#isabel brothers art

[icbrothers]

I've had the dumb idea of court jester Hatsune Miku rattling about in my head all week

[atomic-chronoscaph]

art by Isabel Samaras

[supersmashreaderz]

Okay so I saw this artwork of Isabelle as wolf o'donnell's secretary on instagram and it only got ONE LIKE?? Okay that's lowkey disappointing and the art literally slaps to??

Guys Please support this artist and his work ❤️

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by YoshiBoltMini (@daminiyoshistarr)

[maimukaichi]

icons made © maimukaichi — do not repost my edits. if you save like or reblog

[void-botanist]

Hi. Lmao

For Isabel, from the OC Art Asks: pencil, crayon, and copics (aka my favorite tools) pls? 🥺👉👈

— @outpost51

Haha my completely accidental plot to get more asks from you WORKED! Let's talk about Isabel.

Pencil: does this character have any "sketchy" habits? Have they ever broken the law? Do they regret it? Her sketchiest habits are occasional hoverbike street racing with Spinder and taking shortcuts that are only short because they cut across someone's farm (sometimes on foot, sometimes on her hoverbike). But she's smart about it, and the worst thing that is likely to happen is a fine (that already happened lol) or someone catching her trespassing and personally holding her accountable (hasn't happened yet but might). She doesn't get into fistfights much anymore, but she rarely regrets one. (While she did get into a lot of fights as a teenager and it is illegal for a high schooler to assault her classmates that was handled by the school, not the police. And when she takes down the transphobe in Nicea proper it's on the grounds of essentially a fancy asteroid gas station, which means all the consequences are about her privileges at the fancy asteroid gas station. She still would have punched them in another locale though.) The one time she did break the law extremely intentionally was when she broke into an ex's house to take back assorted sentimental objects and also all of his spray cheese for good measure. Rodney was willingly the lookout for that one and he was accordingly compensated with cheese.

Crayon: what was your OC like when they were four years old? Were they loud? Shy? Were they the resident "weird kid" or did they get along with others their age? I talked about this a little already but Isabel has always been good at making friends, so she did get along with several other kids who tragically also did not have treehouses. She was known to bring them random rocks and slightly crushed packets of snacks, and also demand that she got to play whatever make-believe role gave her the coolest gun. Copics: what is this character's most expensive habit or hobby? Do they ever feel guilty about the money they spend on it? She has a habit of both eating a ton at relatively cheap restaurants and coming up with reasons to splurge on more expensive ones a little too often. She actually does like to cook, but she doesn't bother when most of her time planetside is spent in a hotel room (because the hotel belongs to Spinder's other adoptive brother, she doesn't have to pay for the room itself). Sometimes she does feel guilty about it, but lately she's been focusing on how much easier it will be not to do that after this mission when she just lives planetside. Not that she knows where she's living yet, since she was going to be spending their abruptly shortened break figuring that out.

Nicea taglist: @kingkendrick7 @kahvilahuhut

[cressidagrey]

White Horse - Chapter 7: September 2023

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...I think that's it?

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

The office was bright and quiet, the kind of designer-calm that was more aesthetic than practical. Polished concrete floors, oversized pendant lights, art books stacked just so. Everything looked effortless.

Except for Isabelle.

She sat at her desk, scrolling through final renderings for a residential project in Nice—light oak built-ins, linen upholstery, exposed stone. Her headphones were in, her tea long cold, her focus sharp.

And still, she could feel them.

The looks. The half-paused conversations. The way the room always seemed to hush just a little when she walked by.

It had started a few months back—right after she had started working on Max’s penthouse. 

After “The Verstappen commission,”

Which, yes, was massive. Private penthouse in Monaco. Full control of design. The budget so generous it felt like cheating.

But it wasn’t why her colleagues looked at her like that.

No, that was because of the last name.

Leclerc.

At first, it was subtle.

“Oh, Max Verstappen, huh? Funny coincidence.”

Then came the lingering glances. The comments that weren’t really jokes.

“Must be nice to have connections.”

 “Clients like that don’t just walk in the door.”

 “I mean, your brother is in F1, right?”

They never said it outright.

But she heard it. Felt it.

The implication that she hadn’t earned it. That she hadn’t spent years working late, poring over lighting plans, chasing perfection in the grain of walnut veneer. That she hadn’t clawed her way into an industry where quiet women were often passed over for louder, flashier names.

She was good at her job. Isabelle knew that. She was good. 

Good enough that her clients rarely asked for changes. 

Max’s design brief had been short and to the point: 

“Make it feel like home.”

And she had.

Still, the office couldn’t let it go.

Even now—months later—she could hear it in the voice of her coworker, Camille, who leaned against the edge of Isabelle’s desk with faux friendliness.

“Is that the Nice project?” Camille asked, eyeing her screen.

Isabelle slid off her headphones. “Yes. Final layout before the client walk-through.”

Camille hummed. “You’re getting all the high-end clients lately. It’s impressive. I guess once you do one Formula 1 driver’s penthouse…”

Isabelle smiled politely. “I still have to earn every brief.”

“Of course,” Camille said, all syrup and knives. “It just helps when people know your last name.”

Isabelle looked back at her screen. “Or your work.”

Camille blinked. “Sorry?”

“I said the client liked my work. He saw it before he saw my name.” She didn’t look up. “But thanks for the reminder.”

Camille stood there for a beat too long, clearly debating whether to keep the fight going.

Then she smiled, brittle and bright. “Anyway. Let me know if you need a second set of eyes.”

Isabelle nodded. “I will.”

She wouldn’t.

Camille walked away. Isabelle exhaled.

Never mind that she’d been designing clean, grounded spaces with layered textures and a focus on subtle light since she was twenty-one.

Never mind that she had graduated top of her class at Sorbonne. Never mind that she had won awards for her work. 

Never mind that just last week, she’d redesigned the entire layout of an apartment, hand-sourced reclaimed timber from an antique dealer in Northern Italy, managed three contractors across two countries, and did it all on time and under budget.

None of it mattered.

Not to them.

They saw the name. They made their assumptions. They smiled, thin-lipped and cold, when she walked into a room.

No one said it outright, of course. That wasn’t how this studio worked.

It was in the “accidental” exclusion from meetings. The last-minute presentation changes that stripped her name from the credits. The way Léa always called her Charles Leclerc’s sister when speaking to clients, like that was more relevant than her entire résumé.

And Isabelle… she swallowed it. Like she always did.

Because fighting it felt worse. Like it would just confirm what they already believed: that she was here because of someone else. That she had something to prove.

So she nodded. She worked. She smiled.

There was such a gap between the life she had at home and the one she had at work. 

One full of careful love and quiet safety. One where someone saw her, really saw her, and chose her without hesitation.

And one where people looked at her and saw an advantage. A connection. A shortcut they assumed she’d taken.

No one here knew she’d just moved in with Max Verstappen.

No one knew that the penthouse she designed now held her books. Her blankets. Her favorite brand of tea, tucked next to his energy drinks in the cupboard.

No one knew that she woke up on mornings that he was there to him pressing a kiss to her temple and mumbling, don’t forget your scarf, it’s windy today, like she was something precious he’d wrapped his life around.

Her private life was a dream.

It was slow breakfasts in a sunlit kitchen. Laughter tangled in late-night Netflix documentaries. Max standing behind her at the sink, arms around her waist, whispering that he loved the life they were building.

But her professional life?

It felt like it was crumbling beneath the weight of other people’s expectations.

Not good enough to be here on her own.

 Too quiet to demand credit.

Too privileged to complain.

She clenched her teeth. 

She wasn’t going to let them shrink her. Not again.

Not after all the ways she’d already been made small.

Because the truth was: her name had opened zero doors.

But her work?

That spoke for itself.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Victoria Verstappen

Victoria: Hey Isabelle—random question. You have a minute?

Isabelle: Of course. What’s up?

Victoria: I’m redoing the kids’ room, and I’m going to lose my mind.

Victoria: So, Luka wants a car-themed room.

Victoria: Lio wants a dinosaur room.

Victoria: And I love them, but if I let them pick everything, my house will look like a Hot Wheels museum and a Jurassic Park gift shop had a child.  

Victoria: No one else I’ve talked to gets why I don’t want neon walls and tire-shaped beds.

Isabelle:  Because you have taste. And also because you care about designing something they can grow into.

Victoria: Yes, exactly!! I don’t want to be a sad beige mom, but I don’t want three hundred Lightning McQueen stickers either. 

Victoria: HOW do I make it nice? Like, actually nice. Not themed-party nice.

Victoria: Aesthetic. Calm. Maybe even cohesive??

Victoria: Is that possible??

Isabelle: It definitely is. The trick is color palette + subtle accents.

Isabelle: For Lio: a neutral base. Soft greens and sandy taupes for the walls. Dino Silhouettes, a custom mural, or maybe wallpaper. More storybook style than cartoon. Texture it up with wood shelves, natural materials, and some cute storage baskets that don’t scream plastic chaos.

Isabelle: For Luka: Think more along the lines of vintage race cars. Maybe white with some slate grey? More graphic than literal? Maybe we could find a tire print bedding…  also vintage racing posters, or maybe wallpaper. 

Victoria: You’re kidding. That sounds… beautiful. Isabelle. This is amazing.

Isabelle: It can be cute and timeless. Trust me.

Victoria:  Can I actually hire you for this? Like, for real?

Isabelle: You don’t have to hire me. I’ll help because I want to. But thank you for asking.

Victoria: No, thank you.  You’re brilliant.  I’ve looked at a million Pinterest boards, and none of them had this.

Victoria: Max is a nightmare to impress, and even he won't stop bragging about how you designed the penthouse.

Isabelle:  I’ll put together two mood boards for you—one for each theme: subtle, elevated, and adaptable. You can mix and match, and I’ll help make it look amazing.

Victoria: You’re amazing. Truly. 

***

Isabelle was in the studio early—like always—finalizing fabric pulls for a coastal villa project when she opened the project file and found everything… gone.

Her digital mood boards? Wiped.

The CAD revisions she stayed up late fixing? Replaced with an earlier, incomplete draft.

At first, she thought it was a mistake. Maybe she’d forgotten to save her edits. Maybe the cloud hadn’t synced. Maybe—

“Hey, Isabelle,” said Léa, voice syrupy-sweet from her desk across the room. “Your name’s all over the drive this morning. Everything okay?”

Isabelle turned, trying to keep her voice steady. “Someone deleted my work.”

“Oh?” Léa blinked. “Maybe you just didn’t save it?”

“I did.”

“Well, these things happen. Tech is finicky. Or maybe it was a permissions issue?” She smiled, sharp and condescending. “You’re still getting used to the system, right?”

Isabelle said nothing.

It wasn’t the first time. Last week, someone had “accidentally” removed her name from a client presentation. The week before that, she'd been left out of a team brainstorming session for a luxury development she’d pitched.

Now this.

She wasn’t supposed to care.

But she did.

So, so much.

***

Max heard the door open and shut softly. He glanced at the clock—past midnight. Again.

