#isabelle: is 16

[jessiebites]

[ 🫳 ]ㅤ.ㅤwho do they feel they owe, but never paid back ?

headcanon questions.

her sister , isabelle. isabelle had done so much for jessie as a child and helped her grow up. she was the one that heard every cry and complaint and mended her wounds. she was a child just like jessie was, only sixteen the first time jess came to her with busted knees and at the time, jessie always saw her as an adult. as she gets older, the more guilt she feels about the way she left (a big argument before running away, not listening to isabelle's advice and jessie not saying goodbye to her brother), and how she can't go back and find isabelle even if she wanted to because of it. jessie feels like she owes isabelle everything because she was the only one keeping jess alive.

[mothonice0]

"What's their reaction when they see a mouse in the kitchen"

I know in my bones that Dion is scared of rodents. But he’s Dion The Bold, so he’d def put on a show and properly face the opponent with a butter knife (a machette actually)

As for Joshua… We have subsequent evidence that this man can be cruel and would set on fire anything that disturbs his peace or safety (also the fact Phoenix’s beak is very raptor coded, so it’d feed on small animals 💀)

Charon gives off big animal lover vibes 😭 and she’d actually enjoy the chaos a mouse would bring

(Credits for the chart to @sonnilione)

[missr3n3]

Augusnippets Day 16

humiliation/dehumanization/conditioning

fandom: cabin tales (rotten roots AU) TW: home invasion, beatings, kidnapping, dehumanization, threats of torture, unreliable narrator word count: 560

@augusnippets

Everything happened so fast. One second, Peter was having breakfast mostly alone – save for several attempts to shoo Mittens away from his cereal.

Then, his front door opened, Mittens hissing at the intruders before Peter saw or heard them.

All hell broke loose.

Mittens, luckily, was off like a bullet – Peter could only hope he found a safe hiding spot. Peter bolted out of his chair, heading towards the kitchen – specifically, his knife block. He barely reached the doorway when he was tackled to the ground.

He should've listened to his father, should've gotten into sports. His frail limbs did nothing to defend himself from two pairs of fists and feet slamming into his body – hitting him, kicking him once he hit the ground, beating him.

By the time Peter was dragged into a van he only briefly caught a glimpse of, his whole body ached, burned, an eye was swollen shut, blood filled his mouth from a tooth knocked loose and dripped from a broken nose.

Within seconds of a heavy car door slamming shut behind Peter's bruised, limp body, his wrists were tied tight, and a rough sack was pulled over his head. Someone – a male, if the large size of his hands were anything to go by, pinned his bound hands above him. Someone much smaller sat on his torso. Cold air and ripping fabric told him all he needed to know.

“Look at it, squirming like a little maggot!” a feminine voice jeered above Peter, likely belonging to the captor who cut his shirt off.

“It's about the right color for a maggot after we kicked its teeth in, too,” added a masculine voice behind Peter. “And just as disgusting. You goddamn monster.”

“Save it for when we get to the manor,” a new voice chided – slightly further, probably the driver. It was feminine, but much lower, older than the person sitting on Peter. “You can let it all out during the initiation.”

“There's no rules against just talking,” the younger captor argued.

“Of course!” the male captor concurred. “Especially since there's so much planning to do! We’ve gotta make this one last longer than the previous initiation after all. Given what this shit-stain did.”

“Very true. We've got so many options, too.”

“Do tell.”

“I was thinking… maybe we start by cutting its fingers off.” Peter thought his heart would be merciful enough to stop at the younger captor’s words. “Oh! And then we can gouge its eyes out, since it doesn't deserve to see our newest member after what he did to her!”

What I did to…? What are they talking about!?

“I think the old man added a drill down there,” the male voice continued. “We could use that on its ears so it can't hear her.”

“I don't know… I think forcing it to hear its screams would be far more entertaining.” The younger captor sighed. “Maybe we save that for later, when it starts dying.”

Dying…?

One thought emerged in Peter's mind, a sliver of light he held to like a lifeline within the dark situation he found himself in.

