao)#do the lineart and colouring for the wires in front of the inner electricity skeleton (???) and the ones behind it on SEPARATE LAYERS#drew the wires all together then the electricity and had to painstakingly go over the electricity with an eraser it was a fucking nightmare
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thinking about that gay ass pirate au again
unfinished doodles under the cut
#these were from a week or two ago maybe but i didnt have enough storage to take photos ADJDKDK#ft my friends oc (eve)#jerms art#there was another whole page of something but it felt too suggestive to post ADHSKKDJ😭😭#cw suggestive#jic anyway#ummmm im too embarassed to tag heeeeelep#pirate au#traditional art#sorry for some of the horrendous cropping i couldnt be bothered with some of them AHAGSJSK#I THOUGHT THERE WERE MORE SKETCHES but apparently not ?????????!!
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White Horse - Chapter 22: June 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. Apparently I am once again messing up my chapter numbering on Tumblr. 21 is correct according to AO3 and Wattpad though. No, you didn't miss anything, I promise.
As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble
Text Messages: Gianpiero Lambiase & Max Verstappen
GP: Heard about the post-race press. Are you and Belle okay?
Max: I’m fine. Belle’s shaken. Tired. But she’s okay. (ish.)
GP: “Okay-ish” isn’t exactly reassuring, mate.
Max: She’s stronger than she thinks. But it hit her hard. Even after everything… she still hoped they’d see her.
GP: That’s the cruel part. Hope.
Max: Yeah.
GP: Is she at home? You with her?
Max: I am.
Max: Doesn’t feel like enough.
GP: It’s enough. You’re there. You see her. That’s already more than most have ever done.
Max: She deserves better than this.
GP: She’s got it now. She’s got you.
GP: (and the cats.)
Max: True. Jimmy thinks he’s her bodyguard.
GP: Smart cat.
GP: Tell her we’re all thinking about her, yeah?
Max: I will. Thanks, GP. For checking in.
GP: Always. She’s part of the team now. Whether she likes it or not.
***
The breakfast table was too quiet.
A spread of croissants, jam, fresh fruit, and espresso cups sat untouched in the center of the table—untouched because no one could eat. Lorenzo’s revelation from the day before hung in the air like a thundercloud.
Isabelle had quit her job.
Months ago.
Without telling a single one of them.
Charles still hadn’t wrapped his head around it. Isabelle had always loved her work. She breathed design. She stayed up late sketching, doodling floor plans on napkins, whispering ideas into voice memos when she thought no one was listening.
And then one day… she just walked away from it. From them.
Arthur sat with his head in his hands, looking half-murdered by guilt. Pascale was pale and tight-lipped, stirring her tea without drinking it.
“I don’t understand,” Pascale whispered. “How could she just… leave her job? She worked so hard for it.”
“She didn’t just leave,” Lorenzo said, pacing. “She ghosted the entire office. Packed her things in one night. Sent a polite goodbye email. Nothing else.”
“And no one noticed?” Arthur asked, stunned.
“No one bothered to notice,” Charles muttered.
Pascale looked toward Alexandra. “Did you know anything?”
Alexandra hesitated, then straightened a little. “She’s safe.”
That got everyone’s attention.
Charles’s head snapped toward her. “What?”
“I texted Emilie,” Alexandra said, calm but firm. “Isabelle’s best friend. She replied this morning. Said Isabelle is okay.”
A collective breath was held—and slowly released.
“Why didn’t you say that sooner?” Pascale asked, eyes wide.
“Because you were all too busy spiraling,” Alexandra said. “And because Emilie was clear: Isabelle doesn’t want to talk to any of you right now.”
Charles swallowed hard.
“She’s mad,” he said. “Of course she’s mad.”
“She’s not mad,” Alexandra said. “She’s hurt. She’s done. There’s a difference.”
Lorenzo closed his eyes. Arthur muttered something under his breath.
Then Alexandra added, almost absently, “She’s not alone. Emilie said her boyfriend likes taking care of her.”
A beat of stunned silence.
“Oh my god,” Arthur muttered. “She has a sugar daddy.”
Charlotte choked on her orange juice.
Pascale actually dropped her spoon.
“Arthur!” Alexandra hissed, scandalized.
Arthur looked wildly between them. “Think about it! Moved out. Quit her job. No one knows where she is. Isabelle’s always been quiet, not mysterious. What if she—”
“No. No,” Charles said quickly, shaking his head like that would erase the words from the room. “She wouldn’t. Isabelle is not like that.”
“People change when they feel abandoned,” Arthur muttered, clearly spiraling now. “This is how Netflix documentaries start.”
“I will kill whoever that man is,” Charles muttered, eyes narrowing like he was already imagining chasing someone through the Monaco harbor with a champagne bottle.
“I’m just saying,” Arthur hissed, “stranger things have happened! And let’s not pretend we’re not a family of unresolved emotional issues. We all have daddy issues!”
A beat of stunned silence.
Then Pascale, horror dawning on her face, said, “Excuse me?!”
Arthur looked up, mid-sip of juice. “What?”
Pascale blinked, stunned. “Since when?!”
Arthur just stared at her. “I mean, come on. Dad died when we were kids, Charles is out here trying to win his approval from the afterlife, I started karting again like I have something to prove, and Isabelle— Isabelle moved in with a mysterious man and quit her job because he "likes taking care of her!"
“Oh my God,” Pascale said faintly, sinking into her chair.
“Okay, this is going off the rails,” Alexandra groaned.
Lorenzo pinched the bridge of his nose. “Arthur, this is not about your unresolved need for paternal validation.”
Arthur shrugged helplessly. “I was just trying to explain that maybe Isabelle was looking for emotional stability and someone gave it to her. And maybe he also had a good skincare routine and a yacht. I don’t know.”
“She moved in with her boyfriend,” Lorenzo said sharply. “Not a sugar daddy. Her boyfriend. That’s what her old neighbor said. She left the firm. Left her apartment. But she didn’t run away. She just stopped waiting to be seen.”
Arthur groaned, slumping in his seat. “We didn’t even know she had a boyfriend.”
“Because she didn’t tell us,” Charles said bitterly. “Because she stopped expecting us to care.”
“Or because she knew you were going to freak out.” Charlotte murmured.
Charles raised an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”
Charlotte looked up, startled. “What?”
“You said that like you know something.”
Charlotte hesitated. “I don’t know anything.”
“Charlotte,” Lorenzo warned.
She shifted. “It’s just—she’s always been around racing. She used to hang around the paddock all the time. If she was seeing someone, I wouldn’t be shocked if it was someone from the grid.”
Silence.
Then Arthur: “Wait. You’re saying she could be dating someone we know?”
Charlotte winced. “I said maybe. Don’t start spiraling.”
“I’M ALREADY SPIRALING,” Charles announced.
Alexandra sighed, sipping her coffee. “And now we’ve entered the panic phase.”
Arthur leaned back, muttering, “If it’s Fernando I swear to God—”
Pascale clapped her hands together. “Enough.”
But Charles barely heard her.
Because if Belle was dating someone from the paddock…
Then there were nineteen men it could be, currently on the grid.
And not one of them had said a word.
***
Group Chat: GRID 2024
Members: Max Verstappen, Charles Leclerc, Carlos Sainz Jr., Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Lewis Hamilton, George Russell, Alex Albon, Logan Sergeant, Daniel Ricciardo, Nico Hülkenberg, Lance Stroll, Fernando Alonso, Sergio Pérez, Esteban Ocon, Zhou Guanyu, Logan Sargeant, Pierre Gasly, Yuki Tsunoda, and Valtteri Bottas
Charles: SOMEONE TELL ME
Who is dating my sister??
Charles: IS IT FERNANDO?? Are you her sugar daddy?? Just tell me. I need answers.
Fernando: Pardon?
Lewis: Oh we’re doing this.
George: Charles, breathe.
Oscar: You’re spiraling. Please stop.
Pierre: Wait WHAT??
Yuki: I feel like I’ve walked into the last five minutes of a telenovela
Fernando: Charles. I’m flattered. But no.
Charles: OK FINE. MAX. Charles: IS SHE DATING JOS?!
Logan: …bro
George: I need to leave this chat forever
Lando: oh my god
Max: What. Did. You. Just. Say.
Charles: I don’t know, okay?? Everyone’s being weird. She’s gone, she moved, she quit her job, no one’s telling me anything and YOU’RE ALL BEING WEIRD.
Max: Don’t you ever say something like that again.
Max: Not as a joke. Not out of panic. Not ever.
Max: Belle is your sister, Charles. She deserved your attention, your support, your respect—and she didn’t get any of it. Max: And now you want to cover up your guilt by making a disgusting joke like that?
George: Whoa.
Charles: It’s not a joke! She smiled at him during Monaco!
Max: You forgot her birthday. You forgot her entire life outside of your world. And now you’re so desperate to catch up you’re throwing shit against the wall like it doesn’t have consequences?
Oscar: He’s right. That was low, man.
Lando: Way out of line.
Max: You’re panicking and flinging names around like this is a soap opera, and you’re forgetting that this isn’t about you.
Carlos: He’s right.
Max: Belle isn’t your property. She doesn’t owe you updates of her life. And the fact that your first instinct is to accuse my father of something that insane? That tells me everything I need to know about where your priorities are.
Max: You’re not trying to protect her. You’re trying to control the fallout of your own guilt.
Alex: Oof.
Oscar: He’s not wrong.
Lando: I mean, he’s definitely not wrong.
Daniel: That was… surgical.
Max: You forgot her birthday. You didn’t realise she moved or that she quit her job. And now that it’s all blowing up in your face, you’re treating your sister like a scandal to manage instead of a woman who deserves better than you’ve given her for years.
Charles: Max…
Max Verstappen: Don’t. You had every chance to show up. And you didn’t.
Oscar: …Well. That was the cleanest emotional takedown I’ve ever witnessed.
Pierre: I’m afraid to even type right now.
Alex: Respectfully, that needed to be said.
Lewis: Sometimes silence is the most respectful response. And sometimes it’s watching Max drop a nuke and sipping your tea.
Charles: … I’m sorry.
Max: Don’t say sorry to me. Say it to her.
Daniel: And maybe do it without accusing her of having a sugar daddy next time.
Fernando: Sincerely never thought I’d be defending Jos Verstappen’s honor in a group chat. And yet. Here we are.
Pierre: Did we all just witness character development in real time?
Oscar: No, we witnessed Max finally snap.
Carlos: Honestly? Fair.
Max: Now if you’ll excuse me, my wife wants to go see her horse.
***
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, Kimi Räikkönen, Zhou Guanyu, Logan Sergeant, Esteban Ocon, Lance Stroll and Valtteri Bottas)
Oscar: (sends screenshots) Are we gonna talk about that??
Lando: I don’t think I’ll ever emotionally recover.
George: That wasn’t an argument. That was Max opening a precision-cut emotional autopsy on Charles.
Daniel: Surgical strike. Zero survivors.
Carlos: I think I stopped breathing somewhere between “not your property” and “scandal to manage.”
Alex: And he still managed to slip in “my wife” at the end like it was casual.
Lewis: Subtle as a sledgehammer. Iconic.
Sebastian: Imagine standing that close to the truth and just completely going off the deep end. JOS VERSTAPPEN?!?!
David: Charles is lucky we’re not recording this for Drive to Survive. This would be season finale material.
Fernando: Still recovering from the fact that I had to defend Jos Verstappen’s honor today. Truly humbling times.
Mark: Also Max casually confirming "wife" like we didn’t hear that bomb drop.
Lando: The whole chat: staring at “my wife” like: [INSERT SHOCKED PIKACHU MEME]
Logan: Also Max: anyway gtg horseback riding with Belle bye
George: Meanwhile we’re left here emotionally blinking like stunned goldfish.
Zhou: Respectfully? That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in a group chat.
Logan: He read Charles’ whole life like it was a menu.
Esteban: No crumbs left. Truly an artist.
Lewis: I hope Belle gives Max a damn medal.
Carlos: It’s what he deserves.
Lando Norris: At this point Max could straight up declare war on Monaco and all of us would follow him.
Nico H.: Only if Belle asks nicely though.
Fernando: Honestly, after that? She deserves her own Grand Prix.
Sebastian: Belle Verstappen GP. Street circuit. Emotional trauma bonus points.
David: Winner gets emotional literacy and a free hug.
Lando: Charles gets last place. Obv.
Oscar: Someone check on Charles, though. Like... at a distance. With caution.
George: Give him a juice box and a reflective corner.
Lewis: He needs to sit with this one. You’re up, Seb.
Sebastian: I hate you.
Carlos: And next time? Maybe start by actually listening to Belle. and not accuse her of having a sugar daddy.
Oscar: Can we also talk about how Charles accused Fernando of being Belle’s sugar daddy?!?
Lando: No because I actually SCREAMED when I read it Out loud. In a public place.
George: Charles really said “if the unhinged shoe fits…”
Lewis: Fernando being asked if he’s the sugar daddy of a 25-year-old woman live in a chat is peak 2024.
Daniel: The best part is Fernando didn’t even deny it immediately. He said “pardon” like a man trying to calculate if this was a compliment or an insult.
Fernando: I was genuinely weighing my options.
Logan: He 100% thought about it for a second Did the math in his head Age difference analysis
Carlos: He pulled out a mental calculator before answering.
Alex: Plot twist: he was flattered.
Fernando: I am flattered.
Logan: ARE YOU NOT TOO OLD FOR THIS SIR
Fernando: Age is just a number. Experience is a blessing.
David: Shut up you're scaring the children
Daniel: I'm crying. This man is two bad decisions away from opening a luxury wine bar in Marbella.
Zhou: Would 100% attend Fernando’s shady rich sugar daddy wine parties tbh.
George: You know somewhere there's an alternate universe where Fernando is soft-launching Belle on Instagram with a blurry wine glass and a cryptic caption.
Sebastian: Don’t manifest that energy.
Lewis: The timeline barely survived Charles forgetting her birthday We are NOT surviving "Fernando Alonso soft launches Belle Verstappen."
Oscar: Good morning to everyone except Charles for inventing this nightmare.
Carlos: He should be banned from texting before noon.
Daniel: Imagine Belle reading that conversation The secondhand embarrassment would kill her instantly
Lando: Max would bury Charles under the Red Bull Energy Station if Belle found out
Fernando: That’s why I stayed calm. For everyone’s safety.
David: You’re a better man than I am.
George: Let’s be honest Max’s entire speech wasn’t just a takedown It was a warning.
Lewis: And Charles still doesn’t realize how close he was to emotional decapitation.
Daniel: Fernando being accidentally involved will forever be my Roman Empire
Lando: Same. Sugar Daddy Alonso 2024 Never Forget.
Kimi: I don’t care.
Fernando: Good. One sane man among us.
Mark: Honestly Kimi deserves a medal for surviving this chat with brain cells intact.
Lando: Meanwhile I’m Googling “how to recover from emotional whiplash" and "can you sue your friend for public embarrassment.”
Oscar: Suing Charles for pain and suffering. Class action.
Lewis: Count me in.
Daniel: Put me down for emotional damages and lost productivity.
Carlos: And mental anguish from hearing "Jos" and "sugar daddy" in the same sentence.
George Russell: I’m still trying to bleach my brain from that.
Sebastian Vettel: The worst part is… We know it’s only going to get worse.
Valtteri: Spain is going to be the emotional equivalent of a demolition derby and I'm here for it…
Oscar: Prayers up for Charles. He’s about to get hit with the reality sledgehammer.
***
The air smelled like sun-warmed hay and old wood and something softer — something Max couldn’t name but recognized instantly as peace.
The stables weren’t far from the city — a quiet, tucked-away stretch of land up in the hills — but it might as well have been another world compared to the chaos vibrating through the paddock, the media, the group chats.
Belle was already a few steps ahead of him, moving with easy, instinctive confidence down the center aisle. Her hair was pulled back in a loose braid, and she wore one of his oversized hoodies over her jeans, the sleeves pushed up to her elbows. Even in battered sneakers, even in dusty sunlight, she looked luminous.
This, Max thought, is who she really is.
Not the invisible sister standing silently in the Ferrari garage.
Not the afterthought.
Not the forgotten one.
Here, among the horses and the golden dust motes, Belle was someone else entirely. Someone free.
He watched as she reached Fleur’s stall — the mare with the soft eyes and white coat — and the change in her was immediate. Belle’s whole body softened. Her voice dropped into something low and sweet, barely a whisper, as she murmured to the horse in French, offering a gentle hand.
Fleur pressed her nose into Belle’s palm like she had been waiting for her all day.
Max stayed back, leaning against a beam, just… watching.
Belle ran her fingers through the mare’s mane, smiling quietly when Fleur nosed into her ribs for a treat. She laughed, soft and breathless, pulling a carrot from her pocket like she’d always known it would be needed.
Max felt something hot coil under his ribs.
Not anger. Not yet.
Something heavier.
Because standing there, watching her, Max didn’t understand — and probably never would — how the people who were supposed to love her first and fiercest could have ever made her feel like this side of her wasn’t worth seeing.
How did you miss this?
How did you miss her?
How could you look at Belle — at her patience, her stubbornness, her gentleness — and think she was someone it was okay to forget?
Max didn't know how Charles or Pascale or Arthur or even Lorenzo could live with themselves.
She had been right there, waving from the garage, smiling through being overlooked, standing quietly beside them her whole life — and they’d blinked, and she was gone.
He didn’t know if they'd ever get her back, not in the way they thought they were entitled to.
And maybe they didn’t deserve to.
Max shoved his hands into his pockets, feeling the steady beat of his own pulse against his knuckles. He wasn’t angry on his own behalf — he was angry for her. For every memory she had where she learned she needed to be small to survive. For every year she thought invisibility was safer than asking for more.