Isabelle walked in, kicking off her heels and sighing as she dropped her bag on the floor. She looked exhausted, with dark circles under her eyes, shoulders slumped with fatigue.

Max crossed his arms, leaning against the counter. “You know,” he said, “there’s an easy solution to this.”

She raised an eyebrow, already knowing where this was going. “Oh?”

“You quit your job,” he said simply. “Become my incredibly spoiled, disgustingly pampered trophy wife. No more late nights, no more stress. Just you, spending my money and riding your horses.”

Isabelle snorted, shaking her head as she walked toward him. “Max.”

“I’m serious,” he said, watching her. “I don’t like seeing you like this. You work too much.”

She sighed, rubbing at her temples. “I know. But I don’t like depending on anybody.”

Max frowned. “It’s not depending on me, it’s—”

“It is,” she cut in gently. “I’ve spent my whole life making sure I can take care of myself. I never want to be in a position where I have to rely on someone else to be okay.”

His expression softened, and he reached for her hand, pulling her closer. “You wouldn’t have to. But you could if you wanted to.”

She exhaled, leaning into him slightly. “I know. And that’s why I love you. But I need this, Max. I need to know I can stand on my own two feet.”

Max sighed, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Fine. But at least let me buy you dinner when you come home too late to eat.”

She smiled, wrapping her arms around his waist. “That, I can agree to.”

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Victoria Verstappen 

Victoria: Do you still want to help with the final installation for the boys’ rooms?

Isabelle: Of course!  Just say when.

Victoria: Next weekend?

Victoria: Luka’s been asking when “Tante Belle” is coming back to make his race cars zoomier.

Victoria: And I promised him wallpaper would happen soon, or I’d never hear the end of it.

Isabelle: I can fly in Friday night. Max has a race weekend, so I’ll be solo anyway.

Isabelle: Want me to bring anything?

Victoria: Your magic brain.

Victoria:  And maybe the strength of ten men for this wallpaper. Think we can manage?

Isabelle: If you hold it straight, I’ll climb the ladder. We’ve got this.

Victoria: That’s the spirit.

Victoria: Also—want to do a decor run Saturday morning?

Victoria: I thought I had taste, but apparently, everything I pick is “too boring” or “not sparkly enough.”

Isabelle: Consider it a mission.

Isabelle: But honestly… I might just order half the internet to your house before I get there.

Victoria: Dangerous. I like it.

Isabelle: Just let me know what color Lio’s “not jungle but jungle” theme has become this week.

Victoria: I think we’ve settled on “treehouse with optional dinosaurs.”

Isabelle: That’s a mood.

Isabelle: Thank you for asking me to come. Really.

Victoria: Belle.  You’re family.

Victoria: And you’re good at this. That combo is rare and very needed.

Isabelle: Now you’re going to make me cry over wallpaper.

Victoria: You’re allowed.

Victoria:  Just not on the ladder.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Max Verstappen 

Isabelle: Victoria invited me to come for the weekend. 

Isabelle: To help with the boys’ rooms. Final install.

Max: That’s great! She loves your designs. I knew she’d want you there for it. You said yes, right?

Isabelle: Of course.

Isabelle: I mean… I think I did?

Isabelle: I panicked a little and offered to book a Friday evening flight and overnight half of Zara Home to her house.

Max: Sounds like a yes.

Isabelle: It’s the first time someone in your family’s invited me like that. Just… as me.

Max: That’s because they love you.  I knew they would.  You’re impossible not to love.

Isabelle: You’re biased.

Max: I’m correct.

Max: You’re going, right?

Isabelle: Yeah. I want to.  You’ll be gone anyway. Race weekend.

Max: Good. I like it when you’re with them.

Isabelle: Thank you.

Max: For what?

Isabelle: For never making me feel like I’m just passing through.

Max: You’re not. You’re home.

***

Instagram Stories: @/victoriaverstappen

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Victoria Verstappen 

Max: Thanks again for inviting her this weekend.

Victoria: Don’t be ridiculous. She’s brilliant.  And the boys adore her.

Victoria: Luka yelled, “ISABELLE’S HERE!” like she was Santa.

Max: I think she was really nervous.  She hasn’t been… included like this much. Not by family.

Victoria: I picked up on that. She was so polite it almost broke my heart.

Max: Yeah.  That’s kind of her default.  Be small, be quiet, and don’t get in the way.

Victoria: Not in this house.

Max: Thank you.

Victoria: You don’t have to thank me for loving someone who clearly loves you.

Victoria: I see the way she looks at you, Max.

Victoria: Like she’s finally allowed to breathe.

Max: That’s how I feel when she walks in the room.

Victoria: Then we’re all exactly where we should be.

Victoria: I’ve got her. Go win your race.

Max: Trying. For both of you.

Victoria: We’ll be watching. Luka’s already decided that if you win, it’s because Isabelle helped pick the right snacks.

Max: He might be right.

Max: Thank you, Vic. Really. 

Victoria:  She’s family.  I just hope one day her brothers realize what they’ve been blind to.

Max: I hope so, too. But until then—she’s got us.

Victoria: She always will.

***

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/gridwives: I’m gonna need someone to explain why Isabelle Leclerc is calmly shopping with Victoria Verstappen like it’s not news?!

↳@/softpitstop: I think Isabelle is helping Victoria with her sons’ rooms. ↳@/sleuthsinmonaco: Do you think Max gave Victoria an interior designer tip?!

@/lightsoutgirlies: This is my Roman empire: Victoria Verstappen and Isabelle leclerc

@/wagsandwhiplash:  Wait, wait wait—are Luka and Lio getting room makeovers??? And Isabelle Leclerc is doing them?? Like designing them???

@/thepaddockprince:  Okay, but I’m sorry, WHERE is Charles in all this? Isabelle’s out here designing Verstappen bedrooms, and he’s just... letting that happen?

@/f1fanficfuel: i need 4k behind-the-scenes content. I need the mood boards. I need the receipts. I NEED TO KNOW WHY ISABELLE LECLERC IS DECORATING THE VERSTAPPEN FAMILY HOME.

@/danielricchaos The funniest thing about all this is that none of them are explaining anything.Victoria just tagged her.  Isabel didn’t repost. Max hasn’t said a word, and now I’m insane.

@/leclercstanaccount: me trying to figure out how Charles’s invisible sister ended up doing a home makeover with victoria verstappen: ?!?!

@softlaunchcentral:  Ok, but why does Victoria’s entire weekend story arc feel like a soft launch of a new family member?  Isabelle Leclerc walked in with a tape measure and iced coffee and took OVER

@/babyverstappens: No, but genuinely: How do Victoria Verstappen and Isabelle Leclerc know each other?! Who organized this crossover episode? Was it Fred Vasseur? Is this ferrari pr? Are we being gaslit?

@/plsnotanothersecretwedding: Isabelle Leclerc shopping for race car wallpaper and stuffed dinosaurs was not on my 2025 Paddock Bingo card. But I’m invested now. 

@/wagsfc: are we… soft-launching Isabelle Leclerc as victoria’s best friend?? is this happening?? 

@/formulaclarles: Why is Charles Leclerc’s sister shopping for Victoria Verstappen’s kids’ rooms???

@/dinosanddrs: The Verstappen toddler has a Leclerc choosing his wallpaper. F1 lore has never been deeper.

@/paddockpoetry: Watching Victoria and Isabelle together today just made me realize that… they both have brothers who risk their lives every weekend. Not a lot of people understand what that does to you.

@/f1bloom: Victoria and Isabelle are from two different worlds but somehow the same one:  like who else really understands that fear? Of watching the person you love fly at 300km/h and having to smile through it?

@/slowpitstoppoet: Victoria Verstappen and Isabelle Leclerc are watching the race together while wrangling toddlers like it’s a normal Sunday afternoon… There’s something really tender about that.

↳@/paddockthoughts It’s easy to forget sometimes that these guys are brothers and sons and uncles—not just drivers.

@/theracedaypoet: Two sisters. Two very different men behind the wheel. One Red Bull. One Ferrari. And somehow, they meet in the middle of a living room, with juice boxes, toy dinosaurs, and silent prayers. That’s what hit me about Victoria’s stories today.

@tracksideemotions: Charles Leclerc. Max Verstappen. Two of the most elite drivers in f1. Their sisters? Sat on a couch this afternoon, raising small kids and holding juice pouches and watching people they love do something terrifying. I don’t know. That’s kind of beautiful.

@/gridgirlsundays Not to get sentimental, but Victoria Verstappen and Isabelle Leclerc watching the race together? That’s actually so beautiful??? Two women who know exactly what it’s like to love someone who goes 300 kph for a living

@/gridgirlsunite: Seeing Victoria and Isabelle watching the race together, surrounded by kids and calm chaos… and realizing both of them have brothers in those cars. That hit.

@/chaoticenergyf1:  We always talk about the WAGs.  But the sisters? The ones who grew up with karting fumes in their hair and have to smile through every post-race debrief because no one really asks if they’re okay? Victoria and Isabelle deserve more credit.

***

Leclerc Sibling Group Chat

(Members: Arthur, Isabelle, Charles and Lorenzo) 

Isabelle: My car won’t start.

Isabelle: Can I borrow one of yours for a few days?

Charles: No.

Arthur: HAHAHAHAHAHA. No. 

Lorenzo: Absolutely not.

Isabelle: …Are you kidding me? I have no way to get to work.

Arthur: Take the train?

Isabelle: It’s too far, and there’s no direct route.

Charles: The bus?

Isabelle: I’d have to leave in five minutes to even make it work.

Lorenzo: Taxi?

Isabelle: I can’t afford a taxi every day, Lorenzo.

Arthur: Maybe this is a sign you should finally buy a new car.

Isabelle: Oh yes, let me just manifest thousands of euros out of thin air.

Charles: You should have planned for this.

Isabelle: My car was fine yesterday, Charles! I didn’t exactly expect it to die overnight!

Arthur: Sounds like a you problem.

Isabelle: You problem?? My car just DIED. I didn’t plan for this!

Lorenzo: Maybe you should’ve.

Isabelle: HOW DOES ONE PLAN FOR THEIR CAR DYING OVERNIGHT?

Charles: By not driving something from 2010.

Arthur: Isabelle, your car was basically a tin can on wheels. It was only a matter of time.

Lorenzo: Yeah, at this point, it was a mercy killing.

Isabelle: Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize we all had Ferrari sponsorships. Let me just drop six figures on a new car real quick.

Arthur: You don’t need six figures. You just need something that isn’t held together by hope and desperation.

Isabelle: I DON’T HAVE TIME FOR THIS.

Isabelle: One of you just lend me a car. For TWO DAYS. I promise I won’t even breathe near the paint.

Charles: Isabelle, you can’t just borrow a Ferrari like it’s a spare phone charger.

Isabelle: I wasn’t asking for your Ferrari specifically, Charles! Any of you must have something I can use.

Lorenzo: You’ll survive.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Max Verstappen

Max: Hey, you okay? Haven’t heard from you today.