At least they didn't have Sarah. Her sudden, unannounced work trip had become a blessing in disguise. Surely, she'd raise hell once she realized Peter was gone. Anyone would do so for their loved one.

[dayasan]

📷 The Markets + The Veil, Northreach, Northern Sanbreque

HQ portraits under the cut:

[chocobo-chick9]

[naramereshkigal]

[justanothergeneralkrow]

Obsessed with the past two seasons having queens that fight on social media post show. Like they really doing that for us and our entertainment.

[darcyolsson]

returning to your beloved YA books as an adult is fun because you can play a game called "is this reckless heroic action kind of justified, or just teenagers being kind of stupid?" and find yourself growing new grey hairs every time you side with the adults

[strawbrryrush]

closed event starter for mika !! @mastcrmiind

monster- swarm of bats

Once met with the bats, isabelle felt her skin crawl.  This wasn't an ideal date , it was the opposite. "Come on, we need to run!" they insisted, taking Mikas hand and beginning to bolt.

[piedoesnotequalpi]

I love when people leave good reviews about me

[georgianadarcies]

why is driving so hard and so terrifying I am 20 years old I should be able to do this

[blueempathhairdofire]

Brianna Production logo 2007/2023

[dayasan]

📷 The Infirmary + The Furrows, The Great Hall, Cid's Hideaway, Central Storm Deadlands + The Iron Flagon, Northreach, Northern Sanbreque

Allies I

[hannadoolsetnet]

just hit chapter 11 "Magnus Bane" in the city of bones and,,, Damn, i really forgot how c*ss*ndra cl*re rlly made clary and izzy dislike each other sm & rlly made clary a woman hater 🤢 its times like these, when i like the show characters & their relationships a wee bit more

because its been so long since i read these books, im hopeful for their relationship to evolve & clary to grow into more of a woman supporting woman person yknow 🤞🏻

[cressidagrey]

White Horse - Chapter 16: April 2024

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, Me trying to write therapy sessions.

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

His sister’s house in Belgium smelled like sunshine and something sweet baking in the oven. Easter sunlight spilled through the windows, warming the hardwood floors, and in the backyard, Luka and Lio were already running around, squealing with sugar-fueled glee.

Max stood in the doorway of the kitchen, leaning one shoulder against the frame. He hadn’t said anything in a while—just watched.

Belle was sitting cross-legged in the grass, a plastic Easter egg clutched in one hand, her other arm steadying Lio as he toddled toward her, half-unzipped bunny onesie flapping with every wobbly step. She was laughing—bright, breathless, and so gentle it made something ache in Max’s chest.

She wasn’t trying to impress anyone. She wasn’t trying to perform.

She was just… her.

Soft and real and warm, with her sleeves pushed up and her hair falling out of its braid. There was a smear of flour across the side of her skirt from earlier, when she’d helped Victoria knead dough in the kitchen, and her fingers still had flecks of pastel from painting eggs with Luka.

She glanced up and caught Max watching her.

Her smile shifted—smaller now, but still warm. Still for him.

Max swallowed hard.

God, he loved her.

Yesterday, she’d spent the entire day helping Victoria put together the nursery for the baby girl due in a few months. Folding tiny clothes and picking the perfect wallpaper, soft florals and honey-toned neutrals. Max had walked in to find her barefoot, cheeks flushed from effort and pride, smoothing a wrinkle out of a freshly hung panel with his dad—his dad, of all people—standing beside her, offering her the level with a quiet kind of respect Max rarely saw from him.

She had blended into his family like she’d always been there.

She belonged there.

He thought about the way she’d crouched down to Luka’s level earlier, letting him stick glittery stickers all over her hands. The way she’d gently wiped chocolate off Lio’s cheek with the corner of her sleeve and kissed his forehead after. The the way she held Luka close when he tripped, the way she helped Sophie clear the table without being asked and took the time to talk to Victoria about pregnancy vitamins like she actually wanted to know.

It wasn’t that she was trying to be anything.