But here — here, she didn’t shrink herself.
Here, she was all soft light and warm hands and quiet magic.
He watched as Belle rested her forehead against Fleur’s, closing her eyes. Whispering something Max couldn’t hear.
He didn’t move.
He would wait forever if it meant she never had to be small again.
When she finally turned toward him, cheeks flushed, hair tangled in the breeze, Max just smiled — slow and sure — and opened his arms without a word.
Belle crossed the space between them like it was the most natural thing in the world.
And when she folded herself against his chest, Max pressed his mouth to the top of her head and thought, fiercely, I will never let you feel invisible again.
Not here. Not with him.
Never.
***
Belle sat curled into the armchair, hands knotted in the hem of her sweater. Her phone buzzed on the low table beside her — again — and she flinched without meaning to.
She didn’t pick it up. She hadn’t read any of them. Not a single message.
Across from her, Simone sat, notebook closed, pen resting untouched on the armrest. She didn’t need notes yet. She was just watching — waiting for Belle to breathe first.
"You don’t have to," Simone said finally, nodding toward the phone. "We can leave it buzzing all session if you want. This is your hour."
Belle looked down at her hands.
"I don’t know what they want," she said, voice thin. "I don’t know if I want to know."
"That's a choice," Simone said simply. "It’s your choice."
Belle twisted the hem tighter. "They keep calling. Texting. DMing. It’s like... once Charles realized, they all remembered I exist."
"That realization isn’t yours to carry," Simone said. "You didn’t make yourself invisible. They chose not to see you."
“You haven’t answered,” Simone asked, her voice even…non-judgemental.
Belle shook her head, pressing the rim of the mug tighter against her palms.
“I don’t know if I want to,” Belle whispered.
Simone leaned forward slightly. “You’re allowed to make that choice, Belle. Access to your life — your heart — isn’t something anyone is automatically entitled to. Not even family.”
Belle blinked hard.
“It feels… wrong,” she admitted. “Like I’m being cruel. But also like… maybe it’s finally protecting myself.”
Simone nodded. “Both can be true.”
They sat with that for a moment, letting the air between them settle.
"I feel like if I open one message, I’ll lose the ground I gained," she whispered. "Like they'll pull me back in before I even realize it."
Simone nodded slowly. "That fear is real. It’s valid. But remember — reading a message doesn’t obligate you to answer. They don’t get to set the terms anymore. You do."
Belle sat with that for a long moment, staring at the phone like it was a bomb she didn't know how to disarm.
"You can read what they have to say," Simone continued gently, "and then decide how much access you want to give them. How much of yourself you want to offer back. Or none at all. But the decision has to come from a place of power — not guilt."
Belle swallowed hard, something inside her cracking open.
"I don’t want to live my life shrinking," she said, so quietly it barely made it into the room.
"You don’t have to," Simone said simply. "You’re allowed to grow bigger than the spaces they built for you."
Belle wiped under her eyes, feeling the tears spill anyway.
"I’m pregnant," she said, almost impulsively, almost defensively — like the words had been trying to claw their way out of her for days.
Simone didn’t react, didn’t widen her eyes or gasp or rush forward.
She just smiled, slow and warm.
"Congratulations," Simone said.
Belle let out a shaky laugh, covering her face for a moment.
"I haven’t told most people yet," she admitted. "It’s... still just mine and Max’s, mostly. But I—"
She broke off, chest tight.
"I don’t want my baby to feel the way I felt," Belle whispered. "Invisible. Like they have to earn love. Like being quiet or not causing trouble makes them easier to keep around."
Simone nodded slowly. "You don’t want them to feel like they have to disappear to be safe."
Belle’s throat closed. That was it. That was everything.
"I want them to know," Belle said, tears slipping freely now. "Every second. That they matter. That they are wanted."
"You can give them that," Simone said gently. "Because you know what it feels like to need it."
Belle hugged her knees tighter to her chest, breathing in slow, ragged pulls.
"I don't know if I can be enough," she whispered.
"You already are," Simone said simply. "You're enough because you see them. The way you should have been seen."
Belle wiped her face roughly with her sleeve, heart pounding painfully against her ribs.
Simone leaned in just a little, voice steady.
"You get to break the cycle," she said. "Not by being perfect. Not by fixing everything. But by loving without conditions."
Belle stared down at her belly, still barely showing under the oversized sweater. A secret, soft and growing.
Not alone anymore.
Not invisible.
Not shrinking to fit someone else's version of worth.
She exhaled shakily.
"I think," Belle said slowly, "I’ll read the messages. Because it’s my choice now."
Simone smiled. "Exactly."
Belle sat back in the chair, letting the silence settle.
For the first time in a long time, it didn’t feel heavy.
It felt like freedom.
***
The cats were asleep — a warm, purring pile on the foot of the bed — and the only sound in the room was the hum of the city beyond the windows and the soft rustle of Max shifting beside her.
Belle sat curled up in the corner of the bed, Max’s hoodie swallowing her whole, the phone clutched in both hands.
She hadn’t wanted to look. Not at the missed calls. Not at the voicemails. Not at the dozens of unread messages blinking like warning lights across every app she had.
But now… Now she read them.
One by one.
Apologies. Explanations. Pleading.
Arthur. Lorenzo. Charles.
And Maman. Always Maman.
Maman:Ma chérie… I didn’t realise. I thought I messaged you, but I sent it to Charles by mistake. That’s not an excuse. You deserved more. Always. Please let me come see you. I miss you.
Belle stared at the words, blinking back the slow, stunned weight building behind her eyes.
Because if her mother had texted Charles that morning — if she had thought about Belle enough to even try — then Charles would have known.
He would have remembered.
There wouldn’t have been blank stares in the Ferrari garage.
There wouldn’t have been celebrations swirling around her while she stood still, invisible.
There would have been a smile.
A hug.
A word.
Anything.
But there hadn’t been.
Because her mother hadn’t texted.
Not her.
And not Charles.
She hadn’t thought about her at all.
Belle felt the first tear slip free before she could stop it. Then another. And another.
Her hands shook as she lowered the phone to her lap.
She pressed her knuckles against her mouth, willing herself to breathe, to hold it together — but the ache was too deep. Too old. It cracked open the quiet places she thought she had stitched shut months ago.
The mattress dipped beside her, and Max’s arms were around her before she could say a word.
No questions. No demands. Just solid, unwavering Max, pulling her into his chest, pressing his chin to the crown of her head, wrapping her up like he could protect her from everything the world had failed to.
Belle buried her face in his hoodie and cried — deep, broken, shuddering sobs that shook her ribs and soaked the cotton between them.
Max held her through all of it. Rocked her gently like she was something precious. Whispered soft, fierce things into her hair — I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere. I love you.
When the tears finally slowed — when Belle could breathe without gasping — she shifted just enough to look up at him.
“She lied to me,” Belle whispered, voice barely above a breath.
Max tensed, not pulling away, but going still — like a storm gathering quietly over open water.
Belle twisted the fabric of his hoodie between her fingers, needing something to hold onto. “My mother. In her messages. She said… she said she thought she had texted me on my birthday. That she checked and realized she sent it to Charles instead.”
Max didn’t say anything.
Not yet.
He just waited.
“But if she had really texted Charles,” Belle said, blinking hard, “then he would have remembered. Wouldn’t he?”
Max’s jaw tightened against her forehead.
“He would have realized when he saw me. He would have known it was my day.”
Belle swallowed thickly. “He would have said something. Anything.”
She felt Max’s hand, slow and careful, run up her spine — like he was grounding himself as much as her.
“They didn’t forget by accident, Max,” she whispered, the crack in her voice slicing the room in half. “They just… didn’t think about me at all. And now she’s lying to make herself feel better. Or maybe to make me not be angry anymore.”
There was a long, vibrating pause.
When Max finally spoke, his voice was low. Dangerous.
“She lied to you." Not angry for himself. Angry for her.
“She lied to your face to protect her own feelings,” he said, tightening his grip around her protectively. “And she didn’t even think about what it would do to you.”
Belle didn’t trust herself to speak.
“She didn’t check,” Max said, every word precise and sharp. “She didn’t text you. She forgot you. And now she wants you to comfort her guilt so she doesn’t have to sit with the truth.”
Belle closed her eyes, tucking herself deeper into his chest.
Max’s voice dropped even lower. Colder. Deadlier.
“They don’t deserve to be the ones to tell you how much you matter, Belle,” he said. “Not when they couldn’t even see you standing right in front of them.”
Belle felt herself break apart a little more — not because of the anger in his voice, but because of the fierce, unyielding love underneath it.
Max pulled back just enough to tip her chin up, forcing her to meet his eyes.
“They can lie to themselves all they want,” he said, voice rough. “But you’re not invisible anymore. You never were. You are the most extraordinary thing I’ve ever seen.”
Belle tried to smile but it broke halfway through, another tear slipping free.
Max kissed her — not rushed, not desperate — but slow and sure and reverent.
“I see you,” he murmured against her mouth. “I will always see you.”
Belle clutched his hoodie tighter, feeling the words stitch into the broken places inside her chest.
And when she whispered, “Thank you,” it was the kind of thank you that carried a lifetime of hope she hadn’t known how to say before now.
Max brushed her forehead with his lips, arms still wrapped firmly around her.
***
The apartment was dark except for the soft glow of the city outside the windows, and the faint golden light spilling from the kitchen where Max was making tea.
The cats were already asleep, draped dramatically across the couch like tiny emperors, and Belle sat curled up at the dining table, phone in hand.
Her thumb hovered over the Instagram app for a long time.
She hadn’t posted anything in weeks. Maybe longer. Not since before everything cracked open — before her birthday…
It felt strange, almost dangerous, to think about letting the world see even a piece of her life again. To stop living like she needed to apologize for taking up space.
But she was tired.
She was tired of pretending her life was something to be ashamed of.
She was tired of being invisible.
Of hiding her joy like it was a crime.
She tapped into her camera roll.
The photo was simple. Max had taken it — taken earlier that afternoon, in the warm haze of the stables. Fleur was grazing and Belle’s arm was tucked around her neck, leaning against the warm white fur.
It wasn’t a professional shot.
It wasn’t curated.
It was real.
And for once, Belle didn’t care about anything else.
She clicked ‘post’ before she could talk herself out of it.
Caption:Some things were always meant to find their way back to you.
She stared at it for a moment, heart hammering — not with fear, but with something quieter. Something steadier.
Not everyone would understand.
Most wouldn’t even know what it meant.
But the people who mattered — the ones who knew her, who loved her — they would understand exactly what she was saying.
Max’s voice floated from the kitchen, casual and warm. “You want mint or chamomile?”
Belle smiled softly to herself.
“Mint,” she called back, slipping her phone onto the table, feeling lighter than she had in months.
No more hiding.
No more shrinking.
Her life was hers now.
And she was finally — finally — ready to live it.
***
Instagram Post: @/isabelleleclerc
Comments:
@/charles_leclerc: …From where did you get a horse??
@/arthur_leclerc: ??? SINCE WHEN DO YOU HAVE A HORSE AGAIN???
@/lorenzo_leclerc: Since when are you even riding again??
@/charles_leclerc: Isabelle. Please answer your phone.
@/arthur_leclerc: PLEASE RESPOND.
@/randomfan72: THE WAY SHE JUST DROPPED THIS WITHOUT CONTEXT???
@/f1updates: Isabelle disappearing for a week and then coming back with a horse is the most iconic thing I’ve seen in a while.
@/f1fanpage: Okay, but WHO GAVE HER A HORSE???
@/monacoroyalty: Isabelle casually revealing that she has a whole horse like it’s a new handbag is sending me.
@/gridgossip: He/she’s gorgeous! What’s their name? ↪ @/isabelleleclerc: Fleur ❤️ She’s a 7 year old Selle Francais mare.
@/emilie_abadie: God, Belle, she looks just like Blanche…
↪ @/isabelleleclerc: Like Mother, like Daughter ❤️
@/coralie.g: She looks like your childhood horse…
↪ @/isabelleleclerc: Because she’s her last foal 😭
@/horselover99: Omg did you always plan to start riding again? 🥹 ↪ @/isabelleleclerc: I never stopped wanting to. Just couldn’t afford to for a long time.
@/victorialaps: This is so random but… how did you even find her? ↪ @/isabelleleclerc: I didn’t. She was a gift. Best surprise ever.
@/f1updates: WAIT WAIT WAIT.
@/f1theories: GIFT?? FROM WHO??
***
The tea had just finished steeping when Max’s phone buzzed once. Then again. And again.
He frowned, setting down the mugs. It wasn’t like his phone to light up at midnight unless something dramatic had happened — and judging by the flood of notifications, the world had just decided to catch fire.
But when he flipped it over, his chest tightened in a very different way.
It wasn’t chaos. It wasn’t panic.
It was Belle.
Her name. Her Instagram. A new post.
Max opened it instantly, barely breathing.
The photo was simple, quiet — Fleur leaning into Belle’s hand, golden light painting everything soft around them.
But it wasn’t the picture that hit him hardest.
It was the caption.
some things are always meant to come back to you.
Max stared at the screen, heart thudding slow and heavy in his chest.
It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t a declaration.
It was a quiet, stubborn reclaiming of everything Belle had once been taught to hide — her dreams, her peace, her self.
And she hadn’t asked permission.
She hadn't needed anyone’s blessing.
She had simply... posted it.
Without apology.
Without explanation.
Max set the phone down, grabbed both mugs carefully, and crossed the living room to where Belle sat curled up at the table, her knees tucked under her, the soft edges of exhaustion lingering around her eyes.
She looked up when she heard him, tentative, like part of her was still braced for criticism she didn’t deserve.
Max didn’t say a word.
He placed the tea down. Then he crouched in front of her, sliding his hands over her knees, resting his forehead gently against hers.
No words. Just this.
Just I'm proud of you.
Belle let out a soft, shaky breath, her hand sliding into his hair, holding onto him like he was the only thing keeping her tethered — because sometimes, he was.
“You saw it?” she whispered.
Max smiled against her skin.
“I saw everything,” he murmured. “And I see you, liefde. Always.”
Belle’s breath hitched.
She closed her eyes and let herself believe it — let herself soak in the truth of it without second-guessing.
She wasn’t invisible here.
She was home.
And Max — Max was exactly where he had always promised he would be:
Right here. Always. With her.
***
Leclerc Family Group Chat
(Members: Arthur, Isabelle, Charles, Lorenzo and Pascale)
Arthur: Shared Isabelle’s Instagram post
Arthur: …So. Uh.
Arthur: When were you guys planning on telling me that Isabelle suddenly has a HORSE?
Charles: SHE HAS A WHAT.
Lorenzo: Excuse me??
Arthur: A horse, Lorenzo. A living, breathing, four-legged animal. You know. Like the one that was sold when she was a teenager.
Charles: No. No way. That’s not possible.
Arthur: Look at the photo. LOOK AT IT.
Charles: It looks exactly like Blanche.
Lorenzo: That’s not possible.
Arthur: AND YET.
Lorenzo: Okay. Okay. Let’s just—think about this logically.
Arthur: Sure. Logically. Isabelle now has a horse that looks IDENTICAL to the one that was sold to pay for Charles' karting?!?!
Arthur: LOGICALLY, how does that make any sense?!
Charles: Who gave her a horse?
Arthur: WHO KNEW SHE STILL WANTED ONE???
Lorenzo: …Clearly, not us.
Pascale: …We should have known.
Arthur: …Maman?
Pascale: We took away something she loved.
Pascale: And then we never gave it back.
Charles: We didn’t have the money.
Pascale: No. But when we did have the money, we put it into restarting Arthur’s karting career.
Arthur: …
Charles: …
Lorenzo: Merde.
Pascale: And we never even considered doing the same for Isabelle.
Pascale: Not once.
Arthur: I—Maman, I didn’t even think—
Pascale: No. None of us did.
Pascale: She cried for weeks when we sold Blanche. And then, one day, she just stopped talking about it.
Pascale: I thought she had let it go.
Charles: She didn’t let it go. She just realized no one was listening.
Pascale: And I, her own mother, let her believe that if it wasn’t about racing, it wasn’t important.
Lorenzo: We all did.
Arthur: We failed her.
Pascale: And yet she still loved us enough to stay.
Pascale: Even when we didn’t see her.
Charles: We need to fix this.
Arthur: Step one: find out who gave her the horse.
Pascale: Step one: apologize.
Arthur: Step two: figure out how we didn’t even KNOW she was riding again.
Lorenzo: When would she have had the time?
Pascale: She found a way. Because we didn’t give her one.
Pascale: Do you know what hurts the most?
Charles: What?
Pascale: That I don’t even know what kind of life she’s been living.
Pascale: What she loves. Where she goes. Who she spends time with.
Pascale: She grew up right in front of me, and I don’t know her at all.
Arthur: …How do we fix this?
Pascale: I don’t know if we can. ****
Meanwhile on Twitter:
@/F1TeaSpillerIsabelle Leclerc just casually dropped a photo of a whole horse on Instagram, and her brothers had NO IDEA she was even riding again. The family drama is writing itself.
↳ @/LandoSimp44: How do you not notice your sister getting into an expensive, time-consuming hobby???
↳ @/FerrariF1Stan: Maybe because they’ve never paid attention to her interests in the first place…??
↳ @/LeclercFanGirl16: Charles and Arthur are spiraling in the comments, Lorenzo is confused, and Isabelle is just out here ignoring them all. QUEEN.
@/F1GossipGirlHold on. Isabelle didn’t just get any horse. If I’m reading this correctly, this foal is from her childhood horse. The one her family SOLD.