Isabelle: Oh. Yeah. Just dealing with a disaster.

Max: …What kind of disaster?

Isabelle: My car is dead. Like fully dead. It made a noise that I’m pretty sure meant it was dying, started smoking, and then it wouldn’t start.

Max: That’s… not great. Did you have it towed? 

Isabelle: It’s at the garage now. The mechanic basically said it’s on life support and not worth fixing.

Max: So take one of mine. You know where the car keys are. 

Isabelle: Excuse me?

Max: So just take one of mine. You know where the car keys are. what’s the problem, schatje?

Isabelle: …You say that like it’s normal.

Max: It is normal? We live together? You need a car? I have cars? Just grab a key and take one?

Isabelle: …I asked my brothers if I could borrow one of their cars while I figure things out. Lorenzo ignored me. Arthur laughed. Charles said that I should have planned for this. 

Max: Your brothers are useless.

Max: Take any one of the cars.

Isabelle: Max. Be serious.

Max: I am serious.

Isabelle: What if I crash it?!

Max: Then I worry more about you than the car.

Isabelle: What if I scratch something??

Max: Then it gets fixed.

Isabelle: Max.

Max: Isabelle.

Max: Just take one. I don’t want you dealing with this.

Isabelle: I cannot believe this. My own brothers wouldn’t even consider letting me borrow a car, and you—

Max: I’m your boyfriend. This is normal.

Isabelle: Is it???

Max: Yes. Now go pick a car before I get somebody to drive you everywhere.

Isabelle: You wouldn’t.

Max Verstappen: Schatje, they are just cars. You are making a big deal out of nothing. Pick whichever one you want.

Isabelle: I just… I can’t believe you’re okay with this.

Isabelle: You are actually insane.

Max: No, I’m practical. You need a car, I have cars. Problem solved.

Isabelle: Fine. Which one do you care about the least?

Max: None of them are as important as you.

Isabelle: That’s not what I—Max. Which one??

Max: …The Porsche?

Isabelle: I cannot take your Porsche.

Max: Okay, then take the Aston.

Isabelle: That is worse.sss

Max: Take the Audi, then. Or one of the Ferraris.

Isabelle: You are not helping.

Max: I’m literally giving you a solution, schatje. Just pick any of the cars. I don’t care which one you use. I have to get ready for qualifying. Take a car. Be safe. And text me when you’re home. Love you. 

Isabelle: Love you too, you ridiculous man.

***

Text Conversation: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Isabelle: You are NOT going to believe the absolute nonsense I just went through.

Emilie: Oh, this is already promising. Go on.

Isabelle: My car? Dead. Like full-on smoking and now won’t start. So I asked my dear, wonderful brothers if I could borrow one of their cars.

Emilie: Oh, I know this isn’t going to end well.

Isabelle: Lorenzo said ABSOLUTELY NOT. Arthur laughed. Charles told me, and I QUOTE: “Isabelle, you can’t just borrow a Ferrari like it’s a spare phone charger.”

Emilie: I shouldn’t be surprised, and yet.

Isabelle: I was fuming.

Emilie: So what’s the solution? Are you getting a rental?

Isabelle: I WAS. And then Max texted me because I hadn’t answered him all day. I explained the whole thing, and do you know what he said??

Emilie: …I am both excited and terrified to find out.

Isabelle: “Just take one of mine.”

Emilie: …

Emilie: Of course he did.

Isabelle: I told him that was INSANE. Like, shouldn’t racing drivers be obsessed with their cars? Worried I’ll scratch them? Do you know what Charles would do if I so much as LOOKED at his Ferrari keys too long??

Emilie: Have a full-on cardiac episode.

Isabelle: EXACTLY.

Emilie: And Max?

Isabelle: Told me to just grab a key and drive whichever car I wanted.

Emilie: …He really just handed you the keys to the kingdom, huh?

Isabelle: I told him I could CRASH it, and do you know what he said??

Emilie: Oh, I cannot wait.

Isabelle: “Then I worry more about you than the car.”

Emilie: …

Emilie: This man is going to MARRY you.

Isabelle: SHUT UP.

Emilie: I WILL NOT. That was the most disgustingly romantic thing I’ve ever read.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Max Verstappen

Max: So… what are we thinking for a new car?

Isabelle: Something used. I don’t need anything fancy.

Max: Used?

Isabelle: Yes?? I’ll be throwing horse stuff in there anyway. No point in getting something new just to cover it in mud and hay.

Max: No.

Isabelle: …No?

Max: No. You’re getting something safe.

Isabelle: Max.

Max: Isabelle.

Isabelle: You are being ridiculous.

Max: For wanting you to be in a car that won’t fall apart if someone breathes on it? Yeah, I am so ridiculous, you wouldn’t believe it.

Isabelle: It’s not going to fall apart, Max. I’ve had my car for years.

Max: And look what happened to it.

Isabelle: …Okay, fair.

Max: So. Something safe. Think about the children.

Isabelle: …What.

Max: When we have kids, you’re going to be driving them around.

Isabelle: Excuse me???

Max: What?

Isabelle: WHEN we have kids???

Max: Yes??

Isabelle: You’re already thinking about that??

Max: Of course.

Isabelle: Oh my god.

Max: I thought you’d already thought about it.

Isabelle: I have, but you thinking about it is a whole different thing!!

Max: Why wouldn’t I? I want a family. With you.

Isabelle: …

Max: Schatje?

Isabelle: I need a minute.

Max: Okay. Take your minute. But after that, we’re getting back to the car discussion because you are not getting some half-broken used car.

Isabelle: You just casually dropped “when we have kids” into a conversation about cars like it was nothing.

Max: It’s just… something I’ve thought about. A lot.

Isabelle: A lot??

Max: Yes? I want to spend my life with you. So obviously, I think about that.

Isabelle: Oh my god.

Max: And you’ve thought about it too.

Isabelle: I— okay, maybe, but that’s different!

Max: How?

Isabelle: Because I didn’t expect you to think about it!!

Max: …Schatje.

Isabelle: What.

Max: I love you.

Isabelle: …I love you too.

Max: I want to build a future with you. A family. I don’t know when that will happen, but I know that when it does, I want you to be the mother of my children.

Isabelle: …

Max: You’re being very quiet.

Isabelle: …Just processing.

Max: Take your time. 

***

Text Conversation: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Isabelle: Emilie. Emergency.

Emilie: What did Max do?

Isabelle: We were talking about CARS. Just cars. Like normal people.

Emilie: Uh-huh…

Isabelle: And then out of nowhere, he’s like, “Well, think about the children.”

Emilie: …WHAT.

Isabelle: EXACTLY.

Emilie: WHAT.

Emilie: And what did you say???

Isabelle: Nothing! My brain short-circuited! He just kept talking like it was totally normal!!!

Emilie: Belle. Be honest. Are you freaking out because it was unexpected or because you really liked hearing him say that?

Isabelle: …I met his nephews.

Isabelle: Emilie. They’re tiny Maxes. Like. Exact replicas. The genes in that family are scary.

Emilie: YOU’RE GONE.

Isabelle: I’M IN DANGER.

Emilie: No, you’re in love.

Emilie: Belle. I love you, but you’ve always been that girl. The type who had a secret wedding Pinterest board at sixteen and a list of baby names hidden in your notes app.

Isabelle: …Shut up.

Emilie: Am I wrong?

Isabelle: …No.

Emilie: EXACTLY. And now you have a boyfriend who also thinks about those things. I’m so happy for you.

Isabelle: But like. He said it so casually. Like he just knows it’s going to happen. No hesitation, no panic. Just “Think about the children.”

Emilie: He’s in love with you, Belle. Obviously, he’s thinking about the future.

Isabelle: Yeah, but. That far ahead?

Emilie: Let’s be real. You love that he’s thinking about it.

Isabelle: I do. I really do.

Emilie: So. What are we naming my future godchild?

Isabelle: EMILIE.

Emilie: Just saying, you should prepare. Because if you do have a kid with Max Verstappen, it’s definitely going to be a mini Max.

Isabelle: I KNOW. That’s the problem. His genes are terrifyingly strong.

Emilie: You’re already picturing it, aren’t you?

Isabelle: …Maybe.

Emilie: You’re so gone for this man.

Isabelle: I KNOW.

Isabelle: I mean, logically, I knew Max was serious about us. But hearing him say something like that so casually? Like it’s just… a fact?

Emilie: Because to him, it is a fact. Belle, you are it for him. You really think Max Verstappen does things halfway?

Isabelle: No…

Emilie: Exactly. This is a guy who commits fully to everything. You think he wouldn’t be the same about you? About your future together?

Isabelle: I guess I just never thought someone would… want that with me, you know?

Emilie: Oh, Belle.

Isabelle: Like, I love my brothers, but I’ve spent my whole life feeling like an afterthought. Charles, Lorenzo and Arthur had their thing, their path, their goals. I was just… there.

Emilie: You were never just there.

Isabelle: It felt like it. Like I was always waiting for someone to see me. And now here’s Max, just—knowing. No hesitation, no doubts. He just knows.

Emilie: And that scares you?

Isabelle: No. That’s the thing—it doesn’t. It should, right? I should be panicking because it’s too much, too soon. But I’m not.

Emilie: Because deep down, you’ve already thought about it too.

Isabelle: …Yeah.

Emilie: So what now?

Isabelle: I don’t know. I mean, what am I supposed to do? Text him like, “Hey, I’d love to ruin my body for you, let’s make a Verstappen baby”?

Emilie: STOP! I just choked on my drink.

Isabelle: You asked!

Emilie: Okay, but honestly—do you want that? Not just in theory. Not just someday. With him.

Isabelle: …Yeah. I do.

Emilie: Belle. That’s huge.

Isabelle: I know. But it’s also terrifying.

Emilie: Why?

Isabelle: Because what if I let myself want it too much? What if I start dreaming about it and then something happens? What if it doesn’t work out?

Emilie: Okay, but what if it does? What if you and Max get everything you’ve ever wanted?

Isabelle: …Then I think I’d be really, really happy.

Emilie: Then maybe it’s time to start letting yourself believe in it.

Isabelle: Yeah. Maybe it is.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Max Verstappen

Isabelle: Hypothetically, what would you name our baby?

Max: Really, hypothetically? Or are you testing me?

Isabelle: Just answer the question, Verstappen.

Max: Fine. I like names that sound strong. Nothing too complicated.

Isabelle: …That’s not an answer.

Max: You answer first.

Isabelle: No, because then you’ll just pick one of mine to agree with.

Max: That is not true.

Isabelle: Prove it.

Max: Okay. If it’s a boy… maybe Noah.

Isabelle: Huh.

Max: You don’t like it?

Isabelle: No, I do! I just didn’t expect that.

Max: What did you expect?

Isabelle: I don’t know… something more Dutch?

Max: Like what?

Isabelle: I don’t know, Willem.

Max: …That’s literally the king’s name.

Isabelle: And your name is literally Max Emilian, you’re acting like you don’t sound like a prince in a European history textbook.