It was just who she was.

Max could picture it so clearly it almost knocked the breath out of him.

Belle—curled on the couch with a baby in her arms.

Belle—yawning in the kitchen at dawn, holding a sleepy toddler on one hip.

Belle— with streaks of glitter or flour or god knows what else, just smiling at a kid that had her eyes and his stubborn mouth.

And it didn’t scare him.

It didn’t scare him.

It felt like a promise.

Belle waved Lio’s little stuffed bunny in the air, coaxing another giggle from him. Luka barreled over with a plastic egg in each hand, shouting something about chocolate, and she caught him without missing a beat, hugging both boys against her sides like she was made for it.

Max’s mother stepped up beside him quietly. She held a tray of little tea cups and didn’t speak right away.

“She’s good with them,” Sophie said softly, watching Belle too. “With all of us.”

Max nodded, his throat thick. “Yeah,” he said. “She is.”

Sophie turned to look at him. “You don’t have to rush anything,” she said gently. “But when the time comes… she’ll be wonderful.”

Max didn’t look away from Belle.

“I know,” he said.

And he did.

He really did.

Because this wasn’t just the woman he loved.

This was the woman he wanted a life with.

The kind you built from scratch.

The kind that lasted.

***

Stream Transcript: Lando Norris & Max Fewtrell

Max Fewtrell: Oi Lando, are your shelves… like, actually bolted to the wall?

Lando Norris: (suspicious) Yes? I think? Why? (There’s a loud creak off-camera. Something clatters violently. Lando jumps.)

Lando: OH MY GOD.

Max F: WHAT DID I JUST SAY.

Lando: (ducking) One of the helmets nearly took me out!! It just slid right off the shelf! I could’ve died!!

Chat:

 HELMET DOWN PROTECT THE MERCH WALL Lando vs Gravity: round 394 Helmet shelves tried to assassinate the talent 😭 Max Fewtrell manifested that

Max F: That’s it. That’s a sign. You need a proper streaming room. Like Max Verstappen’s setup.

Lando: (still checking behind him) You just want to live vicariously through me.

Max F: Yeah, so what? But also I don’t want to watch you get bludgeoned mid-game by your own merch. Have you seen Verstappen’s streaming room? It looks like an F1 spaceship.

Lando: Yeah, Belle Leclerc designed it.

Max F: I KNOW. I told you I was going to DM her my IKEA shopping list as a joke? She actually answered. Sent links. Furniture recs. Paint swatches.

Lando: (grinning) Yeah, that tracks. She helped Oscar with his apartment too. Said his lack of a sofa made her “deeply concerned about his lumbar support.”

Chat: ISABELLE LECLERC THE DESIGN ICON She’s redecorating the grid one boy at a time Max gets a spaceship sim rig, Oscar gets posture correction 

Belle? LANDO CALLS HER BELLE?!?! Lando pls let her fix your shelves before they finish the job 

Max F: I saw Verstappen’s room on the last Redline stream. He’s got mood lighting. Hidden cable management. Soundproof panels. I would sell my firstborn to have a room like that...So you should ask her to do yours. So I can in fact live vicariously through you. 

Lando: (dryly) Thanks. But I’d rather not get murdered by her brother.

Max F: Charles???

Lando: Yes. Last months, I got cornered by him because I was talking to her about ice cream toppings.

Max F: I’m sorry—what?

Lando: We were talking about which sprinkles are better: rainbow or chocolate. That’s it.

Max F: (cackling) You flirted with his sister over sprinkles???

Lando: I WASN’T FLIRTING. We were eating ice cream. I said I liked her choice. He looked at me like I’d proposed on the spot.

Chat:

 SPRINKLEGATE 2024 Lando complimented toppings and Charles prepped a eulogy Imagine dying because of rainbow sprinkles 😭 Charles Leclerc: ICE CREAM ENFORCER

Lando: Belle’s amazing. Sweet, kind, terrifyingly competent. But also? Not for me. I value my life. I’ve seen the look Charles gets. I’m good.