↳ @/MaxForPresident33: Oh, so she’s still THAT angry. And honestly? Good for her.
↳ @/RedBullRacingUpdates: The way she’s been quiet for two whole weeks and then dropped a horse like a bombshell?? I need to know who gave it to her.
↳ @/FerrariDramaAccount: Isabelle’s silence has been screaming for a week straight, and now this. The Leclerc brothers are doomed.
@/F1MemeLordLeclerc brothers: "We totally care about our sister." Also the Leclerc brothers: Completely unaware she’s been riding again and now owns a horse.
↳ @/CharlesFanClub: Yeah, Isabelle is 100% still mad. She really said, "You forgot my birthday? Watch this."
↳ @/MonacoMess: Isabelle is SO passive-aggressive and I respect it.
↳ @/HorseGirlFC: I just KNOW she’s been waiting for the perfect moment to drop this. Iconic behavior.
@/F1InsiderTalk: No, but real talk—if her brothers had no idea she was even riding again, that means they haven’t been paying attention to her at all. That’s rough.
↳ @/TifosiQueen: She had a birthday and they forgot. Now she has a whole damn horse and they didn’t even know she still liked horses.
↳ @/MonacoGossip: Isabelle could disappear to another continent, and I swear they wouldn’t notice until someone tagged them in an Instagram post.
↳ @/ArthurFan27: I love Arthur, but the way none of them know anything about her is actually kind of sad.
@/ChaosModeF1I just KNOW Isabelle had this horse for a bit before dropping it like a bomb on Instagram. The drama, the suspense, the Leclerc brothers losing their minds in real time.
↳ @/MaxVerstappenDefenseSquad: The fact that she didn’t post anything about her birthday but came back with a horse tells me everything I need to know.
↳@/FerrariWoes: I feel like this was the final straw moment.
@/RedBullTroll33Okay, but WHO gave her the horse? Because that’s a serious gift.
↳@/ F1ConspiracyClub: If it was Charles or Arthur, they wouldn’t be so confused in the comments. If it was Lorenzo, he wouldn’t be freaking out too.
↳ @/FerrariPain42: Soooo… secret boyfriend? 👀
↳@/F1ShippersAnonymous: If this turns out to be a soft launch, I WILL lose my mind.
@/MonacoRoyaltyI don’t know who gave Isabelle Leclerc a horse, but I do know that person knows her better than her own family does.
↳ @/FerrariNation: …Damn. That’s actually heartbreaking when you put it like that.
↳ @/IsabelleLeclercDefenseSquad: She really just had to go out and find people who see her, huh?
↳ @/WhoGaveHerAHorse33: Someone get me the details. NOW.
@/F1ChaosModeThe funniest part of this is that Isabelle still hasn’t responded to any of her brothers. Just posted her horse and dipped.
↳ @/LeclercFamilyUpdates: The sheer level of pettiness. I love her.
↳ @/TifosiHeartbreak: Isabelle really said you forgot me, so now I’m forgetting you.
↳ @/FerrariShambles: I want a documentary about the exact moment Charles realized they were bad brothers.
@/F1SpicyTeaI know we’re all laughing, but this actually makes me so sad for Isabelle. Imagine your whole family forgetting your birthday, ignoring you for years, and then being SHOCKED when you move on with your life.
↳ @/MonacoMess: They didn’t even know she still loved horses.
↳ @/FerrariF1Pain: The worst part? She didn’t even make a dramatic callout post about her birthday. She just let their silence speak for itself.
↳ @/TifosiAngstClub: She is the human embodiment of "I no longer expect anything from you."
@/F1ConspiracyClubIsabelle didn’t just buy this horse. Somebody gave it to her, according to her. Whoever they are, they know her better than her entire family.
↳ @/SoftLaunchDetective: If this is a secret boyfriend reveal, it’s the most dramatic and poetic one I’ve ever seen.
@/MonacoRoyalty: Isabelle Leclerc is the queen of quiet revenge. No loud callouts. No arguments. Just a perfectly timed Instagram post that says everything.
↳ @/FerrariTears: And the best part? Her brothers are LOSING IT in the comments.
↳ @/ArthurLeclercDefenseSquad: Arthur is panicking like she’s about to disappear forever.
↳ @/CharlesHasNoClue: Charles sounds like he’s five seconds away from personally investigating who gave her the horse.
↳ @/TifosiDetectives: The thing is, they should know. But they don’t.
@/TifosiMess: So let me get this straight:
Isabelle’s family forgot her birthday.
She disappeared for two weeks.
Charles finally remembers that he has a sister.
Isabelle comes back with a horse.
Drops it on Instagram like it’s a casual Tuesday.
Her brothers have no idea where it came from.
I am obsessed with this timeline.
↳ @/FerrariAngst: I’m still stuck on "they didn’t even know she was riding again."
↳ @/CharlesNeedsHelp: The way they suddenly care now that it’s public.
@/F1SoftLaunchDetective: I’ll say it. Whoever gave her the horse loves her more than her own family does.
↳ @/FerrariHeartbreak: And that’s why the Leclerc brothers are panicking.
↳ @/RedBullInsider: Just waiting for the next phase of this drama. I know something bigger is coming.
↳ @/TifosiConspiracies: I have a gut feeling that when we find out who got her the horse, the internet will EXPLODE.
***
Text Messages: Arthur Leclerc & Belle Verstappen
Arthur: I don’t really know how to start this.
Arthur: But I guess the first thing I need to say is—I’m sorry.
Arthur: I keep thinking about when I had to stop karting. How devastated I was. How unfair it felt.
Arthur: You know, when I was younger, I used to think we were the same.
Arthur: We both lost something for Charles. We both had to step aside.
Arthur: But the difference is, I got my second chance.
Arthur: And you never did.
Arthur: They gave me my dream back. But nobody ever thought to give you yours.
Arthur: And the worst part is, I never even thought about it.
Arthur: I was so focused on getting my own dream back that I never stopped to ask if you wanted yours.
Arthur: Or if you were even okay.
Arthur: I remember when they sold Blanche. You locked yourself in your room for days. Maman kept saying you’d get over it.
Arthur: But you never did, did you?
Arthur: I should have noticed. I should have asked.
Arthur: I should have known that you never stopped loving it. That you never moved on just because we assumed you did.
Arthur: But we never gave you a choice, did we?
Arthur: You were always the one who had to sacrifice something. You were always the one who had to step aside.
Arthur: And I never even thought about how much that must have hurt.
Arthur: I let myself believe you were fine because it was easier than realizing we left you behind.
Arthur: When I saw that horse, I thought my heart stopped. She looks just like Blanche.
Arthur: I had to read your post three times before it sank in. That you never let go of that part of yourself. That you found your way back.
Arthur: And none of us even knew.
Arthur: I don’t know where to start making this right. I don’t know if I even can.
Arthur: I don’t expect you to answer me. I don’t even know if I deserve an answer.
Arthur: But Isabelle, if there is even the smallest chance that I can fix this, that I can fix us—
Arthur: Tell me how. And I’ll do it.
Arthur: No hesitation. No questions asked.
Arthur: Je suis désolé, petite sœur.
Arthur: And I miss you.
***
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, Kimi Räikkönen, Zhou Guanyu, Logan Sergeant, Esteban Ocon, Lance Stroll and Valtteri Bottas)
Lando: (sends screenshots) Belle is choosing violence.
Carlos: She posted Fleur 😭
Alex: Softest betrayal ever. I’m crying.
Sebastian: That's not just any horse. That’s the horse.
Zhou: WAIT??? THAT'S THE FOAL FROM HER CHILDHOOD HORSE??
Fernando: The symbolism is destroying me. Quiet vengeance at its finest.
David: Imagine getting obliterated by your sister posting a horse.
Lance: Charles is about to have another breakdown isn’t he
Oscar: He’s already melting down in her comments.
Logan: WHO GAVE HER THE HORSE THOUGH
George: who do you THINK
Nico Hülkenberg: lol max the softest secret husband in existence
Daniel: max is so whipped it's beautiful
Lewis: He literally said “my wife wants to visit her horse” the other day with the softest voice known to man
Kimi: Good. Someone should love her properly.
Lando: the LECLERC BROTHERS are LOSING IT
Oscar: literally fighting for their lives in the comments while Belle is posting like nothing happened 😂
Fernando: This is what true passive-aggressive excellence looks like. I’m so proud.
Valtteri: horse girl revenge >>> everything
Zhou: also can we talk about how she hasn’t answered a SINGLE one of them
George: Do you think Charles is gonna figure it out soon??
Carlos: absolutely not.
Oscar: he's gonna lose his mind when he finds out Max bought her the horse
Daniel: WAIT TILL HE FINDS OUT THEY'RE MARRIED LMAOOOO
Lando: oh my god he still doesn't know
Lewis: beautiful chaos.
Alex: 10/10 no notes
Oscar: Honestly Belle just won the soft war without even lifting a finger.
Daniel: She dropped a horse and bounced. ICON.
George: Meanwhile Charles is running around Monaco like a headless chicken.
Carlos: good. he deserves to sit with this.
Fernando: actions have consequences. and sometimes those consequences come with four legs and a braided mane.
***
Meanwhile on Twitter:
@/coraliegaudin: I don’t think people really get how much Isabelle Leclerc sacrificed. I knew her at university, and she was one of the smartest, hardest-working people I’ve ever met. But she never seemed happy. A thread.
↳ @/coraliegaudin: She wasn’t the type to talk about herself. She showed up, did the work, and left. No parties, no celebrations, nothing. Just school and her jobs.
↳@/coraliegaudin: And she always had jobs. She tutored, did internships, and worked at a stable. Yes, a stable.
↳@/coraliegaudin: I remember seeing her come to class still smelling like hay, her hands rough from work. And the thing is? That was the only time she ever looked truly alive.
↳@/coraliegaudin: She never told people why, but I found out later—her family sold her childhood horse when she was a teenager.
↳@/coraliegaudin: She didn’t ask them to fix it. She didn’t ask for help. She just worked. Worked herself into the ground to afford even a few hours of riding time.
↳@/coraliegaudin: I remember once, someone asked her why she never celebrated her grades. She just said, “It’s not that important.”
↳@/coraliegaudin: Not that important. Graduating with top honors. Getting a degree. None of it mattered to her. Because all she ever wanted was something she lost years ago.
↳@/coraliegaudin: And now, she has a horse again. Not just any horse—the foal of the one she lost.
↳@/coraliegaudin: I don’t think people understand how huge that is. This isn’t just a gift. It’s her entire dream given back to her.
↳@/coraliegaudin: She spent years giving up things for other people. But someone finally gave something back to her.
↳@/coraliegaudin: If anyone deserves that kind of love and thoughtfulness, it’s Isabelle Leclerc. I hope she’s finally as happy as she always deserved to be.
***
Text Messages: Lorenzo Leclerc & Belle Verstappen
Lorenzo: Isabelle.
Lorenzo: I know you probably don’t want to hear from me.
Lorenzo: But I need to say this.
Lorenzo: I’m sorry.
Lorenzo: I don’t know how we forgot your birthday. I don’t know how we’ve made you feel so invisible.
Lorenzo: But we did. And I hate that it took this for me to realize how badly we’ve failed you.
Lorenzo: You’ve been riding again. I didn’t know. And that’s the problem, isn’t it?
Lorenzo: I should have. I should have asked. I should have paid more attention.
Lorenzo: But I didn’t.
Lorenzo: I should have asked what you were up to. I should have…I should have known that you were riding again. And that you moved. And that you quit your job. But I didn’t.
Lorenzo: I just assumed you were fine, even when you had every reason not to be.
Lorenzo: I don’t expect you to answer.
Lorenzo: I just need you to know—I see it now. I see you now.
Lorenzo: And I will spend however long it takes making sure you never feel forgotten again.
Lorenzo: I love you, Isabelle.
Lorenzo: Whenever you’re ready.
***
Meanwhile on Twitter:
@/Clara_Marelli: So I wasn’t going to say anything, but seeing all the speculation about Isabelle Leclerc and her new horse? I need people to understand why this is such a big deal. Because I knew her back when she lost her first horse, and let me tell you���it broke her.
↳@/Clara_Marelli: Isabelle wasn’t just a horse girl, she was the horse girl. You know how some kids live and breathe a sport? That was her with riding. It wasn’t just a hobby, it was everything.
↳@/Clara_Marelli: She used to come to school with hay in her hair because she’d wake up early to ride before class. She had riding gloves permanently stuffed in her pockets. She sketched horses in the margins of her notebooks. It was who she was.
↳@/Clara_Marelli: And then one day, she stopped.
↳@/Clara_Marelli: We were all confused. She never shut up about riding, and suddenly, she wouldn’t even mention it. If you asked about her horse, she’d just give this tight little smile and say, “She’s gone.” No explanation. No emotion. Just… gone.
↳@/Clara_Marelli: We only found out later that her family sold her horse to help fund Charles’ racing career. And look—I get it, racing is insanely expensive, and the Leclercs aren’t the first family to make sacrifices for motorsport. But this wasn’t just some hobby she could pick up again later.
↳@/Clara_Marelli: This was the thing that made her happiest, and it was ripped away from her.
↳@/Clara_Marelli: And what made it worse? She never complained. Not once. She just swallowed it, like she had already learned that what she wanted didn’t matter.
↳@/Clara_Marelli: After that, she changed. She got quieter. She stopped sketching horses. She stopped talking about anything she loved, really. It was like she decided—consciously or not—that if she didn’t care about things, they couldn’t be taken from her.
↳@/Clara_Marelli: And now, years later, she suddenly posts that she has a horse again. And her own brothers didn’t even know she was riding.
↳@/Clara_Marelli: That tells me everything. It tells me that she never stopped missing it. That, at some point, she must have started riding again, but she kept it completely to herself. She didn’t tell her family. She didn’t trust them with it.
↳@/Clara_Marelli: And honestly? That makes me so, so sad. Because they should’ve been the first to know. They should’ve noticed that she was still hurting.
↳@/Clara_Marelli: Instead, she had to find her way back to something she loved on her own.
↳@/Clara_Marelli: Whoever got her that horse—because let’s be real, this wasn’t a random purchase—they didn’t just give her a gift. They gave her back a part of herself. And that means more than her family probably even realizes.
@/F1Girl99: This is actually so heartbreaking. The way she just shut down after losing her horse?? And her family didn’t even realize??
@/LeclercNation: Nah, this makes the whole thing so much worse. Like, it’s one thing to forget her birthday, but not even knowing she still rides??
@/redbullgirly: “She didn’t trust them with it” is actually such a devastating sentence. Imagine having to hide the thing that makes you happiest because you know your family won’t care.
↳@/arthurfairy: The fact that she got a horse again but didn’t tell a single soul in her family tells me everything I need to know about how much that hurt her.
@/gridgossip: Everyone’s talking about how sad this is, but can we also talk about who got her that horse? Because that’s not a small gift. That’s a “someone knows exactly what you lost and wanted to give it back” kind of gift.
@/tifositilidie: Imagine being Charles or Arthur and realizing you never even thought about getting her back into riding.
↳@/ohmyf1: The fact that they restarted Arthur’s karting career but didn’t do the same for Isabelle and just assumed she got over it… yeah, that’s rough.
@/chaoticquadrant: Isabelle’s silence about all of this is louder than anything she could’ve said.
@/pitlaneprincess: The fact that a random classmate knows more about Isabelle’s pain than her own family is WILD.
@/verstapwinning: I actually can’t get over the part where she just stopped talking about things she loved after they sold her horse. That’s not just sadness, that’s trauma.
@/softforcharles: I love Charles, but the way they all just assumed she was fine… like, did no one ever ask her if she wanted to ride again??
↳@/F1andChill: I’m just saying—if my sibling was secretly riding again and I found out from Instagram, I would simply pass away from shame.
@/IsabelleLeclercFan: The worst part? She didn’t even announce it like “Look what I got!” She just posted it, like it was a casual thing. That’s how you know it meant everything to her.
@/formula1tea: Okay, but do we think her family even realizes what this means yet?? Or are they still stuck on the “Wait, she rides?” stage?
@/offtrackchaos: Imagine Charles thinking she just outgrew the horse phase, only to find out she’s been hiding it from them for years.
@/arthurisstressed: Arthur’s probably having a full-blown crisis over this. You just know he’s the type to blame himself.
@/MaranelloMess: Isabelle’s whole family right now: “Wait… are we the villains?”
↳@/tifosiprincess: Yes. Yes, you are.
@/undercutf1: Like imagine realizing your sister got back into her childhood passion, something that was taken from her, and you had no idea. No one knew. That’s insane.
@/arthurwasfoundshaking: Arthur realizing he got his dream back but she never did… oh, he’s spiraling.
@/paddocksecrets: Her whole family just realized in real time that they don’t actually know her anymore.
@/charlesnation16: Charles must be freaking out because, in his head, Isabelle never even mentioned wanting to ride again. But the reality is she probably knew they wouldn’t care, so she never said anything.
@/leclercsdaughter: Imagine looking at your sister’s post and realizing someone else—not you, not your family—gave her back the thing you all took away.
@/mclarendreaming: The fact that there was ZERO lead-up. No hints. No casual mentions. Just BAM, full horse.
@/paddockwhispers: At this point, someone needs to check on the Leclerc group chat. I know they are LOSING IT.
@/padlockpundit: Someone said this isn’t just a gift, it’s an apology on behalf of the universe, and honestly?? Yeah.
@/blisteringbarnacles: I can’t tell what’s funnier—Twitter solving this mystery in real-time or the fact that Isabelle is probably watching all of this unfold while sipping tea.
@/hamiltonshalo: Someone find out how much horses cost because I need to understand just how deep this gift goes.