Max: Says the girl with four names. I refuse to name our kid Willem, by the way. 

Isabelle: Okay, fine. What about a girl?

Max: I always liked Zoe.

Isabelle: …

Max: Why are you silent?

Isabelle: I just. Didn’t expect that either.

Max: You’re testing me, aren’t you?

Isabelle: Maybe.

Max: Isabelle.

Isabelle: Okay, fine, I was curious.

Max: And?

Isabelle: And now I know that you’ve actually thought about this.

Max: Of course I have. I told you—I don’t do things halfway.

Isabelle: …

Max: What?

Isabelle: Nothing.

Max: Isabelle.

Isabelle: It’s just… I like Zoe.

Max: Yeah?

Isabelle: Yeah.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Gianpiero Lambiase

Max: Hey, I need car advice.

GP: For yourself?

Max: No, for Isabelle.

GP: What happened to her current car?

Max: It died. Fixing it would cost more than it's worth.

GP: That sounds about right. So, what are you thinking?

Max: Something safe for the kids.

GP:

GP:

GP: WHAT KIDS?

Max: ???

GP: MAX.

GP: ISABELLE IS PREGNANT???

Max: No??

GP: THEN WHY ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT "SOMETHING SAFE FOR THE KIDS"?

Max: Oh. I meant, like, future kids.

GP: Max.

GP: You nearly gave me a heart attack.

Max: Why would you immediately assume she's pregnant?

GP: BECAUSE YOU SAID "FOR THE KIDS."

Max: Yeah, but future ones. Obviously.

GP: Nothing about that was obvious, Max.

Max: …So do you have a car suggestion or not?

GP: Max. MAX. You’ve been dating for—what—five months?

Max: Almost six.

GP: AND YOU’RE ALREADY THINKING ABOUT KIDS??

Max: I mean, yeah? Why wouldn’t I?

GP: Because most people don’t plan future car safety for hypothetical children six months into a relationship??

Max: Well, when you know, you know.

Max: Anyway. I’m thinking of an SUV. Maybe a Mercedes. Isabelle wants something practical, but I don’t trust her to pick something actually safe.

GP: What does she want?

Max: “Something cheap that won’t make her cry if a horse destroys it.”

GP: And you?

Max: Something that won’t crumple in a crash. Something safe. Something that—

GP: Can carry future Verstappen babies, I got it.

Max: You’re catching on.

GP: You are so lucky I’ve known you this long because if anyone else told me this six months into dating, I’d assume they were insane.

Max: I am insane.

GP: … Fair.

GP: So, does Isabelle know you’re out here planning a future family car?

Max: Not exactly.

GP: Oh my god.

Max: We were just talking about what kind of car she should get, and I may have casually mentioned thinking about safety for future kids.

GP: And?

Max: She kind of short-circuited.

GP: No kidding.

GP: So, what’s the plan?

Max: I’m going to “help” her pick something.

GP: Meaning?

Max: Meaning she thinks we’re going car shopping, but really, I’m going to steer her toward something I already picked out.

GP: You are so manipulative.

Max: Smart. I’m smart.

GP: Does she know that you’re just going to buy it for her?

Max: No, and she’ll fight me on it, but I’ll win.

GP: How?

Max: I’ll just tell her it’s a gift, and if she doesn’t accept it, I’ll be very sad.

GP: Max, that only works because you have the face of a golden retriever.

Max: And I use it.

Max: So, what car should I buy her?

GP: You want me to help you pick a car for your girlfriend, who has no idea you’re about to buy her a car?

Max: Exactly.

GP: Do I look like a car salesman?

Max: You look like my race engineer, which means you’re good at analyzing data and helping me make smart decisions.

GP: That is such a stretch.

Max: Come on. What would you get if you were picking a car for your girlfriend?

GP: Something reliable. Safe. Not too flashy—

Max: Boring.

GP: Practical.

Max: I don’t want Isabelle driving something boring.

GP: Because you’re planning on borrowing it?

Max: No! Because she deserves something nice.

GP: But she doesn’t want nice, she wants practical.

Max: I can do both.

GP: Max—

Max: What?

GP: Just buy her a Volvo.

Max: A Volvo?

GP: Safe. Reliable. Built to last.

Max: But—

GP: Also one of the best crash-tested brands in the world. You did say you were thinking about kids, right?

Max: I hate that you know me this well.

GP: That’s my job.

Max: …Fine. I’ll look at Volvos.

GP: Good. Just… next time you text me something like that, lead with the fact that she’s not pregnant.

Max: I think it was funnier this way.

GP: I hate you.

***

"You’re being weird."

Max glanced at Isabelle as they walked into the dealership, his face a perfect mask of innocence. "I’m not being weird."

"You are," she insisted, narrowing her eyes. "You hate car dealerships. You said, and I quote, ‘Why would I subject myself to this when I can just order a car online and have it delivered like a normal person?’”

"Well," Max said smoothly, "this is different. This is your car."

Isabelle was still suspicious but let it go. For now. She’s just grateful he came with her. She might love shopping, but car shopping? Absolutely not.

A salesman approached, all too eager when he recognised who had just walked in. "Mr. Verstappen, it’s a pleasure! How can I help you today?"

Max didn’t even hesitate. "We’re looking at SUVs."

Isabelle stopped in her tracks. "We are?"

"Yes," Max said, completely unfazed. "Something safe. Reliable. Good for long drives and carrying things."

"Like hay and tack and muddy boots?" she deadpanned.

The salesman, sensing an easy sale, grinned. "I’ve got some great options! Any particular brands in mind?"

Max gave him a look. The look. The one that meant he already had one car in mind and would not be swayed.

"Show us the Volvo XC90, please."

Isabelle blinked. "A Volvo?"

Max nodded. "Volvos are the safest cars on the market."

"You sound like a commercial."

"It’s true."

"I thought you were going to make me test drive something ridiculous, like a Ferrari SUV."

"No," Max scoffed, as if the mere suggestion was offensive.

The salesman led them over to a sleek, black Volvo XC90. Isabelle, despite herself, was intrigued. It was nice. Comfortable. It had all the modern safety features Max has probably memorized.

She ran her hand over the hood. "This is… actually not bad."

Max gave her a satisfied look. "GP thought you would like it."

Isabelle frowned. "Wait. GP was involved in this?"

"Of course. He and I had a whole discussion."

"About my car?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Max shrugged, playing innocent. "I wanted his opinion. He agreed it was a good choice for you."

Isabelle crossed her arms. "So you two picked this out before we even got here?"

"Not exactly—"

"Max."

"Okay, yes."

Isabelle gaped at him. "So this whole ‘shopping’ trip was just a performance? A setup?"

Max looked far too pleased with himself. "Well, I couldn’t just tell you to get this one. You’d have fought me on it."

"Of course I would have! You can’t just decide for me!"

"But you like it, don’t you?"

She hesitated. Damn him. She did like it. But that wasn’t the point.

"You’re insufferable."

Max grinned, leaning against the car. "Yet, here we are."

The salesman, wisely staying out of this, cleared his throat. "Would you like to test drive it?"

Isabelle sighed. "I guess."

Max nudged her. "You’re welcome."

"I didn’t thank you."

"You will," Max said smugly.

And annoyingly, she knew he was right.

***

Max had never been one for extravagant birthday celebrations. He much preferred a quiet evening, good food, and the company of someone he actually wanted to be around. Which was why, when Isabelle asked him what he wanted to do for his birthday, his answer was simple:

"Just dinner. At home. With you."

So that was exactly what they did.

Isabelle had insisted on cooking, despite his half-hearted protests that they could just order something. But she had shot him a look—one he knew well by now, the kind that dared him to argue—and so he had wisely backed off. Instead, he stood at the kitchen island, sipping a glass of wine as he watched her move around the kitchen with quiet efficiency.

"You know," he mused, "this is a pretty good birthday already."

She rolled her eyes, but he caught the small smile she tried to hide. "I haven't even finished cooking yet."

"Doesn't matter. You’re here. That’s enough."

Her hands stilled on the cutting board, her grip tightening slightly before she exhaled and resumed slicing the vegetables. She had never been great at accepting compliments, but Max had learned to give them anyway.

Dinner turned out perfect—simple, comforting, and exactly what he wanted. After they had eaten, they lingered at the table, talking about everything and nothing at all, her fingers occasionally brushing against his. When they finally moved to the couch, he pulled her close, letting out a content sigh.

"Happy birthday, Max," she murmured, pressing a kiss to his jaw.

He hummed in response, his arms tightening around her. "It is."

Max hadn’t wanted a big celebration. No parties, no cameras, no over-the-top surprises—just a quiet evening at home with Isabelle. And honestly, that was all he needed.

He smiled, tightening his hold on her. “It is.”

The quiet hum of the city outside their apartment barely registered as Max sat there, content with the warmth of Isabelle tucked against him. He had spent birthdays in Monaco, in fancy restaurants, surrounded by people who barely knew him beyond his racing. But this—just the two of them, no distractions—was his favorite.

She shifted slightly, tilting her head to look up at him. "You’re really that easy to please?"

Max smirked. "When it comes to you? Yeah."

A faint flush rose on her cheeks, and he resisted the urge to tease her for it. Instead, he traced a slow line along her arm, feeling the way she relaxed under his touch.

After a while, Isabelle sat up, reaching for something on the coffee table. It was a small, neatly wrapped box—he hadn’t even noticed it before. She hesitated before handing it to him.

"I know you said you didn’t want anything," she said, suddenly looking a little nervous. "But—well, I wanted to get you something anyway."

Max took the box, curiosity flickering in his eyes as he unwrapped it. Inside was a simple metal bracelet. But what caught his attention was the engraving on the inside—subtle, almost hidden.

"Vitesse et cœur."

Speed and heart.

His chest tightened.

"It’s nothing big," Isabelle said quickly. "I just—I know racing is everything to you, but I also know you drive with more than just skill. You drive with everything you have." She exhaled, fingers twisting together. "I just thought it fit."

Max stared at her for a long moment before carefully sliding the bracelet onto his wrist. It fit perfectly.

He didn’t say anything right away—just pulled her close, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead.

"You know me too well," he murmured against her skin.

She huffed a quiet laugh. "I’d hope so, considering I’ve been secretly dating you for months."

Max chuckled, his grip on her tightening. "Best secret I’ve ever kept."

***

[insomniac2612]

OKAY. SO. If I hear one more person describe Clary Fairchild as just "short, bad-tempered, and stubborn" I’m going to start biting.

Yes. She is all of those things. She is five-foot-nothing of pure chaos and firecracker rage. But if that’s all you see, then respectfully, your literary vision is BUSTED.

This girl was living a quiet little lie of a life. Drawing art, drinking coffee, going to clubs in Brooklyn because she was so bored with normalcy it made her SKIN ITCH. And then her entire world crumbles in a single night—mom? gone. best friend? in danger. cute boy? might be her brother. And what does she do?

SHE. KEEPS. GOING.