Max F: Honestly valid. She gives off “could fix your taxes and ruin your self-esteem in the same sentence” energy.

Lando: Exactly. She’d help me fix my walls and then psychoanalyze me over gelato.

Chat: Belle Leclerc: therapist, designer, cat whisperer Charles: ready to fight over sprinkles Lando: emotionally in danger Helmet shelf: still plotting Lando in danger and it’s SELF-INFLICTED this stream is 90% chaos, 10% home improvement we demand Belle on the next one

***

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/F1streamtrash: Lando almost got murdered by his own helmet wall LIVE and the takeaway is that Isabelle Leclerc might be the only thing holding the grid’s interior design together

@/GridGossip: Max Fewtrell casually admitting he slid into Belle Leclerc’s DMs with an IKEA list and SHE ANSWERED 👀😂

@/LanDownUnder: “Charles cornered me because I said I liked her sprinkles” is now my Roman Empire.

@/TheBackmarkerBlonde: Isabelle Leclerc didn’t say a SINGLE word and still managed to: • Fix Oscar’s spine • Redesign Max’s sim room • Scare Lando into celibacy • Spark a domestic incident over ice cream toppings

@/F1catdad: Max: “Isabelle got me plants and installed acoustic panels.” Oscar: “Isabelle saved my spine.” Lando: “Isabelle almost got me killed with sprinkles.” This woman is single-handedly shaping the lives of the paddock and I need a Vogue profile on her IMMEDIATELY.

@/TeamCharlesSlander: Charles hearing Lando talk to Isabelle about chocolate sprinkles: 🔪 Meanwhile Belle just wanted to enjoy her cone in peace Let her LIVE, Charles

@/PadDockWivesClub: SPRINKLEGATE 2024. Lando: casually agrees with Belle’s ice cream order Charles: READY TO THROW HANDS Somebody protect this man from Leclerc family mood swings

@/BelleAndTheGrid: Lando: Belle’s sweet, kind, terrifyingly competent Me, whispering: …and maybe just a little bit magic???

@/gridandgranprix:  Max Fewtrell casually starting a home improvement cult with Isabelle Leclerc as the unofficial architect and Lando as the first martyr 😭

@/paddocktea:  the way lando said “i wasn’t flirting” with genuine fear in his voice. sir… you complimented her sprinkles. charles heard wedding bells. #f1drama #sprinklegate #justiceforlando

@/f1wagsupremacy: Isabelle Leclerc being the reason Max’s streaming room looks like a spaceship, Oscar’s apartment has actual lumbar support, and Lando is still alive (barely) is honestly the most powerful grid influence since Angela Cullen.

@/helmetwitness: helmet shelf: attacks lando: ducks max f: “you need a proper room like verstappen’s.” lando: “i don’t want to die via brother-in-law.” this stream is my roman empire

@/feralgirlpitlane:  Charles being mad about Lando talking to Isabelle about SPRINKLES is the funniest sibling lore ever. Meanwhile Isabelle out here designing soundproof sim caves and spine-safe lounges like it’s nothing. @/bellesdesignco petition for Isabelle leclerc to start a grid interior design company tagline: "saving lives, lumbar, and lighting schemes"

***

It was Simone’s idea.

They were near the end of a Thursday session, sunlight spilling gently through the windows of the quiet little room Belle had come to think of as one of her safest place in the world.

Simone sat across from her with that usual calm presence, hands folded gently in her lap, head tilted slightly like she was carefully sorting through every word Belle had spoken so far.

"You’ve been doing so much work, Isabelle," Simone said softly. "But healing doesn’t happen in a vacuum. And it sounds like Max is part of what’s helping you feel grounded. Maybe he could be part of the work too."

Belle blinked, startled. "You mean… like, bring him here?"

Simone nodded. "If you’re open to it. Letting someone you love into this part of your world — into the parts you’re still healing — that’s a step too. And it can be a powerful one."

Belle looked down at her hands, twisting the edge of her sleeve between her fingers.