@/GridTea: Sorry, but how do you have a sibling making millions in F1, and you’re out here working three jobs and shoveling horse stalls just to afford riding lessons?? I need someone to make it make sense.
@/F1DramaFiles: So Charles was making Ferrari money and Isabelle was out here grinding like a broke college student?? He couldn’t spare a little “my sister should live like a human being” fund???
@/OverworkedLeclerc: She was out here studying, working multiple jobs, AND still showing up to races when she could. Meanwhile, her whole family forgot her birthday. I would simply cut everyone off.
@/HorseGirlAnon: Do you know how EXPENSIVE equestrian sports are? And she worked her own way back into it with no support? That’s insane. She deserved so much better.
@/TifosiMess: Charles in every interview: “Family is everything.”Meanwhile Isabelle: was forgotten at every major milestone in her life.
@/F1Receipts: It’s also the fact that Isabelle has never once publicly complained about it. No bitter comments, no shade—she just put her head down and worked. Meanwhile, Charles was out here with a whole family support system hyping him up.
@/F1Overthinker: Not to be dramatic, but if I were Charles, Arthur, or Lorenzo, I would simply never recover from the public dragging happening right now.
@/F1TeaSpiller:
Charles: “I’m so grateful to my family for supporting me.”
Isabelle: literally working at a horse stable just to be around them again.
@/JusticeForIsabelle: Nah, the fact that she was grinding through multiple jobs while Charles was out here buying sports cars, yachts, and luxury vacations is actually making me sick.
@/MonacoMess: Me reading Isabelle’s old interviews where she barely mentions herself and only hypes up her brothers, knowing now they weren’t doing the same for her: [GIF: "This is so much worse than I thought."]
***
Text Messages: Pascale Leclerc & Belle Verstappen
Pascale: Ma chérie, please talk to me.
Pascale: I saw your post. The horse… she looks just like Blanche.
Pascale: I didn’t know you were still riding.
Pascale: I should have known.
Pascale: I should have asked.
Pascale: I don’t have the words to tell you how sorry I am.
Pascale: When we sold Blanche, I told myself you would be okay. That you were strong. That you would move on.
Pascale: But that was just me making excuses. I should have fought harder for you.
Pascale: And then when we had the chance to give you back what you lost… we didn’t even think to.
Pascale: Isabelle, please. Say something.
Pascale: Ma fille, I know I don’t deserve an answer right now.
Pascale: I love you. So, so much. ***
Text Messages: Sebastian Vettel & Charles Leclerc
Sebastian: Charles. Saw Belle’s post. Wanted to check in.
Charles: I’m fine.
Sebastian: You’re not. And that’s okay. But pretending doesn’t help.
Charles: It’s just— She has a horse, Seb. A whole horse. And she never told any of us.
Sebastian: Maybe you weren’t listening.
Charles: I WOULD HAVE REMEMBERED A HORSE.
Sebastian: Would you? You didn’t remember her birthday. You didn’t notice she moved out. You didn’t notice she left her job. What makes you think you would have noticed a horse?
Charles: It’s a HORSE, Seb! Not a haircut!
Sebastian: It’s not about the horse. It’s about what the horse represents. Freedom. Love. A piece of herself you never asked about. Or thought to give back.
Charles: It feels like she lied to us.
Sebastian: She didn’t lie. She protected herself. There’s a difference.
Charles: She didn’t even give us a chance to fix it.
Sebastian: Charles. You don't get to demand trust from someone you ignored. Trust is built. It’s not owed.
Charles: I just— I thought she was okay.
Sebastian: Because it was easier to think that than to ask.
Charles: She posted a horse, Seb. A HORSE. HOW LONG HAS SHE BEEN HIDING A HORSE??
Sebastian: (typing) (long pause) Charles. Focus. It’s not about the horse.
Charles: IT’S A LITTLE ABOUT THE HORSE.
Sebastian: Focus.
Charles: I’m trying.
Sebastian: Try harder. She deserves better.
***
Meanwhile on Twitter:
@/F1TeaSpiller: Okay, so if you’re confused about why Isabelle Leclerc’s new horse is causing a meltdown, buckle up, because this is some Shakespearean family drama.
↳@/F1TeaSpiller: Basically, years ago, when Charles was climbing the motorsport ranks, the Leclerc family didn’t have the money to support all three kids in racing. Arthur had to stop karting, and Isabelle—who was really into horseback riding—had her horse sold to fund Charles’ career.
↳@/F1TeaSpiller: Yes. You read that correctly. They sold her childhood horse to support Charles.
↳@/F1TeaSpiller: Now, obviously, funding a motorsport career is insanely expensive, and a lot of families make sacrifices. But imagine being a teenager, loving your horse, and then one day—boom. Gone.
↳@/F1TeaSpiller: What makes it worse? Unlike Arthur, who eventually got the chance to restart his racing career, Isabelle never got that opportunity with riding. The family focused on Charles and never revisited her dreams.
↳@/F1TeaSpiller: Fast forward to now, and Isabelle just casually drops on Instagram that she owns a horse again—and it looks eerily similar to the one they sold.
↳@/F1TeaSpiller: Her brothers (Charles, Arthur, Lorenzo) all freaked out in the comments because they clearly had no idea she was even riding again, let alone that she had bought a horse.
↳@/F1TeaSpiller: And this is where it gets messy. Because it means:
They never asked about her interests.
They had no clue she had started riding again.
They didn’t even know where she was living.
She never told them about any of this—which, like… speaks volumes.
↳@/F1TeaSpiller: Anyway, people are connecting the dots and realizing Isabelle has probably been pulling away from her family for a while, and they just… didn’t notice.
↳@/F1TeaSpiller: Because let’s be real—how do you forget your sister’s birthday, AND not know she got back into the thing she loved most as a kid??
↳@/F1TeaSpiller: TL;DR: The Leclerc brothers are in big trouble right now.
↳@/F1TeaSpiller: Oh, and the final kicker? Isabelle agreed in the comments that the horse was a gift. The way Isabelle phrased her post—“some things will always come back to you”—makes it sound like this horse is directly connected to the one she lost. Apparently it was her childhood’s horse last foal.
↳@/F1TeaSpiller: If that’s true? Then someone—who is not her family—went out of their way to find a descendant of her old horse and give her back a piece of what she lost.
↳@/F1TeaSpiller: And I have questions.
↳@/F1TeaSpiller: Because if her own family didn’t do this… who did?
***
The restaurant buzzed with quiet conversation and clinking silverware, candlelight glinting off polished glasses. It should have been relaxing — a rare, normal night in Monaco, tucked into a corner booth with Alexandra, sipping wine and trying to pretend that everything wasn’t on fire.
It wasn’t working.
Charles could barely focus on anything she was saying. His mind kept looping back to Belle’s Instagram post.
A horse. A goddamn horse.
Captioned cryptically, like some kind of soft dagger straight into his already-shredded guilt.
He hadn’t even known she still rode. He hadn’t known she had a horse.
What else didn’t he know? What else had he missed while he was busy pretending everything was fine?
He stabbed his fork into his salad with unnecessary violence.
Alexandra reached across the table, covering his hand. “Eat. You’re spiraling.”
Charles muttered something about not being hungry, but then — movement over Alexandra’s shoulder caught his eye.
He straightened immediately.
Across the room, near the outdoor terrace, sat two very familiar figures.
Emilie Abadie. And Lando Norris?!
Together. Laughing.
Leaning in too close over a shared plate of something fried.
It didn’t look like a casual meeting.
It looked like a date.
Charles’s blood pressure spiked instantly.
Because if Emilie was here — and laughing — that meant Belle wasn’t spiraling alone somewhere. Or worse — she wasn’t telling Emilie to tell him anything.
He shot up from his seat before Alexandra could stop him.
"Charles," she hissed, trying to grab his sleeve. "Sit down!"
But he was already marching across the restaurant, half-blinded by panic, guilt, and the deep, bone-deep need to do something.
Emilie spotted him halfway across the room. Her smile dropped like a rock into the ocean.
"Emilie," he said, voice tight. "We need to talk. About Belle."
Emilie set her wineglass down with infuriating calm.
"I’m having dinner," she said coolly. "Sit down or leave."
Charles didn’t sit. He couldn’t. The panic was a living thing inside him.
“She posted a horse,” he said, almost accusingly. “A horse! She never said anything! She’s still not answering me. You’ve seen her. You know. Why won’t you just—just tell me what’s going on?!”
For a second, Emilie just stared at him.
Then — like a blade sliding out of a sheath — her smile disappeared.
"You think you're owed answers now?" she asked, voice so sharp Charles actually leaned back a fraction. "After months of ignoring every warning sign? After standing in the same garage with her and looking through her like she wasn’t even real?"
Charles’s throat worked, but no sound came out.
"You want to know why she’s not answering you?" Emilie went on, soft and lethal. "Because you only want her when it's convenient. When it fits your schedule. When it doesn't mess up the perfect story you tell yourself about your family."
“Emilie—”
"No," she cut across him, fierce and furious. "You don’t get to interrupt. You didn’t text her. You didn’t notice she moved. You didn’t notice she quit her job. You didn’t notice when she smiled through being forgotten on the day that should have been about her."
Charles flinched like she’d slapped him.
"You forgot her birthday," Emilie said, each word a scalpel slicing down to bone. "And you think a few panicked phone calls are enough to fix that?"
He opened his mouth. Closed it.
"You don't love Belle the way you should," Emilie said, voice low, devastating. "You love the idea of her. The safe, quiet little sister who never asks for anything. Who never demands too much. Who lets you shine without ever threatening your light."
Charles stared at her, feeling hollowed out, feeling cracked open.
"You didn't see her when she needed you," Emilie said. "And now you don't deserve to see her at all — not until she says you can."
Beside her, Lando sat perfectly still, wide-eyed — half in awe, half in something dangerously close to admiration.
Charles shook his head, trying to hold onto something, anything.
“I just want to make it right—”
"Then start by not making it about you," Emilie snapped. "Start by realizing that sometimes you don’t get to be the hero of the story you broke."
Charles felt like the floor had dropped out from under him.
For a long moment, the restaurant spun around him — laughter, silverware, clinking glasses — but all he could hear was Emilie’s voice, merciless and true.
And he knew, in some terrible, undeniable way, that she was right.
He wasn’t the center of Belle’s story anymore.
He wasn’t even a footnote.
He had made himself a ghost in her life, and now he was furious that he couldn’t haunt it.
Emilie leaned back in her chair, perfectly calm now, like she hadn’t just torn him apart at the seams.
"Now," she said, reaching for her wine again, "go back to your table. Apologize to Alexandra. And maybe — if you’re lucky — figure out how to be someone your sister actually wants to let back in."
Charles didn’t say anything. He couldn’t.
He turned away on shaking legs, retreating across the restaurant under the weight of his own failure.
***
Text Messages: Charles Leclerc & Belle Verstappen
Charles: Isabelle.
Charles: I know you probably don’t want to hear from me. I get it. I’m still going to say this anyway.
Charles: I was fifteen when they sold Blanche. I knew how much she meant to you. I knew how much it would break your heart.
Charles: And I still let it happen. I told myself it wasn’t my decision. That it was out of my hands. That it was for the greater good.
Charles: But that’s not the truth. The truth is, I was selfish. I was scared. I was so focused on keeping my own dream alive that I let them take yours away.
Charles: I didn’t fight for you. I didn’t even try.
Charles: I keep thinking about that day. The way you looked at them. At me. Like you finally understood that nothing you said was ever going to change it. And still, I stayed quiet. I just let it happen.
Charles: You didn’t scream. You didn’t cry. You just… disappeared inside yourself. And we all pretended it would get better on its own.
Charles: It didn’t.
Charles: When Arthur got his second chance years later, we celebrated. But we never once thought about giving you yours. We just assumed you had "moved on."
Charles: I see now how wrong that was. You didn’t move on. You just learned how to survive being left behind.
Charles: And then we forgot your birthday. You were standing right there. Wearing Ferrari red. Smiling at me. And I still didn’t see you.
Charles: I keep asking myself how many times we made you feel invisible without even realizing it.
Charles: I don’t blame you for shutting us out. I don’t blame you for walking away. You deserved better than what we gave you.
Charles: And I’m sorry. I am so, so sorry.
Charles: I don’t know how to fix this. Maybe I can’t.
Charles: But I want to try. If you’ll let me.
Charles: If you need space, I’ll give you space. If you need time, I’ll wait. If you never want to speak to me again, I’ll understand.
Charles: But if there’s any chance at all—any way to rebuild even a fraction of what we broke— I’ll do whatever it takes.
Charles: No excuses. No conditions. No timeline.
Charles: I’ll wait as long as you need. I’ll listen as long as it takes.
Charles: You mattered then. You matter now. You always have. Even when we were too blind to see it.
Charles: I love you. I’m so sorry I ever made you doubt that.
#max verstappen fanfiction#formula 1#max verstappen#max verstappen smau#max verstappen fic#f1 fanfiction#formula 1 fanfiction#max verstappen fluff#mv1 fanfiction#max verstappen imagine#max verstappen fake instagram#f1 smau#max verstappen social media au#max verstappen x reader#mv1 x reader#f1 x reader#formula 1 x reader#mv1 fic#max verstappen x you#f1 grid x reader#f1 grid fanfiction
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Shen Yuan concept without being a NEET just because my sister and I thought of this and lol we had a good time
So Shen Yuan is this rich kid and all, but he actually has this hobby that started taking up 80% of his free time: designing clothes. He started out as a cosmaker, can you blame him? Cosplays are so poor quality these days. And Shen Yuan is used to good quality clothes even if they are just simple t-shirts. So when he started realizing how pathetically expensive some cosplays were compared to their quality, he just... Well, he had to design his own!
Little by little, he evolved. And one day his wealthy family found him this job designing clothes for xianxia dramas, and Shen Yuan, a little delirious, accepted. It's okay! He designed a lot of sketches inspired by arts, historical research here and there, things that also looked nice and realistic. Shen Yuan enjoys his job almost as much as he enjoys criticizing each new PIDW chapter. How is it possible that they've been thirty chapters into that subplot and there have been more papapa scenes than a resolution?! Outrageous!
Shen Yuan designs a lot. He still works as a cosmaker, as he really enjoys doing embroidery. It's a time-consuming job, but he gets paid well and his cosplays are the best in the entire community. His family is happy that he has left his lonely life and has this job and this new business experience, they congratulate him on his new achievements, they urge him to enroll in some university fashion or clothing design.
Shen Yuan dismisses it. He misses his life as a NEET a little, but in reality on his days off he just plays around and does nothing, which is the same thing he does on his work days, except he embroiders and sews or draw on those work days. Days so busy, they are not.
So Airplane ends PIDW like absolute shit, Shen Yuan drowns and dies.
And he opens his eyes. Well, what the hell. It doesn't take long for him to discover that he transmigrated into an NPC. Tailored, apparently, because he's an no-name NPC apprentice to a spider demon seamstress!
He has a lot of knowledge about all of this, so it doesn't take him long to put it into practice. His teacher congratulates him and he makes a lot of sales. Soon, he gains a very good reputation. Maidens from other kingdoms come to Shen Yuan to design clothes for them for festivals, for dances, for family celebrations. Shen Yuan designs, sews, embroiders. It's not far from his old life, although he misses Project Sekai and caffeine a little.
He opens his own workshop almost a year later, with the goodwill of his demon teacher. She warns him of something: Shen Yuan is a thread woven to another soul. And soon, his soulmate will come for him.
Shen Yuan is a little nervous, but, oh well! A soulmate! If only!
He knows, for a fact, that that's impossible. They're in the disgusting world of PIDW, and at least half of the dresses he's made have been for Binghe's future wives. Some would even be torn apart without any care! What a waste of his time and effort!
He doesn't think about it too much. Shen Yuan just focuses on his work. He designs, sews, embroiders. He sleeps little but enjoys the smile on the faces of the Meimei's when they hug the pretty fabrics. It is, despite everything, a good life.
Then, Emperor Luo Binghe arrives at his door.
In person. Not with servants, not with a letter, not with an invitation. It is Emperor Luo Binghe who arrives at his door.
Of course Shen Yuan is going to make robes for the emperor! There's no need for him to ask or offer to pay for them! He's nervous and a little scared, but Luo Binghe is... well, he doesn't seem to have no kind of threatening aura or any kind of charm. He asks him for the designs of some robes and stays there while Shen Yuan makes the first sketches. Luo Binghe gives more directions, more corrections... And Shen Yuan discovers that Luo Binghe is requesting Qing Jing robes from him, if the fanarts are accurate. He tears off that sheet of paper, starts another sketch with Qing Jing's exact robes without uttering any words, leaving Luo Binghe speechless as well. Luo Binghe nods, correcting details of length and shape, not even asking or saying anything about designs of cultivators clothing, and Shen Yuan has to move on to the... er, awkward part. He has to almost strip Luo Binghe to take his measurements!
Ignore that part. His face is very red when he finishes, but he has the exact measurements of his back, his arms, the size of his fit, his length and width, everything necessary to work with the first molds.
Shen Yuan has no idea why Emperor Luo Binghe wants Qing Jing's robes. He won't ask either, he values his tongue very much. So, he just decides to continue his work like a good professional, embroidering every detail to perfection (he has done two Ning Yingying cosplays in the past, so, it was easy to him remember the embroidered patterns).
Maybe he makes it too perfect.
Luo Binghe is looming over him, his new robes on display, eyes red with fury, zuiyin shining on his forehead.
"Cang Qiong has been burned for more than two hundred years. How can a weak mortal like you recreate these patterns so perfectly?"