She doesn’t sit down and cry about it (though she has every right to). She doesn’t spiral like a certain emotionally constipated blond (cough Jace cough).She immediately enters action mode. How do I wake up my mom? How do I save my friends? How do I burn down the systemic corruption of an entire shadow government with a stele and a marker because the adults won’t do it? She’s not just a heroine—she’s a revolution in soft converse and sarcasm.

And yeah, she’s stubborn—but do you know how much strength it takes to be stubborn in a world that wants to break you? She’s told no by everyone. She does it anyway. Not out of pride, but because she believes in people. In love. In change.

She dates Simon because she’s trying to follow the rules. She tries to suppress her feelings for Jace not because it’s easy, but because it’s morally responsible. She cares about right and wrong. She cares about social norms and emotional consequences. Jace found out he was part demon and went full Greek tragedy. Clary found out she was part angel and went, “Cool, can I use this to save my mom?” LITERALLY WHAT. HUH? HOW?

And she’s not an optimist either. Not really. If you read her POV, you see it—she doubts, she fears, she sees the cracks in the world. But everyone else sees her and goes: “You bring light.” That’s the point. She doesn’t walk into the room with sunshine. She becomes it.

Also?? Character growth?? She goes from “I don’t trust that girl in the heels” to “Isabelle Lightwood is my ride-or-die and if anyone touches her I will bury them alive.” The development. The humility. The emotional range. She doesn’t stay static. She EVOLVES.

Clary is a contradiction. A dichotomy. She’s hard-headed and soft-hearted. She’s emotionally mature and a complete disaster.

She makes new rules with runes she invented from her own mind and then apologizes if she accidentally hurts someone along the way. She’s the artist and the warrior. The girl who can draw beauty from nothing and then stab a demon in the face without blinking.

So NO, she’s not just stubborn. She’s not just short. She’s not just bad-tempered.

She is a girl who was never supposed to be chosen, and who chose herself anyway.

[twasmayfield]

my funny valentine.

description: so it's the late 1950s and everything's going well for you. a loving husband, two kids, and an apartment that looked like it came out of some catalog. but when your husband suddenly left, you somehow found your way into doing comedy.

warnings: afab reader, the marvelous mrs maisel au, a bit ooc of bradley and natasha, swearing, mentions of kids, my bad attempt at jokes, mentions of an affair/cheating, idk your (ex) husband kinda sucks, lmk if i missed anything else.

a/n: this kinda got away from me, whoops. erm mrs. maisel au !! one off fic (unless you want more), see more at waiting room !!

Ever since you were a child, you’ve always planned ahead.

When you were six, you knew deep in your heart that you wanted to major in Art History like your mother. At age thirteen, you found your signature haircut and hell broke loose if your haircuts down the line didn’t look like it. And on the day after your fourteenth birthday, you sat your parents down and told them that you wanted to attend a private, famous college upstate—the kind politicians sent their daughters to for etiquette training, or to find a husband. You did both.

You met your husband, Victor, at some party you couldn’t even remember now. You were seeing some tall, blond guy that went by ‘Chad��� or ‘Tom’ or any name that sounded like a frat boy, and hung off his arm with a bright, but tolerated, smile like a trophy wife while he ignored you and talked football strategies to guys who looked like they would’ve loved to be anywhere but here. And your husband swept you off your feet, pulling you away from the human embodiment of a hyena if it found itself wearing a suit, walking down Wall Street.

Victor took you to see shows, art galleries, and the occasional sneak outs after curfew to drink at bars. The kind of activities where you’d switch things around a bit if your mother asked what the two of you did. One time, he took you to some guy named Bradley Bradshaw’s comedy routine. “People call him ‘Rooster,’” he’d say, almost going on a spiel while you wondered if you did well on your last quiz.

The guy they called ‘Rooster’ was funny. In a ‘deadpan, airing out everything that happened in my life’ kind of way. He talked about the Navy, his godfather, that one time he crashed his said godfather���s motorcycle purely out of spite. Victor laughed at every joke and you smiled behind your glass.

The two of you got engaged during your last year, married a few months after graduation, your son born soon after, and your daughter a year or two later. “Three before thirty,” was drilled into your head like it was an ancient script passed down by every woman you knew and your mother—which was funny because she only ever had two kids; you and your brother.

Ah your brother. He was the booksmart and analytical one of the family—practically your father’s twin. The one who found himself working for the military straight out of college, either crunching numbers or doing some high-tech shenanigans—you loved him, but you couldn’t be assed to ask what his job actually was. You and your mother often dissociated yourselves when the conversation around the dinner table turned into a chatter of schematics and blueprints.

Charlie was three, soon to turn four in the coming months. He looked more and more like his father each passing day and you hoped he didn’t inherit Victor’s odd limp when the weather got cold. The boy never stayed still, always cried in the mornings when he’s being handed off to your mother for babysitting, and he bit people when and if they took too long. But he was mostly a happy child when placed in front of the television with his usual bowl of cereal and milk, watching the reruns of some puppet show.

Isabelle was on the halfway mark to being a year old. Round, chubby cheeks that made her look like an angelic cherub. She was a cherub—just not when you wanted her to be. And especially not on the nights when she was sick. Your mother kept telling you that her head’s starting to look like a bowling ball; you told her that she’ll grow into it. You wished that that would satisfy her enough, but you wandered in on her measuring the baby’s head with tape one morning and you walked back out quietly, not wanting to get a headache so early in the morning.

Your husband wanted to be a comedian.

That’s what he dreamed of every hour of the day while he worked at a company that only hired him because of his dad. And you supported him through multiple late nights a week with warm lasagna in a Pyrex held tightly between your hands while you sweet talked the owner into changing his slot so he wouldn’t be stuck waiting until midnight when the crowd’s all drunk and tired out.

What a happy, fun family dynamic.

The night was hectic.

The usual guy who was in charge of the bar disappeared off to God knows where, leaving someone named Natasha to man the entire cafe from behind the bar. The warm lasagna and your attempts at sweet talk didn’t seem to sway her into changing the slot, causing your husband to groan while the newcomer on the stage started his rendition of crudely playing the bagpipes. And by the time Victor’s turn rolled around, the crowd was half dead and half barely paying attention to whoever was on stage now. And he fumbled. Bad. Absolutely bombed his set. Even the guy who was asleep in a booth at the back knew it. At least that’s what he told you anyway, you just jolted down notes like you always did.

Victor complained about the barely noticeable holes in his sweater, his late time slot for the night, and kept going on about how the audience was basically dead during his set on the car ride back home. He complained and complained and complained to the point where the cab driver looked over in the mirror while you ignored the look and half tuned out your husband’s complaints, scribbling down the jokes that should’ve landed in a tiny notebook that you carried around during nights when he did his routines.

“You told me to do that joke.” He called out from the bedroom.

You scrunched up your face in front of the bathroom mirror, fixing the last hair roller into your hair. “I told you to rework it a bit.”

“Well, I did,”

“No, you didn’t. You basically copied word for word from our conversation from the cab.” You walked out of the bathroom, seeing him stuff his clothes into a suitcase. “What are you doing?”

He didn’t look up, zipping the suitcase shut. “I have to go.”

“I have to leave.” He finally looked up, seeing you stare at him in confusion in your nightgown with your head full of hair rollers. “You. I have to leave you.”

“That’s my suitcase.” You pointed out in a fit of confusion. “You’re leaving me with my suitcase?”

“Wait, really?” Victor looked over the laying suitcase on the bed, looking back at you. “I’m—I’m not happy.”

“And I am?”

He ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know how to do this. I’m not good at things like this.”

You almost bitterly laughed, “things like what? Leaving me?”

“I’m not happy,” he sighed out, hand gesturing to the bedroom. “I’m not happy with this.”

“We can change the wallpaper if that’s what you want, you don’t have to leave.” Your voice turned soft, almost pleading.

“I’ve been having an affair.” A beat. A pause. A moment to gather back in the air that was knocked out of you. “I thought it was just a phase, but it’s been going on for a few months now…”

Your voice was calm, but you couldn’t tell if that was because you were so surprised by the news or something else. “With who?”

“Margaret.”

“Your secretary? I gave you two kids, and you’re leaving me for a girl who couldn’t figure out how to use a sharpener?”

“It’s not about her. And it was a new sharpener!”

“All she had to do was push!”

The argument that lasted a whole five minutes was barely an argument; more like two debate champions trying to squash one another. Ping-ponging between topics that finally cracked and spilled open, you watched as your husband of five years left the home you two promised to spend together until death. With your fucking suitcase.

Rain rolled in outside, the droplets hitting the windows hard as the dark sky crackled with thunder. You would have chuckled—maybe even laughed—at the irony of the dark and gloomy weather mirroring how you were feeling if you weren’t still hung up over the fact that you just found out that your husband had been cheating on you with a co-worker and left you alone all in the same night.

Wine bottle to your mouth, your eyes looking over at the shelf full of plates and glassware, trying to figure what used to be on the now empty shelf in the middle.

Your fucking Pyrex.

Your mother often told you that the subway at night was scary.

She was right, of course, but in the current state of things, even the scariest thugs of New York City somehow scooted away from you in the almost barren carriage. You wanted to tell them that you weren’t like this. That you were a prim and proper housewife from the Upper West Side. That this was just a very bad night that you never once thought was going to happen. But instead of opening your mouth and saying anything and everything you wanted to say to save the public’s opinion of you, you just chugged the remaining wine that was left in the bottle.

The rain stopped when you arrived at the cafe you spent most nights at, jolting down jokes your husband made that either hit with the audience or didn’t. You sluggishly walked down the stairs, droplets of rain running off your fingertips. You had one mission and it was to get your Pyrex back and leave. Of course that was hard considering that the waitress who was working there looked bored and barely cared. The conversation was cut short as soon as she’d gotten exasperated with your insistence of telling her to check the back that she left to check it out for the glass container that you were clearly attached to.

“So this is it, huh?” You said absentmindedly as you somehow stumbled onto the stage in your fit of drunken haze. With your back to the crowd, your eyes wandered to the multitude of different colored flyers stuck on the wall. “This is what you were working towards, Victor?” You almost scoffed at the absurdity. Was he funny? Sure, but that was before you found out he was doing someone else’s routine a few weeks back. Some famous guy’s act, but the name was currently lost on your tongue and you didn’t make any efforts to think about it right now.

“Who’s Victor?” A voice asked from the crowd, murmurs following after.

You turned, startled as you winced when your eyes caught the spotlight, hand moving to your face to block it out. “Victor’s my husband,”

“We can’t hear you!” Another voice yelled out.

“Oh sorry,” you started, taking the microphone from its stand, straightening the cable out before you could continue. “Victor’s my husband. Well ex-husband now, I guess.”

The crowd below grew with unease, some of the patrons looking at you with confusion and distaste. You couldn’t blame them really—you would have wrinkled your nose at someone too if they were currently as wet and disheveled as you were. The remnants of droplets from the rain outside dripped from the tips of your hair, your very expensive coat practically falling off your shoulders, revealing your sheer nightgown underneath—clearly you didn’t plan on going out tonight.