 She didn’t ask Max until the next night.

They were on the couch, two of the cats asleep in Max’s lap, Lilly into the crook of Belle’s hip. Something soft was playing on the TV, long forgotten in the background.

Belle sat with her legs pulled up, oversized hoodie swallowing her, the edge of a blanket tucked under her chin like armor.

"Can I ask you something?" she said quietly.

Max turned to her immediately, remote dropping to the coffee table. "Always."

She hesitated. "It’s kind of… vulnerable."

Max’s expression softened. He reached over, brushing his fingers lightly over the back of her hand.

"I’m listening, Schatje."

Belle took a breath, let it out slowly. "I was talking to Simone  and she… she suggested you come with me. Just once. Not because anything’s wrong, but just… so you’d understand what the inside of my head looks like sometimes. And so I could let you in more."

Max didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away.

Instead, he squeezed her hand.

"Okay," he said.

Belle blinked. "Really?"

Max leaned closer, touching his forehead to hers.

"I’ll sit through one session, ten, a hundred — hell, years of couple’s therapy if I have to — before I ever give up on us. I want all of it, Belle. Not just the easy parts. Especially not just the easy parts."

Belle’s eyes went glassy. "You’re not scared of seeing how messy I am?"

Max kissed her nose.

 "Schatje, I already see you. I just want to understand you better. And help carry it, if you’ll let me."

She let out a shaky laugh, heart so full it almost ached. "Okay," she whispered.  "Then come with me."

And Max nodded once — like it was the easiest decision in the world.

***

The room was warm and still, sunlight slanting in through the high windows, catching on the edges of the soft rug. Max sat stiffly in the second chair, next to Belle’s — close enough to touch her if he needed to, but not pressing. Not crowding her.

He could tell she was nervous. Her hands were curled tight in the sleeves of his hoodie — his hoodie, stolen again this morning like she always did when she was feeling small — and her knees were drawn up a little, defensive, like she was trying to make herself smaller.

Max hated that. Hated that she even thought she had to make herself smaller for anyone.

He kept his hands loose, open, steady — letting her know he was there, but letting her come to him if she needed it.

The therapist — Simone — was calm, her voice low and even. She made it easy for Belle to breathe. Max appreciated that more than he could say.

They talked about surface things first — the accident, how Belle was recovering, how Max had been helping. He answered in short, steady sentences, always glancing at Belle, making sure he wasn’t overstepping.

And then Simone shifted slightly in her seat, her voice softer:

“Last session we talked about Blanche.”

Max watched Belle freeze, just slightly. Her shoulders went tight under the hoodie. Her fingers twisted harder into the fabric.

Max hadn’t missed the way Belle flinched at the name.

She swallowed hard, her throat bobbing, and Max could see the struggle flash across her face — whether to say it at all.

But then Belle spoke, her voice small, raw.

"I was thirteen when they sold her," she whispered. "My parents sold her so they could pay for Charles’ karting. They said they didn’t have a choice. That they had to prioritize his future."

Max felt his hands curl into fists without thinking.

Not because of Charles. Not even because of her parents.

Because Belle — his Belle — had been a child, and they'd made her sacrifice something she loved like it was nothing.

Simone didn’t interrupt. She just let the silence settle, gave Belle space to keep going.

Belle wiped at her eyes with her sleeve, her breath shaking.

"I didn’t understand," she said, voice breaking a little. "I mean, I understood in the way a teenager does — when you’re told it’s for the greater good. But I didn’t understand why I had to lose something I loved for someone else’s future. It felt like..." she trailed off, laughing bitterly under her breath, "like I wasn’t even worth fighting for."

Max's chest twisted painfully.

Belle lifted her gaze, meeting Simone’s eyes with something fierce and fragile at once.

"It didn’t even hit me until much later," Belle said, voice steadier now. "But I’ve always felt like I was the one who had to give. Everything for them. Everything for Charles. And nothing for me. They didn’t even ask. They just... expected me to be okay with it. Expected me to just... let go."