Shen Yuan has three options, honestly.
a) Tell him he's a transmigrator. He doesn't have any fucking System, and maybe telling him he's from another world will save him from his imminent death... But he highly doubts Luo Binghe will believe him.
b) Telling him that he's a reborn soul! That he may have worked for the sect in the past! It's not a bad idea, and it's actually quite common, isn't it? Some souls are reborn with some memories, huh, not bad...
c) Not saying anything and playing dumb.
Shen Yuan chooses to play dumb, only because he doesn't have enough brain cells and is so panicked that he can play the reborn.
"I don't know what Junshang is telling me! I just followed the directions and patterns in the design given by Jungshang!"
Luo Binghe does not strangle him. Makes things worse.
Luo Binghe carries him over his shoulder and carries him away. This is kidnapping?! Shen Yuan is being kidnapped from his own shop in broad daylight!? And obviously no one is going to stop him!!
And so, Luo Binghe simply puts him in a room somewhere in the palace, gives him some papers and many tools so he can draw and tells him to design something that he like. And he leaves.
... That is, a kind of test? Is Luo Binghe testing him in some way? Ah, he hopes his customers will be understanding. He's sorry for the delay in their dresses, but Emperor Luo Binghe has kidnapped this seamstress, but he hope to get back to business soon!!
(Luo Binghe is having the closest thing to astral travel. Why does that boy who looks like a young and sweet version of Shen Qingqiu know the patterns of Qing Jing so well? Is he his own "kind" Shen Qingqiu in this world? So why does he act like this and not like a haughty teacher? What should he do?
At least he brought him to his palace. He's not sure if he's the person he's looking for, but, well... he's not really going to let him out of his sight. Just in case.)
#bingyuan#svsss ideas#svsss au#mxtx svsss#ren zha fanpai zijiu xitong#scumbag self saving system#scumbag system#shen yuan#shen yuan transmigrating into npc#this npc is a seamstress#which is perfect because this shen yuan is a cosmaker#original luo binghe#poor boy post bingge vs bingmei#original luo binghe deserves happiness#and i will give it to him no matter what it costs
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𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀 𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌
nonnie asked: lately i noticed many writers writing about reader kissing character's face while wearing lipstick and therefore covering them in it and i found it so cute and then started to imagine your om!ocs and the modern au guys (…) being covered in lipstick kisses too […]
pairings: my genshin modern au guys (xiao :: scara :: aether :: kazuha :: heizou :: venti :: childe :: diluc :: kaeya), my obey me ocs (dantalion :: valefar :: stolas), my twst oc (cheron) x gn! reader
warnings: these lipsticks are not smudge-proof
a/n: as said i might write a full thing for one character when i have the chance but considering i have 13 characters here and i can only think of so many scenarios, i’m writing a few paragraphs each for now ^^;
original ask
modern au || dantalion || valefar || stolas || cheron
𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐌𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐧 𝐀𝐔
𝐗𝐈𝐀𝐎 Piercer/ Tattoo Artist
It had been a busy week in which you hadn’t seen much of each other, so when you finally made it to Friday evening, you were overjoyed to see your boyfriend again. Needless to say, when the door swung shut, the first thing you did was flutter some well-earned kisses across his face, not even bothering to take your make-up off. So when Xiao spotted his reflection in the mirror, the flush on his cheeks wasn’t the only rose colour decorating his beautiful complexion. While you watched his blush darken, he couldn’t meet your eyes in the mirror and you giggled to yourself as you watched them snap to you when you pulled the neckline of his shirt out of the way and planted a final kiss on the base of his neck.
𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐀 Piercer/ Tattoo Artist
It was your day off, so for once you weren’t out of the house before Scara, instead getting ready at the same time as him. You made him his usual morning coffee to go after he slept over, since he straight up refused to drink anyone else’s, and kissed him goodbye. Not long after he arrived at the piercing studio, notifications started blowing up your phone and you skimmed the furious string of texts, laughing to yourself. Apparently, Xiao hadn’t said anything about the smudge on the corner of his lips, leaving Heizou and Venti to have a field day when they came in, teasing him relentlessly even after he wiped it off. As for the accusation that you did it on purpose, who was to say…
𝐀𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 Piercer/ Tattoo Artist
“Do you still need the make up remover?” Aether asked from outside your bathroom door. You’d both just gotten back from an outing with the others from the piercing shop, staying longer than you initially intended. But that was what always happened. Venti could be very convincing and the group was too much fun to leave early. “I’m done, but I didn’t notice you wearing any makeup earlier,” you admitted, opening the door to let your boyfriend in. “Well I wasn’t,” Aether sheepishly laughed, rubbing the base of his neck. And then you saw it. Faint traces of colour decorating his temple, cheek, the corner of his mouth and even the parts of his neck and chest not covered by his shirt. A shade that very closely resembled the lipstick you applied before going out. “You might be a bit of an affectionate drunk.” “Oh my— I’m so sorry, Aether,” you apologised, quickly searching around for some cotton pads and wiping the lipstick off his chest, trying not to linger on the thought too much. “Don’t worry, I thought it was cute,” he assured you, his warm smile seemingly lighting up the room. As you leaned in to clean his face, he took the opportunity to steal a quick kiss from you as well. “You should wear it more often, it looked very pretty on you.”
𝐊𝐀𝐙𝐔𝐇𝐀 Piercer/ Tattoo Artist
Kazuha had come over for lunch, as he often did, taking a break from his coworkers between the plants, sketching if the time allowed for it. When you both had to return to work, you pressed a sweet kiss against his cheek and then rushed to help a customer. And while neither one of you noticed the colour dusting his cheek, the others sure did and wasted no time pointing it out, though all their teasing comments seemed to bounce right off of him. He wiped the stain away before any customers came in, laughing off how he hadn’t noticed at all. “Of course you wouldn’t notice,” Heizou agreed, a knowing air about him. “After all, you’re way too busy making heart eyes at your florist to even think about looking anywhere else for a second.”
𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐙𝐎𝐔 Piercer/ Tattoo Artist
“Hey honey, could you help me with something real quick?” You called your boyfriend over as you finished applying a new shade of lipstick you bought. As Heizou strolled up to where you were standing, you turned towards him with a smile. “What do you think? Do you like it?” “The colour looks beautiful on you,” he easily replied, sending you a flirtatious wink. “Though I’m not sure if it’s really the colour or just you being gorgeous that’s causing it. Now what did you need help with?” Wrapping one arm around his neck, you pulled him in for a kiss, making sure to firmly plant your lips against his. If your boyfriend was surprised at all, he masked it well, easily melting into the kiss. As you pulled away a little breathlessly, you grinned. “Just wanted to see if it’s really smudge-proof, though I guess it failed in that regard.” You traced a finger around the faint trace of colour on his lips as Heizou took the tube from you and applied the lipstick with pinpoint precision. Turning to you, his olive eyes were gleaming with mischief as he chuckled. “I think we should run a few more tests, just to be sure.”
𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈 Piercer/ Tattoo Artist
“This one’s for the song you wrote for me and this one’s for bringing me my favourite coffee without me asking,” you mused, studying your boyfriend’s face covered in pink-hued gloss marks. Somehow a kiss to the temple had ended with you caging Venti against the couch, fluttering a dozen kisses all over the skin you could reach. “Ehe, what can I say, I’m just the best boyfriend ever,” he giggled, tracing his fingers down the contours of your face in return. Then, something in his expression changed and you prepared yourself to shut down whatever idea he was about to propose next. “Maybe I should think about getting one of them tattooed? On my shoulder or so?” “Don’t you dare.”
𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐄 Idol
Ever since you had caught a lot of heat from Childe’s manager for accidentally letting your boyfriend leave with a mark decorating his collarbones, you were very cautious of leaving any visible stains on him, even if it was just makeup. Still, you found ways to work around this little inconvenience. There was one time you signed off a little post-it note you left on the fridge for him, wishing him good luck for a performance, with a lipstick stain. After seeing his reaction of childish glee, it became a staple in your relationship. Then again, whenever Childe came home from work with his makeup still on, he never failed to press a big, fat, lip gloss stained kiss on your cheek, chuckling like the menace he is when you make a show of wiping it off.
𝐃𝐈𝐋𝐔𝐂 Club Owner/ Bartender
Diluc had seen his fair share of shameless make outs during his time at the Angel’s Share and normally he just turned his head the other way, not sure why people would enjoy slobbering all over each other. Well, that was until he met you anyway. Though he’d like to think he was more composed than the intoxicated people at his club, whenever you pressed your lips against his, he thought he might get drunk off of you. He swallowed hard when you pulled away, mind still trying to process what was happening as his eyes tracked the movement of your own kiss-swollen lips, not hasty to wipe away the traces of you against his skin.
𝐊𝐀𝐄𝐘𝐀 Model
Kaeya actually revelled in it whenever you leave any type of mark on him, as long as it didn’t lead to a scolding from his manager. Whether it was something more durable like a hickey or something easily wiped off like a lipstick stain, Kaeya always looked very smug about it afterwards. After all, the marks were a testimony to the events that transpired previously, and what could he say, Kaeya enjoyed those very much. Even more so considering he knew his way around a makeup bag, confidently picking out shades that looked gorgeous on you and even more gorgeous when they were smudged around the corner of your lips and over his skin. In his opinion, every photo of the aftermath was more stunning than any of his cover shoots.
𝐎𝐛𝐞𝐲 𝐌𝐞! 𝐎𝐂𝐬
𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐎𝐍 Majolish Owner/ Devil Style Chief Editor
You walked in on Dantalion getting ready, his attention that was previously on his reflection in the vanity mirror flickering to you when you entered. His plush lips, curled into a loving smile, are painted in a flattering shade of red and your gaze was trained on them as you came to stand in front of him. “Are you trying a new shade? It suits you well.” “I am. I’m glad you like it,” he hummed, tilting his head in contemplation. “I wonder…” Cupping your cheek in his palm, the demon leaned towards you and you instinctively closed your eyes as his soft lips pressed against yours with purpose. As always his kisses made a part of your brain short circuit and you blinked at him dazedly for a moment after you parted. There was a satisfied gleam in his bright eyes as he wiped at your bottom lip with his thumb, studying the red stain he left. “As expected, it’s an even lovelier colour on you, my flower.”
𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐅𝐀𝐑 Casino Owner
“Little lamb, come here for a second.” Valefar was no stranger to finding your lipstick smudges at the rim of his drinks or wiping smudges of colour and gloss from his cheek before leaving for the casino after you gave him a kiss goodbye. He didn’t mind, found it cute even, but as he regarded the pink stain on the collar of his white dress shirt in the lounge’s mirror, he knew it won’t come off with a quick swipe of his thumb. It wasn’t a big deal, he kept spare shirts in his office, but Val wouldn’t pass on the opportunity to fluster you. “Care to explain yourself?” You were halfway through stuttering out a sheepish apology when Valefar backed you against his desk, keeping you pinned to him with a hand on your back. Intense amber eyes keep contact with yours as he leaned down to suck a noticeable hickey on the same spot his collar would be, knowing your clothes barely wouldn’t be able to hide it. “Debts should be repaid, wouldn’t you agree?”
𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐒 Popular Streamer
It was a pleasant day in the Devildom, as pleasant as it could be in a realm without the sun anyway, pulling the two of you out into town. While strolling from apparel stores to gaming shops, you passed a café you frequented and decided to stop by for some refreshments. As you pointed around various shop displays, you had the sinking feeling that your drink emptied faster than usual. And when you spotted the colourful stain that had transferred from your straw to your boyfriend’s lips, you caught the culprit red- handed (or rather red-lipped). When confronted he merely chuckled playfully before swooping in to steal a kiss on top of your drink, staining them with more of your lipstick and thereby destroying the evidence. (His straw also became more colourful as he offered you his drink as compensation.)
𝐓𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐖𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐎𝐂
𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐍 Prince of Hell
When Vil gifted you a set of lipsticks and glosses from a campaign he was part of and had no need for, you accepted them gratefully. You just finished sorting through all the shades and trying out a pretty shade of red, when there was a knock on your door and Cheron sauntered into your room. “There you are,” he grinned, charming without even having to try, before pulling you close and stealing the air from your lungs with a kiss. For someone who claimed to not be interested in ferrying more souls to hell, he sure seemed intent on trying to kill you. “What’s this you got there? Vil’s new collab?” “Right you are,” you paused, peering around him to the lipstick tube in your hand and chuckling as you read the shade name. Pressing another kiss right onto the middle of his cheek as payback for his usual schemes, you took in the red matching the colour on the corner of his lips. “Don’t you think it’s a beautiful colour, Cherry? It does match your hair and eyes. Maybe I should start calling you that.” There was a dangerous glint in his crimson eyes, clearly aware of the red staining his face, as he swiped his thumb under your bottom lip where the lipstick left a smudge as well. “You have a lot of nerve marking the Prince of Hell.” His grin showed off the points of his fangs more clearly now, clearly amused at your little stunt, taking a step forward and walking you backwards towards the edge of your bed. “That’s fine. If you can handle the consequences, that is.”
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CLOAK PART TWO: BET YOU DIDNT EXPECT THERE TO BE MORE TO IT
this! is what the roses i’ve been working on since june were for. and i finally finished it last week. while i was originally planning for 12 roses, when i finished the 8th rose in the interest of not making things harder than they needed to be, i laid everything out to check the spacing, and realized that anything more than 8 would be overkill. from then on, it was a matter of figuring out how exactly i wanted them to go on.
in general, i knew i wanted more gold in the cloak. i added trim to the bottom of the banner, the top of the fur at the hem, and around the roses & as their stems.
i was pretty nervous at this point, everything still felt so disjointed and laying out the stem without anything between the roses was so awkward. i was kind of terrified at this point that all of the over a hundred hours i’d invested in the roses was for naught. but sketching in how i wanted the leaves to fill out the space relieved a lot of that anxiety.
this thin braided trim i used for the roses and stems and leaves was in weirdly short supply, and i ended up needing somewhere in the realm of 5 or 6 spools of it. the store had 3 in stock at a time. they did also have a variation with a white middle instead of gold, and I thought it would be close enough. but the difference was still super apparent from a distance, so i pulled out the center of it and threaded a gold cord onto a needle and wove it into place instead. it was labor intensive, but SO worth it to me.
for the leaves, i originally wanted them to be fully beaded. after some experimentation i decided otherwise, and settled on this layered effect using some black lace and a brocade i had on hand, leftover from the last time i built a technoblade cosplay. i trimmed them with that same gold ribbon and added beads for veins, and they did exactly what I wanted them to do with color and space on the cloak. i made 26 leaves to go along with my 8 roses, spaced along the stem on the hem of the cloak.
ultimately, i put probably in the realm of 200-250 hours into the cloak alone, and i am so proud of every detail as it’s fallen into place. i feel like ive made a cloak truly worthy of technoblade and his legacy.
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Part 5 Not your average field trip
Previous
Dani had learned that rich people school is SO much different from regular school in the past month and a half. She was actually learning something here unlike the school she used to go to where she'd just sit bored most of the time. She had learnt quite a bit actually. Something that really angered her was realizing that her class bullied Mr.Brother mistaking, bad attitude, Damian Wayne. Though they never actually touched him, just rumors, rather awful jokes, and mean spirited memes. Apparently being a Wayne meant he was practically immune to physical bullying. Something about the others being afraid of his family ruining theirs. Did the Waynes have that much power?
Whatever, Dani has decided she was going to be this boy's friend. So instead of hanging around the other kids she hung around Damian her protective core claiming him as a friend meaning she'd protect him.
Talking to him was almost insufferable though. He was soooooo uptight till Dani started noticing his sketches. Well, that was something they could actually bond over since talking wasn't working. So Dani started bringing her own sketch book though her drawings were mostly blueprints like her brother, she also did like just drawing regular things as well. They might not talk when they spend time together (both finding each other's voice insufferable) but they did share drawings and sometimes even blueprints that the Dannies worked on together. Damian had even admitted they were good! Her brother and her even getting a compliment out of Mr. Always scowling Damian Wayne! Dani got way too excited over that almost falling out of the tree she was dangling from. He compared her to Mr.Grayson Wayne, she huffed when he told her that wasn't a compliment.
Today was like every other day of school. They'd sit in class, do whatever they need to then go out to recess like the rest of the kids. Dani would play games with the other kids for the first half then go sit at the tree with Damian to draw. She was always sitting in the tree hanging upside down. Dani insists it's the best way to draw but Damian doesn't believe her. She's just weird. Anyways today Damian decided to talk with Danielle. "Are you excited for the field trip?" Dani looked down at Damian confused. She didn't know there was a field trip and certainly didn't pay for her spot. She wasn't sure if she could pay for it. "Field trip? I didn't get anything for a friend trip. Did we have to pay for tickets?" Damian scoffed at Danielle not knowing anything about the field trip. They had been talking about in class for a week now. "No you don't need to pay we're going as a class to an aerospace museum. I thought you'd be excited." Just by the look in Danielle's eyes he'd released he messed up. Not that he had upset her but he had hit something she was going to non-stop talk about for the rest of recess. He groaned internationally, at least her rambling was intelligent.
Apparently Gotham academy loved going on field trips and today was supposed to be one of those days. They were going to go to Metropolis to go see The BEST aerospace museum so Dani was excited. She loved space about as much as her brother did after all. Her and her class all got on the bus together and happily chartered with each other, Dani of course sat next to Damian. They were close now after all even if their relationship wasn't built on talking. Damian rolled his eyes at her since she was practically shaking with excitement. Damian and her spent time before the bus ride started doodling for each other then when everyone else got on the bus Dani became much more social with the other students. Telling them about space and aircraft and all sorts of constellations, even drawing them out for them. Everything was going great!