“So my husband left today,” you started, taking the microphone from its stand, straightening the cable out before you could finish your thought. “I just found out that he was cheating on me—” you added, “with his secretary.”

Some guy at the back let out a loud cheer. “Thanks. Thank you very much.”

“Now, usually, I wouldn’t be so… Well, I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel right now, but I do know that I would feel a little bit better if the secretary he cheated on me with knew how to use a pencil sharpener.” You sighed. “I visited his office a few days ago, and I just watched in amazement as she poked and prodded the damn machine like it was something dystopian—surely they teach you how to use pencil sharpeners in college, right?”

“And—and,” you continued on, pacing around the small stage as you waved your hand in the air, “he took my suitcase.”

An awkward cough. An amused snort. A small laugh.

The crowd below warming up to whatever crisis you were starting to unravel out on the sticky beer slicked floor they called a stage. You sat yourself down on the stool, running a hand through your hair. “Not his big manly suitcase that he used whenever we went on vacation—my suitcase. The small pink carryon suitcase that could—maybe—fit five dresses and two pairs of heels,” you counted off your fingers, “and a hard hat if I really tried.”

“And what do I know about being the perfect wife? I’ve only given him two beautiful children—sure our son is back in his biting phase, and our daughter’s head looks more and more like a bowling ball each passing day—I kept our home clean, and had warm meals ready on the dinner table when he got back from work. I supported him when he tried pursuing this somehow unattainable dream of being a comic. But what do I know? All you men confuse me.” You gestured to your unfortunate outfit, voice dry. “Usually, this is considered being overdressed for a night out in the Village, but my mother would die of shock if she saw me dressed like this.”

You paused, blinking slowly. “Sorry, I’m a bit drunk right now. Everything I had counted on is gone. And this room just feels like a waiting room for purgatory.”

Natasha walked out from the back, wiping her hands clean on a rag and noticed you spiraling on stage. A look of intrigue and fascination on her face while you continued on your rant. You got back up, pacing on stage.

“I loved him.” The women in the audience looked at you, their eyes somehow full of wonder.

“And I showed him I loved him.” The men in the audience let out loud cheers.

“Let me tell you, I was a great wife. I was fun!” You stuck the microphone back on its stand, hands now on your hips. “I planned theme nights. I dressed in costumes. Okay, sure my French accent could use some work—my mother never taught me French, okay?—but that’s not a reason to leave, right?”

“I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t believe I’m losing him to Margaret Welch. Margaret fucking Welch!” Natasha, now amused, leaned against the bar. “That’s her name, by the way.” You let out a tired huff, “I’m going crazy now. I’m gonna be known as the crazy divorcee from the Upper West Side.”

Bradley sidled up beside Natasha, “who’s that?”

“You know that one aspiring comic guy’s wife? The one with the lasagna?”

“That’s her?”

“Apparently.” Natasha looked around. “You should pull her off before she gets in trouble.”

Bradley flashed her a smile. “As you wish.”

The small yank on your arm was subtle and you made no move to tug yourself away from the person’s grip—oh hey, he looked familiar. The adrenaline and energy that once filled your body now depleted entirely, and you let yourself be pulled down to the stage and to the bar where you plopped down on a stool, tired.

“Nice set,” Natasha said, pushing a glass towards you.

You knocked your head back, swallowing the liquid. “Sorry, I’m not a comic.”

Bradley sat beside you. “You sure? ‘Cause you definitely got the chops.”

You snorted, pushing yourself off the bar and back to standing. “Definitely not. This was just an unfortunate mistake.”

You made your way back to the door before you turned back. “You have my Pyrex?”

Bradley and Natasha stared at each other in confusion. The waitress that went in the back to search for the damn thing disappeared. And your entire body was close to turning into lead.

“Never mind.” You shook your head and waved it off, pulling on your coat.

Bradley and Natasha watched as you walked out, turning to look at each other when you disappeared from their view. Without even saying a word, they both knew what the other was thinking.

You were going to be a star.

[garygoldenbignaturals]

tagged by @mortifying-macaroni and @vamp-orwave thank uuuu!!!!!!! ten people i'd like to get to know better :3

last song: all i see by kylie minogue

fave color: idk if i can choose one! i don't have a fave color but i have fave combos, like bluish indigo, terracota, and brick red :3 also love any pink and green!

last book: don't quite remember the last book i finished... but in the middle of reading a book about worldbuilding (patricia a. mckillip and the art of fantasy world-building by audrey isabel taylor) for uni work if that counts

last movie: alien romulus!! watched it at night alone in a cold theatre with not many people in it. it was awesome

last tv show: MAD MEN!!!!!!!!!!!

sweet/spicy/savory: savory

relationship status: i'm offputting and i think being in one is too laborious for me👍single and not available i guess

last thing i googled: gta san andreas cheats. my brother's playing it lol

current obsession: my ocs................ and miranda masseffect : )

looking forward to: GRADUATING!!!!! for something more short-term i guess finishing my research paper's monthly goal so i can watch prometheus ^o^!!

ummm tagging @binmyam @nullsd @prophetofgehenna @vampireapocrypha @rowannkhanna @indomie-fried-noodle @novicethelizard @moonbolts and anyone who'd like to steal this tag :3 (no pressure at all ofc ^_^)

[ditzyblues]

YOU HAVE COOL ASF OCS TELL US MORE THE WORMS NEED TO EAT

WOW... THANK YOU MY WORMS!!!

couldve sworn u guys were parasites just last week... I DIGRESS! i will tell you more about my OCs!!!!!!!!!

if you are Tejano, you know that our communities are few and far between in media coverage. which is why i wanted to set my OCs in South Texas, a primarily Mexican-American area, no matter what. my OCs also predate the Elon Musk-ification of South Texas, set in 2003 for the majority of my depictions for them.

if you are not Tejano, fret not. My OCs are here to clue you into some culture. (first valerie art by droppincofdrops)

Valerie, born Valeria Isabel Velázquez in 1974, is a 1st generation Mexican-American woman. Her parents, like millions before and after them, came to America for a better life. However, the American Dream dies a horrible death in the borderlands of the RGV. This was no different for the Velázquez family. Living paycheck to paycheck in a terrible STX neighborhood, Valerie learned very quickly how to survive. These circumstances would not bring her down.

Her fortitude is something that has taken every beating imaginable. As her home life fell apart, due to her parent’s incompatibility, so did her social life. Valerie immediately didn’t fit into any categories her peers formed at any stage in her schooling. She was too “ghetto,” or spoke too much Spanish. (Her teachers, in an attempt to “ease” her up and whitewash her, opted for calling her Valerie instead of Valeria-Isabel.) And like most cultures, Valerie learned to be ashamed of her female body, and any assertiveness she showed.

To get ahead of the curve, Valerie hung out with older kids on her street and on campus. There was less of a need to control her in each of these circles, which she held dear to her. Valerie figured out to control everything she could. This is her core. If she is not in control, she is in danger.

Valerie turned to odd jobs, here and there. This evolved into sex work. Valerie dropped out of her senior year to pursue a club job. She lied about her age, claiming she was 20 at 17. But Valerie found her first community in this club job. These were pros, and they all looked like her, talked like her, and had stories like her. Despite the occasional drama, all of these girls looked after each other, and respected each other’s independence. This is what Valerie needed.

For the subsequent 12 years, Valerie’s fortitude and willpower carried her to the “top” of this circle. She looks for girls like herself, and doesn’t hesitate to take them under her wing, because the world is too damn horrible for her to let anyone fall. She encourages people, in her own tough way, to take control of their lives any way they can.

Some things Valerie never developed are patience, tact, or grace. She cannot, for the life of her, talk to people one-on-one. You’ll never get anything out of her. She’ll clothe you, feed you, lend you money, kill for you, but never give you her shoulder to cry on. Find somebody else for your emotions, because throwing them at Valerie is like throwing them at a brick wall. She doesn’t have time for interpersonal bullshit, and she certainly doesn’t have the patience to deal with it.

(It was difficult to find characters like her in media I've personally consumed. If anyone has recommendations, let me know. I watch too many cartoons.)

(soz i have no official drawings for rocío </3 yet.)

Rocío Celeste Estrada, born in 1979, is a 2nd generation Mexican-American. The youngest of 4 children, but only daughter, Rocío found herself taking after the trio of Tejano older brothers. Her mother was excited to have a daughter she could share her more feminine interests with, but she quickly gave up on that dream when Rocío followed in her brothers’ footsteps in terms of tastes and hobbies.

Rocío had a good childhood, compared to her peers. She grew up in the “okay” neighborhoods, where there were enough tax dollars for paved roads and working street lamps, but not enough for clean water and good air conditioning. This meant Rocío spent a lot of time in the streets, near the resaca, or playing in the desert land.

However, as quintessential “Tejano” the Estrada kids’ childhoods were, something that differentiated them from their peers was their race. In an area with 95% “brown” (non-white) Latinos, the Estrada’s were black. Their mother, a Haitian-American from Houston, met and married their Valley tejano father, a non-white Latino. This resulted in a complicated identity for each Estrada child. While they were just as Tejano as their peers, no one could make that assumption in this homogenous society. And like most cultures, antiblackness was sewn in. This othering presented itself in adultification, microaggressions, and assumptions/accusations.

Later in Rocío’s adolescence, the siblings discovered their father’s sancha, and other family. A whiter family, notably. This tore the Estrada household apart, and Rocío ended up moving in with her oldest brother, who’d had his own place. They all learned they couldn’t be without each other, let alone leave their Chio behind, so when Rocío was 11, she was set to be raised by her brothers. (short short story here)

Rocío was never fond of the social dynamic. Everyone seemed to dislike her for one reason: they just couldn’t tell if she was a girl or a boy. The girls were put off by her masculine clothing and hobbies and mannerisms, and the guys were put off by her “sensitiveness” and emotional maturity. And everyone was ill-equipped to even begin to acknowledge her race in any well-meaning way. The only times she could exist free of these pressures was in sports. She was tall (she's 6 ft flat as an adult!!!), and good at everything, it seemed. The boys AND girls asked for her in basketball. It was cool. Until high school.

Suddenly, everyone cared more about romance and grades and REALLY intense sports. Rocío, perpetually avoidant of conflict (short short story here), backed away from everyone, save a few friends she made along the way who actually liked her. But people were getting weird. Girls started to look prettier than ever, and Rocío had to reassess her status. She was not only the tall, mixed, weird girl who hardly talked. She was also a lesbian. A very masculine one at that. She’d already accepted her place as a passive wallflower, and couldn’t bring herself to escape it.

Throughout high school, Rocío learned her way around cars and anything with an engine and wheels. Her oldest brother had inherited the garage when their father gave it up, and so the Estrada’s spent a lot of time working shop. This was how they kept their home running, away from their parents. Rocío graduated, and didn’t bother with college despite her brothers’ advice. The garage was her second home, and she’d be amiss to leave it. From 18 to 24, Rocío lived in this cycle of waking up, hitting the garage, and going back home to her own apartment she moved into the second she made enough at the garage. Because brothers get tiring to live with after a while.