Max pressed his palms flat against his thighs, grounding himself.

You shouldn’t have had to let go of anything, he thought fiercely. Not alone. Not like that.

Simone’s voice was soft but sure when she said:

"It sounds like you didn’t get a say. Like it was decided for you, without you having a voice in it."

Belle nodded, the movement small and heavy.

"Exactly," she whispered. "It wasn’t about me. It was about him. It always was."

Max wanted — violently, helplessly — to reach across the space and pull her into his arms. To shield her from a world that had asked too much, too soon, and given her too little in return.

Her hands curled tighter in her lap.

"I loved her," Belle said, her voice breaking again. "I loved Blanche. And when she was gone, I didn’t know how to explain the hole she left. I couldn’t even explain why it hurt so much."

Simone leaned forward slightly, her voice calm, guiding.

"It sounds like it wasn’t just about losing a horse, Isabelle. It was about losing a piece of yourself. Something you were allowed to love, just for you. Without anyone else’s permission or need."

Belle let out a shuddering breath, her chest visibly tight.

Max could feel it — the weight of everything she’d never been allowed to say.

"Yeah," Belle said, almost inaudible. "It was about losing me. Losing the thing that made me feel like I mattered. And no one even asked. No one even thought about it."

Tears slipped down her cheeks silently.

Max’s heart broke open cleanly in his chest.

He wanted to stand. He wanted to rage at the world for her. He wanted to hold her until she believed — really believed — that she was enough.

Simone’s voice was steady, full of a compassion that Max could feel humming in the air.

"It’s okay to be angry, Isabelle. It’s okay to feel the hurt, to feel that loss. That’s yours to have, and it always will be."

Belle closed her eyes tightly, letting the words wash over her.

Max watched her hands unclench just slightly — watched her take a breath, shaky but real.

Belle opened her eyes again, blinking down at her lap, and whispered:

"How do I stop it from hurting?" Her voice cracked. "How do I stop feeling like I’m just... the one who always has to give?"

Simone smiled — a small, fierce thing. "You don’t stop the hurt," she said. "You learn how to hold it without it holding you back. You learn how to make space for your own pain, without letting it control you. And you let yourself be allowed to have something, Isabelle. Something that’s just yours. Something you love. Something that doesn’t come with a price tag."

Belle nodded slowly, the movement tentative, almost childlike.

Max exhaled a slow, steady breath. If Belle asked for it — anything, everything — he would give it to her. Not because she needed fixing. Because she deserved to have something that was hers, wholly and without apology.

And if he could be even a small part of that? If he could be the safe place she had never been given before?

He would spend the rest of his life making sure she never had to wonder if she was loved again.

****

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Emilie Abadie

Max: Hey. Need to ask you something. About Belle’s old horse. Blanche.

Emilie: 👀 Go on.

Max: Do you know what happened to her? I want to buy her back. For Belle.

Emilie: Oh, Max. I wish you could. I tried already. Right after Belle and I finished university in 2021.

Max: You did?

Emilie: Yeah. I tracked down the stable. I would’ve cleaned out my entire trust fund if it meant bringing Blanche back to her.

Emilie: But... Blanche passed away in 2019. Old age. Peacefully.

Max: Shit.

Emilie: Yeah. I told Belle. I’ve never seen her cry like that before. Or since. She just... shut down completely.

Max: She still talks about Blanche like she’s alive somewhere.

Emilie: That’s Belle. She doesn’t know how to let go of the people — or horses — she loves. Not really.

Max: Yeah. I know that too well.

Max: Did Blanche ever have any foals?

Emilie: 👀👀👀 Hang on. Let me check my old emails.

(A minute passes.)

Emilie: YES. She had a filly in 2017. Grey, like Blanche. Registered name "Blanchefleur" — but they just called her Fleur at the stable.

Max: Is she still alive?

Emilie: Last I checked, yeah. She was sold in early 2020 to a private owner. Somewhere in the south of France.

Max: Send me everything you have. Breeder, stable name, old records. Everything.