But of course, she was a Nightingale and this was Gotham and things have been going too well for too long. Apparently the weirdo and his gain of fruitloops is the Scarecrow and his goons. As soon as the bus started down the main road the bus was hijacked and forced off course to a graveyard that the Scarecrow used as his base. Dani frowned as they ran over graves and that whenever one of her classmates moved a gun would be pointed towards them. She wasn't afraid they'd actually use it though, they had no intent to kill them if she read their emotions right. She noticed how whenever they threatened someone Damian tensed but in a way that felt more like he was ready to fight not run. Interesting.
Dani was going to wait, she knew that heroes were coming eventually so they wouldn't be missing too long. Then one of the goons mentioned something about them being subjects. Experiments, they were going to be their experiments. Danielle refused to be an experiment again.
Damian had pressed his panic button as soon as the bus was taken over. He could have done something, could have taken out every one of these goons and could have had them back on track to their field trip but that would have blown his cover. He can't blow his cover, he can't put his family in danger. He'd have to wait for the others, he'd have to wait to be rescued.
It was interesting watching Danielle's reactions, she didn't seem scared at all. Actually the only time she seemed any sort of upset was when they ran over grave stones mumbling something about disrespect. Then in an attempt to scare them more the goons brought up the tests they were going to do on them. How they were going to use fear Toxin on them, a new branch of it and they were the first test subjects. Danielle tender at that then tried to get up only to be pulled back down by Damian who was looking at her with a 'what the fuck are you doing?!' Causing her to just smile at him, it was different from her normal smile, this one didn't feel human. This one felt threatening, Damian barely managed to pull her down again. Whispering urgently to her. "Danielle don't- The bats will be here soon, they'll deal with them. Don't kill yourself"
Danielle begrudgingly sat back down next to Damian who now refused to let go of her hand so she didn't do something stupid. So now they were stuck waiting.
It took another 15 minutes to get to their location though they weren't off loaded from the bus. Instead the emergency exit was pressed against a mound of dirt and someone was guarding each one of the emergency exits. They took the role called lists from the adults, guess that was how they were going to determine who it reacts best to. There was a gas canister attached to the top emergency exit. Both Danielle and Damian just stared at it though nothing happened, nothing was coming out frustrating the goon who was supposed to control it. Damian then noticed Danielle's hand growing colder and colder.
They threw in a gas grenade into the bus hitting the adults in the front with gas before stuttering and stopping completely. When the second one was thrown in the one on top stuttered dripping out the concentrated fear toxin.
Dani was creating ice over the exit points for the gas preventing it from spreading but it was slowly getting harder to hold as more grenades were thrown in. This would be so much easier if she could transform but she couldn't do that here. Her reading was probably already going through the roof meaning the GIW- No focus. Just prevent the gas from getting more people. Prevent more people from becoming experiments. She got colder. She looked at Damian for a second then tried to pull her hand away as another grenade was thrown in, instead of the pale yellow of the others this one was bright blood red. Danielle breathed some of it in before freezing that one too. Blood bloom gas, they had blood bloom gas. She choked on it about as much as Damian did. He squeezed her hand as he began to hallucinate. He then attacked her just as the bats finally began to show up taking out the goons and of course losing Scarecrow.
Danielle was holding her own against Damian who was currently trying to tear out her throat. Both now tussling on the ground. Both of them breaking ribs, blackened eyes, broken noses, the works as they battled. This would have been fun if they weren't both poisoned. Maybe when all is said and done Damian would agree to fight her again. Without poison.
Eventually though they were pulled away from each other. Batman holding Damian down as he sprayed something into the kid's face. Danielle almost attacked Batman for it till Damian calmed down and held onto the bat. She hadn't been paying attention to the Red one looking her over and asking questions. She was still breathing heavily from the poison and fighting. His voice caught her attention.
"Ms, are you alright?" RR asked as he touched the red trails left from the blood blooms under her skin. It wasn't a kind of poisoning he's seen before. She flinched away when he touched the trails. Danielle mumbled "Will be, it hurts though"
"We're going to get you to a hospital alright?" It took Danielle a solid 10 seconds before processing what RR had said. The look of pure panic on the little girl's face worried him. "No! No hospitals, No doctors!" Danielle could not go to a hospital, if she went to the hospital they'd realize she wasn't human and if they realized she wasn't human she'd be put back into a lab and Vlad and the GIW.
Danielle was now hyperventilating, causing RR to back track. "Alright, no hospitals. We won't take you to a hospital. Do you know where your home is, we can take you home." Danielle slowly got up and looked at RR then at Damian who was still holding onto Batman. She still looked a little panicked. "Is he going to be alright?" RR looked over at Damian and smiled softly. "Yeah he'll be alright, do you know him?" RR already knew that Damian had been keeping tabs on her but he still wanted to know what she thinks of his brother. "We're friends. Or maybe we were friends, I did break a few of his ribs" she paused and looked away from Damian then back at RR. "Can I go home? Please?" RR was still looking at Basn and Damian but did start to respond. "Yeah after-" he turned to look at her and she was gone. Huh, guess the kid's a meta.
As soon as RR said she could she turned invisible not listening to him complete his sentence. He said yes and that's all she needed. Danielle flew home where Danny was still in the middle of an online class. When she was him she immediately grabbed onto him sobbing. Dani sobbed then passed out mumbling something.
Slight problem, this wasn't Danny. This was Jason who was now very confused and concerned. Dani in her slightly delirious state went to the wrong apartment building. Seeing what she assumed was her brother she just let herself in not even trying the key. So now Jason had a kid in his safe house, who didn't have a key or set off any of the alarms, who looked like hell, now passed out on his couch.
Next
#dc x dp#the robins#batman#danny phantom#dcu#jason todd#tim drake#dick grayson#red hood#danielle fenton
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Pros and Cons of Stormlight Characters in the Middle Seat Next to You on a Budget Airline.
As requested by anon. :)
1. Kaladin
Cons: His legs are so long. His hair is so luxurious. His shoulders are so broad. This large, beautiful man is not trying to be in your space, but the budget airline seat cannot contain him. Pros: You started what you thought was an idle conversation, but by the end of your flight, he had diagnosed your chronic pain and become your therapist??
2. Shallan
Pros: Well, she's more of a regular-sized human and she's friendly but quiet. She seems to just want to sketch the whole flight, so no complaints! Cons: Why does she keep staring directly at a space across the plane and sketching the creepiest symbol-headed creatures you've ever seen with her eyes vaguely glazed over like she doesn't even know she's doing it holy shit is this a Twilight Zone situation where there are invisible gremlin monsters on this plane that only she can see and is it your imagination or do you hear humming from somewhere
3. Adolin
Cons: Listen, this is a budget airline, and this guy seems to think it's a fancy spa?? He's got the slippers, the posh eye mask, the luxurious travel pillow, some really nice face creams, and he seems to be video chatting with a girl even though the internet on the plane doesn't even work. Frankly, you're jealous and grouchy about it. Pros: Okay, he actually seems really sweet and he gave you some of his way-too-nice-for-an-airplane snacks. You take it all back; this guy is awesome.
4. Szeth
Pros: He is so still. So quiet. Almost folded in on himself. Barely...breathing? Honestly, you keep forgetting the middle seat is occupied, and how rare is that! Cons: You just...you think you'd feel better if he just blinked. Just once. Please.
5. Lift
Cons: You had to sigh just a little when a little kid plopped down next to you. Also, she goes to the bathroom every five minutes, and comes back with food every time. You think she might be robbing people. Pros: She complimented your butt quite sincerely. You've always been kinda self-conscious about your butt! But apparently yours is the "second best she's ever seen." Feels nice.
6. Jasnah
Pros: Like, is it possible for someone to just be really good at flying? She came in, expertly stowed her luggage, sat down elegantly, did her seatbelt, used a wipe to clean up the tray table and surrounding area, and immediately starting reading some thick tome. Do you have a crush on her? You might have a crush on her. Cons: She glanced at the book you're reading, and you know she judged you for it.
7. Wit
Cons: Does this guy EVER stop talking? Pros: Okay, actually, you found him kind of annoying at first, but that story he told you about the temple and the duck might have healed years of trauma? Did you just realize that you don't have to forgive your mom and that's okay?
8. Renarin
Pros: He sat down and you were like, "Okay. Cute nerd. I dig it." Cons: You just wish he wouldn't scrawl foreboding-seeming numerals on the back of the airline chair in front of him. Is it counting down to...just before the plane lands? What does it mean???
9. Amarem
Cons: He came in and was IMMEDIATELY like, "I am taller than you and so I should have your seat." And then he just...waited? Like he thought you'd just comply??? Pros: He seems intent on pretending that never happened. Fine by you. That guy seems like an asshole.
10. Zahel
Pros: He falls asleep, like, immediately and doesn't stir for the entire flight. Cons: He's just kinda stinky.
11. Dalinar
Cons: He sits down and, unprompted, says something like, "In my youth I would always battle to occupy every armrest but now, after reading The Way of Planes, I have realized that it is the journey, not the armrests, that matter, so you can have them" and then you're like, "Dude, the person in the middle seat gets the armrests that's just common courtesy" and then he looks at you and you look at him and it's vaguely awkward the whole flight and nobody uses the armrests. Pros: Actually, after a while you do take the armrest and the tension goes down a lot.
12. Taravangian
Pros: He just kinda seems like a nice old man, you know? Kinda confused about stuff, but harmless enough. Cons: He falls asleep partway through and droops his head onto your shoulder and drools a bit and you know you sound ridiculous but it feels somehow calculated. Intentional. Evil.
13. Sebarial
Cons: The very second beverage service starts he's all, "Bring me a BOTTLE of wine" and you're like, "Oh no. It's one of those dudes who gets way too drunk on planes!" Pros: You know? This guy actually seems pretty jolly and chill. You catch yourself thinking, "I wish I could pretend he was my uncle." You're not sure where that came from.
14. Rock
Pros: He scoffs at the provided airline snacks and gets out this thermos and gives you the best damn soup you've ever had in your life. Cons: He's just a large, warm man. Very large. Very warm. Not his fault, of course, but now YOU are very warm.
15. Elhokar
Cons: Every time there is plane turbulence, he mutters something about how it's the assassins coming to finish the job. Poor dude must be really scared of flying. Pros: You feel a warm, parental feeling growing in you as you look at this sad, scared man. Maybe your mom was right. Maybe you WOULD be good with kids.
16. Eshonai
Pros: This lady is, just, SO excited to be traveling that it can't help but make YOU excited to travel. Like, you always thought plane travel sucked, especially budget airline travel, be she is so delighted by everything that you find yourself thinking, "You know, it IS pretty amazing that we're soaring through the sky right now traveling to a new land." Cons: Cons? No cons. You wish you could ALWAYS see flying through this woman's eyes.
#cosmere#cosmerelists#Kaladin#stormlight archives#Shallan#Adolin#Szeth#Dalinar#Taravangian#Amaram#Sebarial#Eshonai#Rock#Renarin#Wit#Hoid#Jasnah#Zahel#Lift
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I need to see some one on one bestie and Armand interactions! I bet he finds her humanity endearing even if he acts like a dick about it !! We need them bonding over art
a/n love this sm, he's so secretly invested but also so deeply unchill <3
this is the painting i reference in this fic by name, seeing it isn't necessary for you to get the fic but it's one of my favorite paintings so i thought it'd be fun to add it here :)
also i'm not saying reader has perfectly recreated a famous painting lol, it's more about the vibes/aesthetic of the painting
----
Everything passes in threes. The careful tapping of your thumb's nail against the pointer finger of your opposite hand; the way that your eyes shift between the ground, the wall, and him; even the rhythm of your heart feels like a trinity.
You're not exactly nervous, but you are tense, rigid in a way that you never are in Louis's presence.
There's something about being the source of your uneasiness, of being able to witness his presence embedding itself into your mind that's almost grounding. It's as consuming as the sense of rejection your silence is forcing onto him.
Armand shifts slightly, his hand moving away from his lap and onto the couch's cushioning. The gesture is meant to remind you of your similarities. Mortals are more eased by the small, insignificant movements than they realize. They perceive the pointless shifting of others as evidence of life, as proof of an intrinsic likeness.
The movement seems to serve its purpose, because you relax your hands, ending your three-tap pattern before allowing your arms to fall to your side. "Not being able to offer you anything to drink really has me at a loss."
The response, though cloaked in your usual humor, feels much smaller than the way you usually are. He supposes you're not the only one to blame for your uncertainty. Louis suggested that you spend an evening alone with Armand to help the two of you argue less...and apparently, Louis had warned you to be on your best behavior just as much as he had warned Armand.
Instead of pointing out the fact that you've never struggled to socialize with Louis despite being limited in the same way, he decides to reciprocate what you're giving him. "You could offer me an alternative."
Your eyebrows begin to draw together, but something about the barely there parting of your lips implies something other than surprise. If you were someone else, Armand might consider your expression a byproduct of morbid curiosity.
Your gaze flits away from him and towards the hands innocently resting on your lap. You're quick to dismiss your line of thinking, your body straightening slightly as you look at him again. "I think blood donating's more a third date kinda thing."
The framing of the sentiment, though clearly an attempt at humor, digs at him more than it should. He pushes against his instincts before responding. "Third? I didn't realize you were so easy."
You press your lips together to keep from laughing. It's an expression he's seen directed at Louis several times before. "There's a reputation." You relax slightly, your shoulders easing as you exhale. "So, what do you want to do?"
The question is a careful thing, as if you're doing all you can to make sure that what you're asking doesn't remind him of how little alone time you've spent together. He's never seen you have to think about how to connect with Louis.
When he doesn't respond, you continue, "We could go out and get some air, or we could stay here and watch something..."
You lift your hand just enough to tap your fingertips against your knee. Armand's focus moves away from you and onto the rest of your apartment. He's been here before in a variety of contexts, and he can't remember it ever seeming this organized. There are no work-in-progress pieces taking up your dining room table or paint swatches and sketches covering the coffee table in front of the couch.
"Or uh--anything you want to--"
"You've mentioned having a studio space before."
The interruption surprises you, but you're quicker to recover your expressions than you used to be. Perhaps it's the constant awareness of the fact that you're thoughts are nowhere near as private as you once believed. You nod once. "Yeah, it's the room just past the kitchen."
He turns his head enough to look at you again. "Can I see it?"
Your breathing falters, the air in your lungs stalling so briefly it would have likely gone unnoticed if Armand had been any less determined to take in your reaction. You've mentioned your studio space without being prompted before, but always with a certain level of guardedness.
"Okay," and then, as if realizing the smallness of your response, you tack on a much more definitive, "Yeah, sure."
You're quick to commit to your promise, looking away from him before moving to stand. Armand follows, making a point to remain a full pace behind you as you move through your living room and past your kitchen. You lead him down a short hallway.
You don't stall until you're in front of a door. "I uh--" Your mind is wracked with a flighty nervousness. "Just keep in mind, everything in here's a work in progress."
There's a vulnerability pressed into the syllables that's nearly enough to soften you. So often, your existence feels like a force capable of rivaling the sun. Now, though, thinking about what you've created and how he might perceive these extensions of your being, you seem...reachable. Much less like the first few rays of sunlight bleeding over the horizon at daybreak, and more like a girl of your age.
This version of you must be closer to what Louis sees when he looks at you. Perhaps the instinct that encourages his companion to keep him away from you isn't entirely wrong.
"I understand." His voice is devoid of sentimentality.
You don't seem put off by his blankness. If anything, his limited interest makes it a little easier for you to reach for the door's brass handle. You push open the door. Armand enters the space first.
The room is what's expected--a space absolutely brimming with life. A large worktable covered in sketches and small canvases takes up most of the room's center. Shelves and cabinets line the room's back wall. There are several incomplete works throughout the space, a few paintings propped up against walls and more textured pieces resting against any available flat surfaces, but none draw his focus like what's sitting on your easel.
The painting is familiar in a way that practically makes something inside of him ache.
"It's oil instead of acrylic," your explanation is careful, almost shy. "I'm trying something. The drying between layers is almost impossible, but I like the blending."
Trying something. This isn't even your perferred medium and you've stumbled onto something sharp and moving. It's still unfinished, and he can already tell that the woman you've depicted reading by candlelight is reminiscent of a time outside of your own.
"It's familiar," the reaction feels like a confession. He presses his lips together, a part of him relieved by the fact that you're a few paces behind him. "The lighting--it's similar to Georges de La Tour."
"Really?" You're more enthusiastic than you want to be. "Magdalene with Two Flames was one of my reference photos."
Of course it was. Leave it to you to be capable of accurately mimicking your influences.
You walk forward, stopping once you've reached his side. "This is the first time that someone that doesn't particularly care about my feelings is seeing it, so you can be as honest as you want."
Armand has to work at keeping his expression neutral. It's not enough to be the gifted artist that's sensitive about their work, you also have to be gratingly humble.
He keeps his gaze focused on the painting as he speaks, "You'd be more tolerable if you were less talented." Your skin flushes, blood pulling itself up your neck. "I don't mean it as a compliment."
"I know." Armand can feel how much you mean the response. "I think that's why I liked hearing it."
Something uneasy settles in his chest. You smile at him, your eyes bright and teasing like the both of you are now in on some joke together. "Searching for punishment?"
You straighten slightly, head turning away from him and towards your painting. "Searching for honesty." You're focusing on your work, on separating yourself from personal sentiment. "Though, I guess, sometimes that's the same thing."
There's nothing shocking about your prioritization of honesty. Mortals like to think that candor means something to them, that having the reality of a situation presented to them openly makes things easier. Your kind is much more protected by their obliviousness than they realize, but he's willing to humor you. "It's familiar in other ways, as well."