Rocío sees the world as an unchanging, continuous force. The social dynamic had never been kind to her, so she always put it on the back burner. However, Rocío found that she had a knack for the interpersonal stuff. She had always been the mediator for her brothers’ conflicts, and her friends at school drifted towards her after fights to figure out how to resolve things. As passive and conflict-avoidant Chio can be, she can be equally as assertive of boundaries (although this doesn’t come naturally/often. It will be nurtured in the future.)

(Rocío also has an underdeveloped, yet passionate sense of right/wrong. This is something she often represses, but it’s present enough for the acute to notice. This is something Valerie is drawn to.)

This is the first time I introduced Valerie and Rocío to each other. It was an Intro to Creative Writing assignment. But outside of this and a few drawings, there's not much out there with the two of em. They're very much a work in progress. Here's a moodboard along with an extended document. I doubt anyone has read this far LOL but thanks for letting me ramble about my chiquititas.

[icbrothers]

This week, my friend @anonbeadraws turns 30, and as we always struggle to meet up on the day I made a little digital birthday party for them instead.

[bookishjules]

things about rebecca lewis i myself choose to believe:

she went to new jersey for college because she wanted to be away from home but not so far that she couldn't hop a train and check in on her mom and brother

yes, that means when she came home to "do laundry" it was never because she had dirty clothes. new jersey is far enough from brooklyn that such a trip for laundry does not make sense in measure of time or money.

she studied art history in college because it was more financially reliable than going for art or fashion design

she knew simon wanted to study music, and she wasn't going to risk their mom not having something to fall back, given her propensity for not being able to handle difficult situations in a stable manner

after college, she moved back to brooklyn less because she wanted to and more because of the reasons she only went as far as nj for college, despite jobs at art galleries and museums being harder to get in nyc than they are elsewhere.. which is how she ends up working at the restaurant that caters simon's engagement party

as for her own romantic endeavors.. i don't believe she gets married until her early 30s. unlike shadowhunters, she has no reason to marry or have kids earlier, and with her touch of hyper-independance and the lag in her career, it takes a bit longer for her to settle down

as for who she settles down with.. it really could be anyone. i just know she'll make an incredible partner to whoever she ends up with

she is also, for that matter, an incredible aunt to simon and isabelle's kiddos

as a kid herself, she didn't have a clary, whose family she could escape to. she had friends, but no one close enough to find a real father figure in any of theirs after her own had passed. not that she'd really wanted a replacement. but i think simon gained a lot from having luke to lean on in his teenage years, and becky never had that opportunity

nor, for that matter, did she have someone to be a mother figure when her own mother wasn't doing the best job. simon had rebecca, but rebecca only had herself.

none of this felt like a burden to rebecca at the time ofc. she likes helping people. she likes being there for her brother, likes having him rely on her. but the result of it all tugs at her well into adulthood

finally and least relevantly: her favorite taylor swift album is red.

[demy85]

Drawing you in

This fic was created for the Shadowhunters Reverse Bang 2024: Presented by the @malecdiscordserver

It was inspired by @kasper-tag beautiful art and betaed by the lovely @maplemachiato

If you'd like to read it on Ao3 you can find the first chapter here.

Fandoms: Shadowhunters (TV)

Warnings: Rated E.

Relationships: Alec Lightwood x Magnus Bane

Words: 28,366

Chapters: 8/8

Summary:

Magnus, a student in the theater/dance department, was close friends with Isabelle. He had been infatuated with her older brother Alec ever since he met him at a party. When the art department was looking for nude models for a course, Magnus saw it as an opportunity to get closer to Alec.

Chapter 1 is below. You can find the other chapters here:

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Epilogue

Chapter 1 - First Impressions

Ever since the night Izzy had persuaded Magnus to accompany her to one of her parents' dull parties, he simply couldn't get her older brother out of his head.

Alexander Gideon Lightwood was, inarguably, the most beautiful human being to have ever graced the face of the earth.

But Magnus realized sooner than he would have liked that Alec had no interest in getting to know him better. Even though it was evident that Alec did find him attractive, after that evening Magnus was sure that Alec was struggling with his own sexuality and that he might never follow through on his instincts. Definitely not at his parents' house and certainly not at a party where not only his parents were present, but also many of their business partners.

It was clear to see that Maryse and Robert were extremely unhappy with some of their children's decisions. You could read it in their eyes, gestures and facial expressions when Izzy and Alec introduced themselves to their business partners and told them about their studies.

Magnus couldn't imagine how difficult it must be for them to deal with their parents' apparent disapproval. But he didn't have to wait long to find out what it felt like to be under the scrutinizing gaze of the Lightwoods, which was laced with contempt.

It was by no means a pleasant experience when Izzy introduced him to her parents, and he swore to himself after that evening that he would never accompany Izzy to such an event a second time. 

His decision wasn't just due to the fact that Alec had given him the cold shoulder, no, it was rather because of the disdainful look Izzy's parents had given him when she had introduced him and he wanted to avoid meeting them again at all costs.

He knew that the Lightwoods were deeply involved in the history of Idris, the college where he studied. They were descendants of one of the founding families and therefore had great influence. Magnus just hoped that they wouldn't make his life at college more difficult now that they had actually met him.

𒐣

Alec had no idea why he had agreed to attend the annual Christmas party organized by his parent's law firm. He knew he would regret it, as these parties were always strenuous. He always ended up feeling drained.

However, Izzy had mentioned that she was going and that Magnus had agreed to accompany her.

Now that Alec knew Magnus would be there, how could he possibly resist?

Izzy hadn't stopped raving about Magnus since her first day at university and Alec was fascinated by all the things his sister had told him about Magnus.

Magnus was apparently two years older than her, had taken a sabbatical after high school and had been exploring the world.

She had told her brother so much about Magnus that it almost seemed as if Alec himself was friends with him.

However, that wasn't the case. Alec had difficulty making friends, especially with men.

So far he had successfully managed to avoid Izzy and her wonderful fellow student on campus, but that night he would be coming face to face with Magnus Bane and he wasn't sure he was prepared.

𒐣

Magnus was at a loss as to why he had agreed to accompany Isabelle to her parents' party. He was feeling rather nervous, after all he had seldom heard any nice stories about her parents. But at least it gave him the opportunity to visit his father in New York, or rather both his fathers.

Ragnor Fell had adopted him from the orphanage,taken him in, and raised him with much love and affection. Together with two other children, Raphael and Catarina, Magnus spent a wonderful childhood with Ragnor.

He had never felt a desire to find his biological father, even though Ragnor had assured him that he would help him if he wished to do so. But Magnus would prefer to forget his past. Forget finding his mother’s lifeless body and what his stepfather had done to him as a result.

Looking for his biological father at that time would only have created another wound 

But  the decision was snatched away from him one day when a man suddenly appeared on their doorstep.

Asmodeus Yeung.

Asmodeus got along well with Ragnor  from the start which allowed Magnus to open up to him more quickly than he would have thought possible.

Even though he had decided to keep his name and continue to live with Ragnor, he was still in regular contact with his biological father and the relationship between the two of them created many opportunities for Magnus and his siblings.

Magnus was well aware that without Asmodeus, he would probably never have been accepted into Idris.

He was pulled from his thoughts when he heard someone say, "You look quite handsome, son." Magnus turned to see Asmodeus standing in the doorway with a wide grin on his face.

"I hope you have a wonderful evening with Isabelle Lightwood. I'm sure you'll enchant them all with your good looks and charm," Asmodeus said, giving his son a hug before bidding him farewell and retreating back to his study.

After that, Magnus was convinced that the evening would be a good one. After all, Izzy would finally introduce him to Alexander. He had been waiting for this ever since he had first seen him on campus.

So he made his way to the venue in high spirits.

𒐣

For Alec, being introduced to Magnus by Izzy was a truly life-changing experience. It made him wish for the floor to open up and swallow him as he noticed the heat creeping into his cheeks.

Magnus seemed to be enjoying the sight, which only made Alec all the more nervous.

Izzy was beaming brightly at him as she began to address him, "Hey, Alec. I want you to meet Magnus, my dance partner."

Magnus gulped as he let his eyes roam over Alec unfiltered for the first time. Of course, he had seen him in passing on campus, but never up close.

He was tall and had dusky brown hair that seemed to fall over his forehead as if he'd been running his hands through it. His pale skin stood out against the dark clothes he wore, and when Magnus looked at him, it was almost as if his brain blanked out. 

As he finally lifted his gaze to lock eyes with him, he saw beautiful hazel colored eyes staring straight back at him, making his stomach twist with excitement, and a smile that made Magnus weak in the knees.

Alec couldn't help but stare at Magnus. He exuded so much confidence and appeared to be comfortable in his own skin. Alec admired and envied him at the same time.

He held out his hand and when they made contact, it was almost as if an electric shock shot through his arm.

Alec hoped they wouldn't notice what was transpiring in his head as he literally squeezed out the words, "Nice to finally be able to meet you, Magnus."

It was a mystery to him how he had managed not to make a complete fool out of himself and to be able to utter a full sentence. The elation didn't last long, however, and when he saw Magnus' smug grin, he knew that he had revealed more of his inner turmoil than he would have liked.

𒐣

He had no intention of appearing rude, but Alec was well aware that there was a good chance that if he remained in Magnus' immediate vicinity for much longer, he would be unable to hide his feelings.

Instead of speaking to his sister and Magnus, Alec excused himself and proceeded to find the only friend he had made among his parents' fellow attorneys.

Jem Carstairs was a young, sympathetic man who was very different from all the other attornies that worked for Alec's parents. Alec could talk to him about anything without fear of condemnation or disapproval.

But that evening, as Alec made his way through the crowd in search of Jem, he found him in a heated discussion with some of the older partners at the law firm. Alec didn't want to intrude, so he decided to back off and get through the event alone.

He found a quiet corner, away from the noise and the stares of the other guests. Leaningagainst the wall and watching the crowd, his gaze constantly drifted to Magnus and Izzy. He couldn't deny that Magnus had an intriguing personality. He was charismatic, charming and had a special way of moving, as if he was dancing to a tune that only he could hear.

Alec couldn't help but to wish that he could be a part of that melody.

Yet , he was aware it was impossible. He just knew there was no way he could come out, not in front of his family and certainly not in such a public setting.

𒐣

Jem caught a glimpse of Alec walking towards him out of the corner of his eye and immediately reversing his direction when he noticed the person Jem was deep in conversation with.

If he was honest, he could hardly blame Alec for not wanting to be part of their conversation. A talk with Valentine Morgenstern was certainly not a pleasant experience. That being said, he was a very close friend of Robert Lightwood's and therefore it was best not to offend him.

However, Jem was more than relieved when Morgenstern finally dismissed him after a few more minutes and turned his attention elsewhere.

He didn't hesitate and set off in search of Alec.