Emilie: Max... Are you thinking what I think you're thinking?

Max: If I can't bring Blanche back, I’ll bring her daughter home.

Max: How do I buy her?

Emilie: 😳 You don't just walk into a stable and order a horse like a pizza, Max.

Max: Why not?

Emilie: Because there's vet checks, paperwork, contracts, transport, insurance, negotiations—oh my god you’re serious.

Max: Completely serious.

Emilie: Alright. Give me five minutes. I’m texting every horse girl I know.

(A minute passes.)

Emilie: UPDATE.

Max: That was fast.

Emilie: You underestimate the terrifying power of horse girls when emotionally motivated.

Max: ...Should I be concerned?

Emilie: Always. ANYWAY. I found her.

Max: Where?

Emilie: Italy.

Max: ITALY???

Emilie: Yeah. Turns out Fleur was sold to a very fancy equestrian center just outside Florence last year.

Max: How does a horse just move countries??

Emilie: The same way you end up in a different country every weekend. Planes. Trucks. Madness.

Max: Inconvenient.

Emilie: For you. Imagine Fleur’s opinion.

Max: Fair enough. Can we buy her?

Emilie: Working on it. The stable might be willing to sell — depends on the price.

Emilie: Small snag, though.

Max: What now.

Emilie: Fleur is currently in foal.

Max: ...She’s pregnant?

Emilie: Yep. Due later this summer.

Max: Alright.

Emilie: ??? That’s it?? You’re not freaking out??

Max: No. If she's carrying a foal, then Belle's just getting two horses instead of one.

Emilie: 😂 You’re insane. I love it.

Max: Perfect. One horse from her past, and one for her future.

Emilie: You’re gonna make me cry at my desk.

Max: Just get me a number. I'll handle the rest.

Emilie: On it. And Max?

Max: Yeah?

Emilie: You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to her. Just so you know.

Max: Nah. She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Gianpiero Lambiase

Max: You speak Italian, right?

GP: …Yes? Why?

Max: I need you to translate something for me.

GP: Okay? What are we translating?

Max: I’m buying a horse. Well, two horses.

GP: I’m sorry, WHAT??

Max: A horse. In Italy. I need to negotiate

GP: WHY are you buying a horse in Italy?

Max: Because that’s where it is.

GP: That is NOT an explanation.

Max: It’s for Isabelle. I found a mare that’s the foal of her childhood horse. It’s a whole thing.

GP: …Okay, actually, that’s kind of sweet. But WHY do you need ME?

Max: Because the stable owners only speak Italian, and I do not.

GP: So your plan was just to message me and hope I’d be available to broker a literal horse deal for you?

Max: Yes.

GP: Max.

Max: Just help me. Please.

GP: Sigh. Send me the details.

Max: Also, do you know anything about horse negotiations?

GP: DO I LOOK LIKE I KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT BUYING A HORSE?

Max: I don’t know, you might have a secret past as a horse guy.

GP: Max.

Max: Okay, okay, just translate for me.

GP: This is so far beyond my job description.

Max: And yet, here you are.

GP: I hate you.

Max: No, you don’t. Now, how do I say, “I would like to buy your very expensive horse” in Italian?

***

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/MonacoMurmurs: OKAY. So I was just minding my business, having coffee in Monaco, and I swear to god, I heard Max Verstappen on the phone saying: "No, I don’t care how expensive this is. I want that one. No other one will do. Whatever price they want, I’ll pay it." UM?????

@/F1TeaSpiller: EXCUSE ME. WHAT IS HE BUYING???

@/CheckeredHeart: The way this man just casually drops “whatever price they want, I’ll pay it” like it’s nothing???

@/SoftForMax: The phrase “No other one will do” is haunting me. WHO IS HE SHOPPING FOR.

@/OversteerAndTears: The way he said “No other one will do” like sir??? That is some ROMANTIC ENERGY.

@/SoftForMax:I just know he had that determined little frown while saying this.

@/PitLaneSecrets: Wait wait wait. Did he say anything else???