You're slower to understand his implication than you usually are. Armand can't quite bring himself to fault you for it. You're detached from what he and Louis are.
He turns his head slightly, allowing himself to watch you from his peripheral vision. Louis is committed to shielding you, to masking their differences from you as best as he can. You're not used to being reminded of the eternity they're meant to have.
You blink, your eyebrows briefly pinching together. "Right," this is mumbled more to yourself than to him, "...Because you would have been around when things were like this." You sit with the reminder for another moment before finally turning towards him, "Would it be really lame if I asked what it was like?"
There's a carefulness to your curiosity, a hesitation behind your interest. Your restraint is primarily rooted in how little time the two of you have spent like this, but there's something else behind your uncertainty. Louis loves you the way one loves a childhood blanket that's at risk of becoming threadbare. He doesn't want to lose you to his nature, so he does what he can to pretend it doesn't exist. But you're nowhere near as uninterested in vampirism as Louis would like you to be.
Perhaps this is the only thing that Louis isn't willing to give you himself. "Not really lame." The corner of your mouth tugs itself upwards at the opening. "As I'm sure you know, it was a time of great, artistic flourishing..."
He stops, his mind latching onto aspects of his reminiscence with a vengeful sharpness. A gifted young artist desired by vampires for their beauty and talent.
His unexpected silence forces your thoughts away from curiosity and towards something much more akin to worry. "It was also a time of great brutality."
You're quiet for a stretch of time that feels much more significant than it is. "I'm sorry."
He isn't sure if the apology is an attempt at expressing generalized sympathy or if you're feeling guilty for asking the question in the first place, and he can't bring himself to examine your thoughts for clarity. It should bother him either way. Your presence is enough to agitate the part of himself still susceptible to this kind of vulnerability, he doesn't need to add to that--not so openly, not with you right next to him.
Your proximity is a source of discomfort that's much easier to focus on. You are, by far, the gentlest of his afflictions. For once, he permits himself to lean into the warmth of this uneasiness, his hand extending towards you. He keeps his attention focused on the painting as he takes your hand.
Your shock is enough to briefly amplify your thoughts as an anxious warmth begins to crawl up your neck. The initial surprise quickly fades into a dismissible mental static, leaving a marginal concern in its wake. He presses into your thoughts. You're slightly worried over his shift in demeanor, and you feel a little out of your element, but you're not uncomfortable.
When no other sudden movements pass, you drag your thumb along his knuckles. The heat of your skin amplifies the gesture's soothingness.
He allows the silence to linger for another minute before breaking it, "What are you going to do with the painting once it's finished?"
The question seems to throw you more than the position that you're in. "I don't know, it doesn't really fit into the collection I'm working on." You pause, thinking through your answer. "Maybe I'll hold onto it...or send it to my mom. It seems like something she'd like."
Armand nods once. "Would you consider selling it to me?"
Your nervous warmth returns, blood shifting beneath your skin. "If you want it, you can just have it."
This is an argument that he knows you're familiar with. You're always resisting Louis's attempts at offering you anything you deem expensive, even if it's a payment for something you've made.
"You're an artist," he begins slowly, "You should be paid for your work."
You're not impressed by his logic. "Yeah, but we're friends."
"Are we?"
You weren't expecting an argument. "I think so."
There's a genuineness to your response that's almost hard to bare. Perhaps the financial argument could be reserved for another time, or maybe it'd be easier to gift you something instead. It's a strategy that Louis's used before. "Do you want to watch one of those shows you and Louis are always talking about?"
The question makes you grin. "Yeah." You turn away from the painting without letting go of his hand, pulling him towards the door. "I'm ruling out reality TV, because I don't want to lower your opinion on humanity any further."
"How kind."
You look back at him, smiling, "I'm very altruistic."
----
The television provides a comfortable background, the TV show you put on serving as both a source of sound and light. It also helps that this is a method of bonding you're familiar with.
As far as artistic merit, the show you were so excited to show him isn't exactly life changing, but he's experienced worse evenings than this one.
One of the main characters on the screen accidentally comes across an incriminating note that the audience learned about in the first episode. It's an incredibly predictable twist, but you're studying his reaction like there's something life changing about this revelation.
"This isn't realistic."
The comment makes you sigh. "It's not meant to be realistic, it's meant to be entertaining."
Armand instinctually turns his head towards you. The passive aggressive response he was ready to offer you feels a lot less significant now. You're close, closer than he's used to you being. Maybe there is something entertaining about this.
"It's inconceivable for this many things to be happening on the same street." The words leave him much slower than he meant for them to.
You don't notice his lapse, your gaze briefly shifting away from him and onto the screen. "I'm sorry, supernatural being, are the events taking place on Wisteria Lane inconceivable to you?"
It's a relatively fair point, but he has no interest in letting you know that. "But it's not about the supernatural, it's about reality."
His phrasing seems to stand out to you. Instead of attempting to counter his response, you tilt your head slightly before relaxing against the couch's cushioning.
"I don't know," you whisper, the words soft in their distance. You ease further, your head shifting towards him until your temple is resting against his shoulder. The warmth of your skin burns through the thin layer of fabric dividing the two of you. He cannot bring himself to move. "You seem real to me."
He wouldn't put it past you to be able to speak him into existence. Armand turns his hand over carefully, his fingers intertwining themselves with yours.
----
chat does hand holding warrant a content warning
#iwtv x reader#interview with the vampire x reader#iwtv x fem!reader#armand x reader#bestie reader verse
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You're Back - Wriothesley x gn!Reader
Summary -> 1k words. Wriothesley missed you. Very soft Wriothesley! Warnings -> None A/N -> My husband has been let out of jail!!! Life has meaning again!
Oh you’d never thought you’d miss this place, but for some reason the stale air filling your lungs filled you with a sense of comfort you had longed for this past month. A past month spent in Sumeru, talking to some of the most intelligent scholars in Teyvat, learning of ways you could improve the efficiency of the production zone of the Fortress of Meropide. You counted six things on the way back to your private room that needed to be fixed. Apparently this rust bucket falls apart while it’s head engineer is gone. You’d have to lecture your mechanics tomorrow.
You set down your backpack, opening your notebook and watching the notes and sketches from your trip spill out onto your desk. Your drive to create and repair had been repaired by your month long research trip, and it was good to be back. But all of this was an issue for tomorrow. Your travels were long and you were tired. You sink into the comfortable chair by the radiator, closing your eyes as the warm heat seeps into your body. Your eyes were closed when the sound of a knock on your door roused you from your relaxed state.
“The Duke would like to see you!” Sigewinee’s small voice greets you. “Tell him I’m not back yet!” You shout back through the door.
“The guards already reported to him, he knows your back.” SIgewinne started. “I’d like to see you for your checkup before you begin work tomorrow.” “Yeah, yeah. I’ll get to it, Winne…” You sigh as you open the door, starting to walk alongside the melusine. “Did he say what he wanted?” Sigewinne shook her head. “I imagine he wants to ask about your trip. Although I will warn you, he’s been rather moody this month.” “When is he not moody?” You scoff and wave as you turn down a different corridor from her.
You walk across the path to the giant doors, swinging them open and walking up the staircase. “Hey, Boss.”
Wriothesley looks up from the prisoner files he was flipping through, heavy bags under his eyes. “Welcome back.” His voice held an unmistakable warmness.
“Missed me?” You start the kettle in the corner of his office, knowing you’d be staying for tea. You flip through the box of tea varieties, picking something with no caffeine, hoping to get to sleep at a reasonable time. You flip through the sweeteners, still waiting for a response from the man, when instead you feel arms wrap around your waist, a chin resting on the top of your head. “Oh you really missed me.” “I did.” He confesses like it sat uncomfortably on his chest.
“Are you… dying?” You try to look up, but the weight of his head makes it uncomfortable.
“Not that I’m aware of. Just… been a while since I’ve seen you. I’ve missed your company.” He stays still, unsure of what to do now that he has you. He only loosens his grip so you can turn around and return the hug, more used to affection than he is.
“I’ve missed you too, Wriothesley.” Your voice was soft, unable to hide back the affection. “Give me three days. You’ll want to kill me again in no time.” His shoulders shake with a chuckle as he moves his head to your shoulder. “You think it’ll take three whole days?”
“You’re right. Give me until the end of tomorrow.” You make no move to let go of him until the kettle finishes, fixing up two cups of tea and moving to his desk.
“I’m done with work tonight.” Wriothesley’s voice was gentle as he led you to the couch in his office, both of you relaxing against the cushions. “Glad to be back?”
You thought about it for a moment. You were currently in an underwater fortress, miles from the Court of Fontaine, outside contact to the world limited, imported food limited, and the entire fortress had this dank, slightly rusty smell. Then you looked to the man sitting next to you, the man who had picked up the soul of the fortress in his years of living down here, the man that carried the terrifying reputation of the fortress on his back. A smile cracked across your face and you let your head fall to his shoulder. “Yeah… I am.” He awkwardly runs his finger over the rim of his cup of tea, gently moving his arm to drape across your shoulders. “I’m glad you’re back too.”
**********
Your tea sat on the table, having gone cold hours ago. The conversation had stretched out way longer than either of you had intended, the fortress now quiet in the late night. Wriothesley finally let out a breath, having been holding uncomfortably still for the past thirty minutes you had been asleep. He needed to go to bed himself, unable to sit with you any longer. He let out a sigh before shifting you as a test, and once he realized you were fast asleep he scooped you up in his arms, walking silently through the quiet fortress.
You only stirred awake when he set you down on the bed, the feeling of your blanket being draped across your shoulders filling you with comfort. He noticed you were awake and he smiled gently, making sure you were comfortable.
“Goodnight, (y/n).” “What, no forehead kiss?” You chuckle as he rolls his eyes.
“You’re a grown ass adult.” “A grown ass adult you just tucked in without a forehead kiss goodnight.” He sighs and leans down, his chapped lips pressing against your forehead. The second he tried to pull away you cup his cheek, sitting up a bit to meet his lips halfway in a quick kiss that said more than words ever could.
“Goodnight, Wriothesley.”
I have his C3 right now and 430 something wishes. I WILL get his C6. He WILL be my first limited C6
#oneshot#genshin x reader#wriothesley x y/n#wriothesley fluff#wriothesley x you#wriothesley x reader#wriothesley
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butterfly | 𝐜𝐬𝐛
୨୧ pairing: choi soobin x fem!reader || ୨୧ word count: 0.3k || ୨୧ genre: smut || ୨୧ tags: established relationship au, unprotected sex, praise kink || ୨୧ synopsis: "Is that a tattoo?" requested by anon
↪ WANT A DRABBLE DIARY ENTRY? REQUEST ONE.ᐟ
He notices it after he slips inside of you. Soobin focused too much on taking off your clothes to notice what now rested on your hip. Now, not bothering to stop thrusting in and out, he can make sense of the ink, the shades of cerulean melding into midnight black.
"Is that a tattoo?" Soobin asks, breathless as he pries his fingers from the skin that's covering the rest of the new dark sketch on your skin.
You smirk and turn your head to look back at him. "Why? You like it?" You wiggle yourself back into him, and he moans as you continue fucking him because of his lapse in thought. "I got it just for you."
Six months ago, he joked once and only once how you were his butterfly: carefree, wild-spirited, but all-around beautiful. Apparently, it stuck in your mind hard enough for you to take his words to heart and imprint them on yourself permanently.
"God, I love you," he says, pistoning his hips harder so you cry out from his sudden intensity. He covers the entire tattoo with his palm again, using his leverage on your hips to press harder and deeper inside of you. "You're fucking incredible, you know that?"
You giggle with a breathless edge. "So I've been told."
Soobin pulls you closer so your back is flush with his chest. He grows even more eager to make you come, wrapping the hand not covering your tattoo around your body to press the pad of his thumb to your clit. "You're mine forever, butterfly.”
"Always," you whisper before you press your tongue inside of his mouth, moaning at the way his fingers glide through your wetness and he fucks you dumb on his cock at the same time.
Soobin definitely has to think of a way to prove his own devotion tenfold now that you’ve marked yourself for him. But, at the very least, he'll start with fucking your brains out.
@gyubakeries @loserlvrss @lovetaroandtaemin @xomakara @yvnempire @bbangbies
𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 ౨ৎ˚₊
@kstrucknet @k-films @kvanity-main @lapydiaries @moadiarynet @onedoornet @violetanet @whipped-kpop-creators
#kvanity#kstrucknet#keopihausnet#lapydiariesnet#choi soobin smut#soobin smut#soobin x reader#choi soobin x reader#txt smut#tomorrow x together smut#txt x reader#txt fic#txt fics#tomorrow x together fic#tomorrow x together fics#[ lexi's works ]#[ lw - txt drabbles ]
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hiiiya can u write like kiyora jin confessing and how that would go👾plss♡
𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐠𝐲 𝐓𝐨 𝐆𝐞𝐭 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐓𝐨 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐏𝐭.𝟐
( ✧ ) ────── 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 . 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐚 - 𝐬𝐡𝐞/𝐡𝐞𝐫 .
- [𝐜𝐡.] kiyora jin . aiku oliver . bachira meguru . yo hiori . michael kaiser - [𝐩:𝐬] high school au . subtle jealousy . sfw
𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: Thank you so much for the prompt! >_< I also added more characters of my choice, im glad you guys enjoy this series! Also it's my first time EVER writing for Michael so hopefully it's not that bad :")... don't hurt me stans!!!
Jin Kiyora
Jin is the kind of person who prefers to observe from the sidelines rather than actively engage with others. Instead of approaching you directly to introduce himself or strike up a conversation, he tends to rely on chance encounters and the flow of fate to guide his interactions.
If he were ever to muster the confidence to say "hi," it would likely take him a whole year just to work up the nerve to make that initial connection.
Once you and Jin begin conversing, you'll notice that he is genuinely attentive to the details of your interests and preferences. He listens closely to the things you mention, making mental notes of what brings you joy.
During the classes you both shared, he would secretly steal glances at you, sketching small, detailed drawings. After class, he would carefully fold each drawing and slip it into your locker, tucked among your books.
On special occasions—like your birthday or holidays—he would surprise you with thoughtfully chosen gifts that reflect your tastes, demonstrating his effort to make you feel appreciated and valued.
Jin's competitive nature also shines through in his interactions with you. If he sees anyone else trying to impress you in a way that rivals his own efforts, he would perceive it as a challenge or a competition.
This drive to stand out and be the one to "wow" you fuels his determination to ensure that you notice him and appreciate what he brings to the table.
"Not that sure you'll accept but... you seem cool. We should date."
Oliver Aiku
Oliver, despite his pattern of frequently ending relationships, has developed an interest in someone. He is known to engage with a new partner almost daily, which suggests a difficulty in committing to a single person.
However, should he form a genuine attraction towards you, his intentions would likely be very apparent.
Oliver's approach to expressing his interest would involve a series of pronounced flirting behaviors.
This might include asking for your phone number, which serves as a means of establishing a direct line of communication, as well as inquiring about your personal plans and activities, reflecting a desire to know more about your life.
He may feel compelled to share various topics of conversation that he finds engaging, seeking to deepen your connection.
Furthermore, Oliver is likely to propose a variety of outings or social engagements, often framing them as casual and lighthearted.
He might characterize these invitations as opportunities to spend time together “just for fun,” rather than presenting them as traditional romantic dates.
This approach reflects both his playful demeanor and perhaps a reluctance to fully acknowledge the romantic nature of his intentions.
He is the kind of person who surprises you with thoughtful gifts seemingly out of the blue, all while maintaining an air of casual indifference.
When you express your gratitude, he waves it off, insisting that he's merely performing a "good deed" and that there's nothing special about it.
Oliver is determined to make a positive impression on you during physical education class.
He hopes that his hard work and commitment will stand out and earn your praise.
His nonchalance contrasts with the genuine thought and effort he puts into selecting gifts, leaving you to wonder whether he fully understands the impact of his gestures.
"Hey Ba- I mean, Y/N! I got you flowers~ Hopefully you're not allergic."
Meguru Bachira
If Bachira found himself harboring a crush on you, it would become glaringly obvious to everyone around him, even if he attempted to disguise his feelings.
The moment you entered the room, a subtle shift would occur; his facade of calm would crack, revealing the flustered state beneath.
His cheeks would flush a vivid shade of pink, spreading warmth to the tips of his ears—a telltale sign of his embarrassment and affection.
In contrast to his casual demeanor with others, Bachira would be hyper-aware of your presence. His eyes would seek you out, locking onto yours with an intensity that lingered far longer than what was necessary.
That shared gaze would speak volumes, conveying unspoken emotions and a longing that transcended mere words, as if he were silently confessing his feelings through the depths of his eyes.
Whenever you crossed paths, Bachira would eagerly seize the moment, keen to engage you in conversation. His topics would vary widely, encompassing everything from light-hearted banter to profound discussions that sparked deeper connections.
Each interaction would feel electric, filled with an eagerness to both learn more about you and to share in joyful exchanges of laughter and insight.
It would become increasingly clear that you occupied a special place in his thoughts—his interest driving him to volunteer for conversations at every opportunity, making it abundantly evident that you had captured his attention in a way that no one else ever could.
"Hey Y/N! Wanna go hang out this weekend?~"
Hiori Yo
Hiori possesses a remarkable ability to enchant those around him with his steadfast reliability and captivating charm.
Though he carries a naturally shy demeanor, he consistently makes a valiant effort to push through his reservations, much like the spirited Bachira, in hopes of leaving a lasting positive impression on you.
His genuine excitement about spending time together is palpable. Hiori often takes the initiative to invite you out, eagerly proposing a variety of enjoyable activities that allow you both to connect over shared interests.