After finally finding him, he momentarily hesitated as Alec seemed oblivious to the world around him. His gaze was fixed and when Jem followed him, he understood what must be going on in Alec's head.

Alec was staring unashamedly at a flamboyant young man who was engrossed in conversation with Izzy. 

Jem could see the longing in Alec's gaze, the conflict going on inside him, and his heart broke a little for Alec, because he could empathize with how Alec must be aching inside.

He wanted to help him, to show him that it was okay to not conform with the established social norms and an idea began to blossom inside him.

𒐣

Christmas had slipped past them in a blink of an eye. Alec had spent most of his time holed up alone in his room and had even avoided his sister. His parents were once again working on an important case, so it wasn't surprising that they were hardly ever seen.

If he was honest, he couldn't even remember the last time his family had spent Christmas together, especially when they had all been living in the same house.

One of his parents was always busy with work, and since Jace had left for California, he hadn't spent Christmas with them either. Jace played for the USC Trojans, the University of Southern California’s football team, and his excuse was that his training schedule wouldn’t allow enough time to come home to New York for the holidays. 

Alec and Izzy tried to make the best of it. They usually spent a lot of time wandering around New York, stuffing themselves with all sorts of goodies they found at the various Christmas markets.

Alec had always really enjoyed spending quality time with his sister, as they rarely got to just relax during the semester.

But this year was different, because Izzy was pissed and still hadn't forgiven him for the way he had treated Magnus at the Christmas party. He could hardly  blame her. However, he was also unable to tell her the reason why he had been so short with Magnus.

And so, she had given him the cold shoulder until the moment when she had walked into his room on Christmas morning and stared at him with sorrow in her eyes.

𒐣

He had a sheet of paper lying in front of him and had started to sketch a person. And even though the drawing was still in its early stages, it was clear to see which person he was drawing.

Alec observed as Izzy began to open her mouth and he was already expecting the worst. Thinking that she was going to reprimand him again for his behavior towards Magnus, he was surprised when he heard what she said to him instead.

"Hey, Alec. Something's bothering you, hasn't it? You seem unhappy, do you maybe want to talk about what happened at the party when I introduced you to Magnus?" said Izzy as she came into the room and sat down on the bed, commenting casually, "The drawing is beautiful, you know."

Alec turned the paper over, he didn't like people looking at his art before he'd finished it. But obviously he hadn't turned it around fast enough, because Izzy had seen it. 

Shyly, he averted his eyes from her. "Nothing's happened. You introduced me to Magnus and I joined the crowd afterwards to socialize like our parents expect me to," he said. 

"Alec, I can see that something has happened."

"Nothing has happened, Izzy. You're reading too much into this. Please, just let it go." 

Ever since he'd seen Magnus at the party, he hadn't been able to stop thinking about him. And at night, while he slept, his dreams were filled with Magnus. But he couldn't afford to tell his sister about it, because it would mean revealing a part of himself and he wasn't ready for that, not quite yet.

𒐣

He gave his sister a pleading look on his face before pleading with her again, "Just please let me be, Iz. It doesn't matter. Besides, even if something had happened, it really wouldn't be any of your business." 

Alec witnessed the exact moment his words stabbed straight through his sister's heart, and he would have wanted to slap himself for the harsh words.

Izzy shook her head, she couldn't believe Alec wasn't able to open up to her, but she knew when it was time to back off and stop bothering him. Still, she was unable to hide the hurt that his words had caused her from her expression. 

"I love you, Alec, and I hate seeing you like this. If you don't want to talk to me about it, then maybe you should talk to Jace. You might find it easier to confide in him and I'm sure he can help you," she sighed as she stood up. Izzy walked over to Alec and gave him a kiss on the cheek before leaving the room again.

Relieved, Alec lay down on his bed and wished that the time until the start of the spring semester would pass more quickly.

[moon0shadow]

Obey Me as Animal Crossing Villagers progress. I've done Lucifer and Asmodeus so far, tried going in order to eldest to youngest but Mammon was giving me issues so im just doing who's easiest and most fun for me to draw, don't wanna burn myself out after all. Right now I just finished Asmodeus's design, I plan on drawing the seven brothers and posting them together or in parts bc im indecisive and afterwards I may decide to do Diavolo, Barbatos, Simeon, Luke, y'know the rest of 'em. My one self-imposed rule for this is that they can only be species that can be regular villagers in your town or on your island. (so species belonging only to Special NPCs, like Tom Nook, Isabelle, Blathers are offlimits to me) All species from this table are free game though. (table from Nookipedia) debate who's who's fursona or whatever lol (honestly 'body base' is probably more accurate because villager designs can really vary despite being one 'species', like some of the ostrich villagers are based off different birds other than just ostriches)

anyways here's a wip/concept art of Asmodeus as a Rabbit Villager, a little treat for ya'll.

I had to make him a bunny ya'll gotta understand pls-

[aew-regression-cove]

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ | regressor clary fray headcannons

★ tiny girl who I low-key headcannon lots of the other characters look after (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡ /// also no I have no idea when that quote is but when I googled quotes for her that came up and honestly it couldn't be better!!! probably spoilers but also like I do not remember the show very well sooo 😅 this is mainly movie + random things I did remember . . . might write more once I rewatch/finish the show!!!

tagging - @sunflowerandsunshinebaby ,, @aew-kun

credits — X / X / X

“But—I’m wearing a T-shirt

that says ‘Unicorn Power’—”

🎨 . . . regresses due to stress- I definitely see her starting to regress AFTER discovering the shadow world.

⚔️ . . . she loves art especially when regressed!!! Will take any chance to do some drawing or colouring or even painting . . !

🦴 . . . everyone kinda looks after her.

🎨 . . . ^ Simon and Jace are here main caregivers. Luke enjoys getting the opportunity to look after her when she's regressed as he likes being able to be her father. I think Alec and Isabelle also regress and are like siblings to Clary. Alec is very protective big brother. Absolutely adores that Magnus calls her 'biscuit'!!!

⚔️ . . . Luke or Magnus are her go to babysitters!!!

🦴 . . . will 100% duck behind someone in an attempt to stay hidden. spoiler alert it really doesn't work lol (everyone honestly just plays along)

🎨 . . . very affectionate- the cuddliest girl in the world!!!

⚔️ . . . prone to crying :((

🦴 . . . often misses her mum. Simon or Luke are the only two who can properly comfort her if she gets really upset over Jocelyn.

🎨 . . . always worried that there are still things she can't remember. will panic at least slightly if she forgets literally anything that she deems important. (Magnus needs to reassure her in these moments that he has not tampered with her memory at all and that it's completely normal to not remember everything.)

⚔️ . . . Izzy braided her hair once and she fell in love with it. She was very excited when she realised Magnus could also braid hair. Alec definitely didn't get Magnus and Izzy to teach him how. definitely not.

🦴 . . . She feels most comfortable when regressed wearing Jace's shirts.

🎨 . . . Will ask if every 'fantasy' creature really exists after learning about the shadow world. Sometimes Alec just says yes to mess with her honestly-

Clary: "are mermaids real?"

Izzy (who is also regressed) : "I wish!"

Alec: "yes." (he says it with a smirk which results in Simon asking if he's for real - sounding honestly very hopeful and interested and Jace scolding Alec because "stop convincing our friends random creatures are real")

⚔️ . . . pokes Jace. doesn't really do it to anyone else, just for some reason Jace lmao

🦴 . . . Has definitely called Luke 'puppy' when regressed before... Magnus found it highly amusing.

ⓘ if you want to reblog, let me know and I'll decide to temporarily unlock the post or not <3

[ballerinarina]

𐙚 HEY, NEW OC IN TOWN, BRELLIES !

NUMBER 8 “Izabela”

[clique aqui para ler a versão em português]

𝐅𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲: Hargreeves; 𝐁𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞: 01/10/1989;

𝐏𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐬: Body transmorphism (advanced habilities: metamorphosis — little explored, only adult phase)

𝐀𝐠𝐞: 36 yo (looks 19); 𝐇𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭: 1,58m; 𝐖𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭: 48 kg;

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧: actress/singer; 𝐇𝐚𝐢𝐫: long, dark brown, wavy;

𝐍𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲: Slovak-Brazilian (Slovak mother, born and raised for 4 years in Brazil) — grew up in USA;

𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬: Portuguese, Slovak, English — native; Spanish, Korean, Russian — refers to brothers; Swedish, Italian, French, Greek — taught by father;

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬: Married (to Cinco Hargreeves);

𝐐𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐒: sweetness, intelligence, charm, dedication, loyalty, good looking, altruism;

𝐃𝐄𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐒: envy, image complex, emotional instability, lack of interess, impulsiveness, resentment;

𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏𝐒:

She is the Number Eight because she did not join the Umbrella Academy with the others. Her mother hid her unusual birth for four years, and only after her death she was found and adopted by Reginald Hargreeves. Her powers, however, did not seem to be the most useful in battle (because they were limited to basic physical alterations at the time) and she also had no interest in improving her performance.

Because of that, she was good friends with Klaus and Ben because they found themselves in similar crisis situations and ended up not getting along at all with Luther, who valued the Umbrella Academy so much. With Klaus and Ben, she had a simple, calm relationship, a point of peace where she supported them in their traumas that were worse than hers, when they weren't fighting over nonsense. Without having a megalomaniacally heroic side, she also sometimes aroused Diego's anger, but nothing long-lasting, since the boy had a soft spot for her being kind, helping and understanding him - despite not really prioritizing him.

In the beginning, she even had a very competitive phase against Allison, which, without Izabela's much interest in the action, extended to the academic part and the female presence in the house. As they grew up, however, with both of them interested in the performing arts, they ended up getting closer and helping each other, becoming known together. While Allison guided her career with manipulation, Izabela guided hers with her appearance, developing a strong image complex and obsession with youth. She was the only sibling she kept in frequent contact with after leaving home.

Her closest brother, however, had always been Five: they were confidants and transparent with each other, as if they found refuge whenever they were together. It was only with each other that they confessed their insecurities, cried and told their fears. Knowing how different Five was with the others, Izabela used to feel very jealous of Viktor - whom she liked a lot compared to some other siblings, trying to defend him and creating a good and interesting alliance when they talked alone, but unable to help but develop a problematic complex in her own head when she notices them together. She was in love with Five and despite her unspoken relationship with him, she knew that Viktor also had one that was going down a similar path, although less intimate and completely different.

𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: I spent SO much time on Pinterest searching for a good shape for Izabela. There were a lot of cute girls there but none were giving me the right vibe.

Then, a Isabelle Drummond pic appeared for me and, even if she wasn't the perfect one yet, with her straight hair, i noticed what I was missing: the Brazilian 00s actress vibe.

And then, i found.

Bro, I swear. Sandy Leah is my FAVORITE Brazilian star since I was a toddler and yet I simply didn't think about her earlier?

For the ones who don't know her, she's a HUGE superstar in Brazil, it feels almost like choosing Zendaya for a fancast. But I can't help, she's the perfect Izabela.