Whether it’s engaging in thrilling video game battles or exploring new hobbies, these moments not only spark a refreshing sense of friendly competition but also provide a safe space for him to unveil his true personality amidst a relaxed atmosphere.
What truly sets Hiori apart is his deep awareness of his feelings for you.
He is committed to ensuring that you fully recognize the significance he places on your connection, going out of his way to communicate openly and transparently.
This thoughtful approach of his is not merely about expressing affection; it’s about nurturing a sense of security in the budding relationship you both are cultivating.
Although he doesn't put on a show to win your admiration, he always goes out of his way to assist you with your schoolwork whenever you need a helping hand.
With every conversation, he reinforces the message that he genuinely cares, striving to make you feel cherished and understood.
"Y/N-san... would you like to be my girlfriend?"
Michael Kaiser
Michael is anything but shy; in fact, he exudes a confident energy that draws people in. He has a playful spark in his eye that suggests he’s always ready for a challenge.
When it comes to pursuing something—or someone—he wants, hesitation is not in his repertoire. Right now, his focus is squarely on you.
Whenever an opportunity arises to strike up a conversation, whether during lectures or casual moments in the hallways, Michael seizes it without a second thought.
He has a knack for making those interactions feel effortless and engaging, effortlessly navigating between topics to keep you intrigued.
In class, he doesn’t shy away from sitting next to you, claiming the seat with an air of casual authority.
His presence is undeniable as he subtly glances at the person who is meant to be beside you, a cheeky challenge in his eyes that warns them to keep their distance.
Michael is well aware that they wouldn’t dare disrupt his plans.
His game plan revolves around charming you with his smooth talk and playful banter, aiming to win you over with both confidence and charisma.
Whether it's a well-timed compliment or a joke that makes you laugh, he’s intent on capturing your attention and affection, determined to show you just how special you are to him.
"You free after school? No? Too bad, you are now. And we're going on a date."
#bllk headcanons#bllk scenarios#bllk x reader#blue lock scenarios#bluelock x reader#blue lock fanfic#blue lock x reader#bluelock reactions#bluelock headcanons#kiyora jin x reader#oliver aiku x reader#bachira meguru x reader#hiori yo x reader#michael kaiser x reader#𝐃𝐈𝐎𝐑-𝐋𝐔𝐗𝐔𝐑𝐘
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HANDPICKED
PART ONE.
Hobie Brown x GN!Reader
1.6k words
You work in a flower shop in 70s London. Hobie is being a menace. Slowburn? Probably will be around 10 parts. Strangers to reluctant acquaintances to friends to something more. Maybe a lil' messy?
Last time I wrote something like this was almost 10 years ago and it was in another language. Forgive whatever happens next. I have no idea what's going on.
Part one. Part two. Part three. Part four. Part five. Part six. Part seven. Part eight. Part nine. Part ten. Part eleven. Part twelve.
“Thank you, sweetheart, here you go,” the old lady said, handing you a slightly crumpled bill. You quickly counted the change and passed it back into her outstretched hand. “Have a nice day!” You chirped, flashing her your well-practiced customer-service smile. She gave you a small nod and made her way out of the shop, the little bell above the door jingling.
You didn’t know flower shops could have regular customers before you worked there, but apparently, some people bought fresh flowers every week or so. To you, it felt like an unimaginable luxury. Your little paycheck barely covered rent, and you could only dream of having enough money to regularly splurge on daisies to brighten up your dingy ol’ flat. Still, the thought was nice.
You sighed softly and sat down on the stool behind the counter, your eyes scanning the shop. You had gotten used to the sweet smell of flowers and freshly cut grass. The scents blended together, but you'd learned to recognise them. Today, the notes of the lilies you were particularly fond of tickled your nostrils, like a delicacy you appreciated greatly. The warm orange light, rare in this rather rainy season - although all seasons were rainy in London - burst across the old waxed floor from the shop front windows, highlighting specks of dust like golden flecks. Outside, you could see passers-by, hurried or idle, cars, and occasionally a tall red bus crossed your view. The faint crackle of the radio competed with distant honking and the clatter of footsteps on cobblestone.
Your eyes fell on a vase of daffodils not far from the counter, the golden light making them shine with unexpected brilliance. For a moment suspended in time, yellow became your favourite colour.
You grabbed your notebook from under the shelf in front of your knees and began scribbling the daffodils. You had no artistic pretensions, but you enjoyed sketching the flowers, finding the activity relaxing and filling the moments of nothingness that stretched out between each customer. It gave you something to do on quiet afternoons like this one.
Just as you were adding some watercolors in, the bell above the door jingled again, startling you. The pleasant sound was followed by the abrasive thud of combat boots on the old wooden floor. You cringed at the noise and looked up, expecting to see another cheerful retiree or a nervous bloke buying an apology bouquet. Instead, you saw him.
Ridiculously tall. That was your first thought. Your second was: piercings. Lots of them. His face glinted under the warm sunlight. It was hard not to stare. He was wearing a band tee, the sleeves and neckline ripped off, layering over some kinds of fishnet thing that covered his arms, jeans that looked like they’d been through a shredder, and a leather belt so worn that the studs seemed to be holding it together by sheer willpower. Chains and eyelets and safety pins and anything and everything silverware stuck to him like he was some kind of magnet. And magnetic he was since he had definitely pulled all of your attention in.
You cleared your throat and forced a small smile, your fingers holding onto the edge of the counter almost to stabilize yourself. “Good afternoon. Can I help you?”
He gave a small nod. “‘Ello.” His voice was low, his accent so thick even you could pick on it, sounding almost like a caricature. He didn’t elaborate and started wandering around the shop, browsing. You stood there awkwardly, unsure if you should say anything else. He looked so incredibly calm there.
You were trying not to stare, but fuck, you wanted to. He looked so out of place among the delicate roses and sunflowers that it was almost comical. You pretended to adjust a ribbon on the counter while stealing glances at him. When he stopped in front of a display of pink and red roses, you couldn’t resist speaking up.
“These are really popular with the ladies,” you offered, your customer-service smile now bordering on nervous.
“Not for a lady. Not really,” he replied, examining the flower over in his hand like he never held one before, with surprising gentleness, scared he might crush it in a single moment of inattention.
You blinked, unsure how to respond. Silence stretched between you. If Rose, the owner of the shop and your manager, had been there, she’d have rolled her eyes at your lack of salesmanship.
“I’ll take ‘em,” he said suddenly, breaking the tension.
You let out a relieved breath you didn't know you were holding as you immediately move into action, going to the counter and grabbing some craft wrapper for the flowers.
“D’ya have another colour?”
You hummed. “Sure, I just gotta check in the back.” You informed him as you went to rummage around in the back of the shop, to find him several options of coloured paper to wrap his bouquet in. When you returned a few minutes later, something seemed strange. As you placed the selection on the counter, he was looking at the wall.
“Oi, I’m sorry, I’ve changed ma’ mind. Maybe next time darlin’.” He turned on his heels. You paused. Something was off, the air was weird.
“Wait!” You call as you notice a couple of daffodils missing. You’d know, you were sketching them a second ago. He ignored you, and you quickly stepped around the counter, grabbing him. The leather of his jacket was smooth and cold under your fingers, and you instantly regretted the move.
“Not so fast!” You were surprised at your own tone, too brave for your own good.
“Let me check your bag.” You asked, your confidence crumbling a little more with each syllable. What if you were wrong? What if he hadn’t taken anything and you’d just accused this intimidating stranger of stealing? It seemed to amuse him more than anything else. He cocked an eyebrow, his lip curling slightly as he shifted his weight.
“Y’wot, now?” he asked, his tone halfway between annoyed and amused, crossing his arms.
“Let me check your bag.” You repeated with false assurance, and he rolled his eyes. Surprisingly, he did. You looked inside, but no flower there. Cables, tools, weird stuff, but no flowers. Your shoulders drooped, sheepish as you muttered an apology. You wish you could have combusted on the spot, or buried yourself deep underground as you feel the heat in your cheeks. He remained silent for a moment, as if to let you suffer in your embarrassment a minute longer.
“D’ya always charm yer customers by accusin’ ‘em of theft, or am I just special?” He smirked down at you, and you felt he took a malicious pleasure in seeing you so embarrassed. You let go of his arms and apologized again, sending him on his way. You wanted the floor to just open up and swallow you right then and there. Of course, there wasn’t anything in his bag. Why did you think he’d be stupid enough to actually steal in front of your face?
He finally turned around to leave, and that was when you noticed the yellow petals poking from underneath his vest. You couldn’t believe what you were seeing, nor the sheer audacity of that man. You grabbed him again, too easily reaching for a bloke that could easily break you in half.
“Hey!” you scolded again, and he sighed as he turned back. “Wot again? Already miss me? I haven’t even bloody left yet.”
You swallowed hard, your fingers gripping his vest tighter. “You— I saw the flowers inside your vest, don’t lie! And give them back!”
He tilted his head, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Y’wot now, lil’ bird? A cop or som’thin’?”
“I could call them,” you shot back, feeling your confidence falter under his sharp gaze. “Stealing is illegal, y’know?”
He rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue. “Right, right.”
You let go of his jacket, and he pulled out the daffodils, their stems a little crumpled. For a second, he looked down at them like they were the most precious thing in the world. His hand lingered, and you thought he might refuse.
“Y’know, if I pinch these flowers, they’ll prolly come afte’ me harde’ than they did the bloke who pinched the Crown Jewels. Priorities, right?”
You frowned, convinced now he was just trying to distract you. “You know, most people just buy flowers. It’s this amazing thing where you hand over money and—”
“Fascinatin' concept,” he interrupted. “Truly groundbreaking. But I’m more of a barter system guy. How ‘bout a joke in exchange for the daffodils?”
“No.”
“Tough crowd.”
Finally, he handed them over, and for another split second, you almost pitied him. The way he looked at the flowers, his eyes so downcast, it felt… complicated. But before you could say anything, he stepped toward the door.
“Guess I’ll see you around,” he smiled, mock innocence plastered on his face.
You watched through the window as he walked away, letting out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Then, it hit you. The regret, the overthinking. Have you been too harsh? Not enough? Surely, that was the right thing…right? You had stopped a petty thief… It was about principles, after all. Plus, flowers were a luxury. You might’ve closed your eyes on canned food or diapers, but no one needs daffodils to survive. What kind of people steal flowers anyway?
“Punk…” You muttered to yourself.
You still had a good hour before closing time. You glanced at your sketchbook, then grabbed your pencils, but instead of finishing the flowers, you started sketching something else.
Someone else.
Part two.
I'm not new to tumblr but new to posting, especially writings so don't hesitate to tell me if I'm not following some unwritten rules or something! 🫶🫶 Also this wasn't proof read so- anyway.
#hobie brown#spiderpunk#hobie brown x reader#hobie x reader#astv fanfic#hobie brown fanfiction#x reader#Hobie brown x gn!reader#handpicked
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so, i miss vander so much i decided to write something to let it out/// i usually dont write so sorry if there're any mistakes///
this is just a little sketch about if reader (you) meet vander once again in an alternative universe///
vanderxfem!reader song by Mako & Grey – What Have They Done to Us (I love it I love it I love it, it soo perfect for this, it so matches the characters, I cry every time I hear it)
"as you wake up in a cold sweat"
It was dark all around, too dark. The body wouldn’t obey, and the mind kept shutting down; it felt as if consciousness was floating somewhere in weightlessness, far, far away from you. Then there was a voice calling you by name. “Professor?” A sudden flash of bright colors rushed before your eyes, and the darkness around you began to gradually dissipate. You were lying on the ground, and the professor, with a worried expression, leaned over you; for a moment, it seemed like he was smiling. Your mind was still resisting, and the bright light began to make you feel nauseous.
My dear, you scared me a bit when you passed out; I was already thinking about running for help. And I did warn you that lifting such heavy things all at once is not advisable and...
You tried to sit up. "Professor... what... where are we?" The professor, too engrossed in his chatter, turned and looked at you intently. "Where are we...?" he echoed, "what... oh!" Suddenly, realization dawned on him. "My dear, you’re back! After we were consumed by Hexgate I was just waiting for you both to appear here." You grabbed your forehead in a sudden bout of pain. The professor's words once again dissolved in a whirlwind of colorful spots and dots. "Ekko still hasn’t woken up yet," you heard him say, "but I think he will be soon..."
You couldn't remember anything after you descended to the gates, only a bright flash and then darkness.
"You know," the professor continued, "I think we should go back. He will be worried."
"He? Ekko?" You rubbed your forehead with your palm; the pain began to subside, and your senses started to return to you.
"little girl what goes on in your head"
In the distance, you could hear muffled children's laughter, the clinking of bottles, and the hissing of air. You looked around; you were in an alley of The Undercity, but it felt like something had changed. Nearby, there were boxes scattered with shards of glass. Apparently, when you felt unwell, you had dropped them from your hands. The professor approached and placed a hand on your shoulder, as if he were gathering his thoughts to say something. His gaze reminded you of that day when you were told that Vander had died, and the professor had carefully chosen his words to comfort you. As if words could heal a broken heart.
"all this hatred in your heart, yet i mourn the most for all the things that i never said"
“We really need to go back,” he finally said after a long silence that was unusual for him.
“Back where?” You were still struggling to perceive your surroundings, but it was undoubtedly one of the alleys in the Undercity. The professor approached a side door of the building you were near and, after a brief hesitation, opened it and gestured inside: “Back to the bar.”
"Bar???” There was only one bar in the Zaun – “The Last Drop,” but after Vander’s death, it had become more like a tomb, filled not with ghosts but with memories. After a bit of effort, you got to your feet and leaned against the doorframe. You could hear laughter and music coming from inside. You were surprised; it seemed crowded in there, which felt so strange to you. You looked at the professor, but he just smirked conspiratorially and soon disappeared down the corridor. You sighed and followed him, trying not to trip in the dim light among the numerous boxes. Reaching the door to the main hall, you reached for the handle, but suddenly the door swung open, nearly hitting you in the face.
“Oh, sorry, I thought no one was here. But, by the way, since I found you, I want to ask you something.” In the doorway stood a girl with blue hair; she reminded you of Vi when you last saw her. “Powder. Jinx?”
“What?” The words slipped from your lips as you stared at each other. The blue-haired girl beamed at you with a wide smile: “You have to help me sew a dress to wear for the contest! Just imagine, when we take first place, I have to look awesome!”
You were still processing her words as if they were in another language: “A-a dress…?” “Why is she here? Didn’t Silco take her? Isn’t she a criminal now?” Powder leaned against the door and crossed her arms over her chest: “What’s wrong with you? Did you hit your head? Remember, Vander brought a bunch of fabric from somewhere and told us to ‘have fun’ and…”
You weren’t listening to her anymore; at the sound of his name, everything around you began to plunge back into darkness, your heart seemed to leap to your throat, cutting off your breath. “Vander. Did she say Vander?”
"dont make me go through this again"
You looked over Powder's shoulder. The spacious hall was filled with people; they were laughing, drinking, and some were swaying to the music. Streams of light poured through the glass ceiling, creating whimsical patterns of light among the crowd. Your heart was pounding so fast that it felt like it would break through your ribcage and then shatter into tiny pieces. “Sorry,” you whispered to Powder, gently pushing her aside. Your gaze darted around the hall, as if searching for something, and then you turned it toward the bar. There were quite a few people around it too, and at one point, the thought that he might be there seemed absurd. “He’s dead.” At those words, old pain surged like a wave, piercing through you, and your insides clenched from an invisible blow. “He’s gone.”
You pushed your way to the bar, nearly elbowing patrons in the stomachs. The last person you bumped into on your way to your goal was Benzo, who was peacefully sipping a drink.
“Hey, what’s the rush?” he grunted, and you froze in confusion. “Benzo killed the monster Silco.”
“I…” you managed to squeeze out, “sorry, I… I…” You no longer looked at him; your gaze was fixed on the man standing with his back to everyone, polishing a glass. “No, no, no… what?” Your thoughts tangled, the ground seemed to disappear beneath your feet. “This is some kind of joke. It can’t be him.”
"you’re not real and i can’t pretend"
“Hey, Vander, something’s going on with your girl” Benzo coughed and buried his face in his glass, taking a noisy gulp. The man behind the bar turned around, giving you a warm smile.
"Are you okay, sweetheart? " His voice was deep, warm, and soothing, and you suddenly realized how much you had missed him. The pain again pierced sharply somewhere in your chest, and you felt tears streaming down your cheeks. The man's expression immediately turned worried. "Dear, what happened? " Still gasping from tears, you went around the bar and clung to the stunned man with both hands. Burying your face in his broad chest, you whispered: "Vander!" He hugged you in return; his large hands enveloped you completely. "Whoa, what’s going on? You heard his laughter rumble inside him, "We saw each other just five minutes ago, not that I’m complaining…" You lifted your head and looked into his eyes, still not believing that it was really him. He cupped your chin with his fingers, pulling you closer to his face and leaving a gentle kiss on your lips. "I can close up early today if you want." He ran his thumb across your cheek, his eyes watching you closely. You shook your head, still pressing against him with your whole body. "It's okay, I wouldn't mind watching you work. Just don't go." Vander looked at you confused. "I wasn't planning to." You let out a quiet sob. "I know, but..." You fell silent as the man brushed a strand of hair from your forehead. "You know I would never leave you. You, Powder, and the boys. Never." You smiled sadly; you didn't want to let him go right now. You don’t know where the Hexgate sent you but you were happy to see him again. Alive.
"I miss you so much, Vander, if only you knew."
#im so ashamed of this smh#my friend said its fine you should post it#i died#arcane#arcane x reader#arcane x female reader#arcane x you#vander x reader#arcane vander x reader#vander x you#my gifs
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