@/MonacoMurmurs: I swear I heard him say something like: “I’d prefer not to pay through my nose, but I don’t care.” LIKE??? Max Verstappen is out here just throwing money at something because it HAS to be that one.

@/FastCarsAndDrama:WHAT IS HE BUYING THAT HAS TO BE THAT ONE AND NO OTHER????

@/RedBullTactics: This is giving “I saw this and immediately knew it was perfect for her” vibes and I can’t breathe.

@/CheckeredHeart: If Max Verstappen is out here buying something perfect for someone and money is literally no object, I am going to need THERAPY.

@/MonacoMurmurs: I regret not following him to see where he went next 😭

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Emilie Abadie

Max: I got the horse.

Emilie: YOU WHAT.

Max: The horse. It’s mine now. Well, Isabelle’s.

Emilie: HOW DID YOU DO THAT SO FAST??

Max: Negotiation skills.

Emilie: …

Max: GP translated. I wired the money. Done.

Emilie: YOU BOUGHT A WHOLE HORSE LIKE YOU WERE ORDERING A PIZZA.

Max: She was in Italy. The comparison is valid.

Emilie: MAX.

Max: What.

Emilie: Do you even know how to ship a horse across countries??

Max: I’ll figure it out. How hard can it be?

Emilie: Oh my god.

Max: Relax. I have contacts. People move racehorses all the time.

Emilie: THIS IS NOT A RACEHORSE, MAX.

Max: No, it’s better. It’s Isabelle’s horse.

Emilie: …You’re actually insane.

Max: And yet, you’re still helping me.

Emilie: I can’t even be mad. She’s going to cry.

Max: That’s the goal. Happy tears.

Emilie: You are raising the bar way too high.

Max: Her brothers should take notes.

Emilie: They won’t.

Max: Then I’ll just keep winning.

Emilie: Okay, but logistics, Max. What’s the plan?

Max: She’s being transported next week. I have a stable lined up near Monaco.

Emilie: You really thought of everything, huh?

Max: Of course. I wasn’t going to just buy a horse and go, “Good luck, figure it out.”

Emilie: That’s literally what her family would do.

Max: Yeah, well. I actually care.

Emilie: …You’re setting an impossible standard.

Max: Not my fault they suck.

Emilie: True.

Max: Anyway, what’s the best way to tell her? Do I just show up and go, “Hey, I got you a horse”?

Emilie: Absolutely not.

Max: What, you want me to wrap it in a bow?

Emilie: …Wait.

Max: No.

Emilie: PLEASE. Just a little ribbon. Maybe a cute note attached.

Max: I am not putting a bow on the horse, Emilie.

Emilie: You’re no fun.

Max: I just bought two whole horses for my girlfriend. I am very fun.

Emilie: Yeah, yeah. But okay, serious answer—you should take her to see the horse without telling her first.

Max: Just casually drive her to the stable and be like, “Surprise”?

Emilie: Yes! Can you imagine her face when she realizes?

Max: …Okay, yeah. That’s actually perfect.

Emilie: Of course it is. I’m a genius.

Max: Debatable.

Emilie: MAX.

Max: Fine, fine. You’re slightly above average.

Emilie: You’re lucky I like you.

Max: No, I’m lucky Belle loves me.

Emilie: …You really are.

***

Leclerc Sibling Group Chat

 (Members: Arthur, Isabelle, Charles, and Lorenzo)

Arthur: well. My girlfriend dumped me.

Charles: What???

Lorenzo: Wait, seriously?

Arthur: Yeah. She said I’m "emotionally unavailable" and "self-centered."

Charles: Bit harsh, no? You’re just busy.

Lorenzo: Exactly. You have your own life. Can’t drop everything for someone 24/7.

Arthur: That’s what I said. She didn’t get it.

Isabelle: ... Arthur, what happened?

Arthur: I don’t know. She was upset because I missed some fancy dinner with her friends. And some family event she wanted me at. And a couple calls.

Isabelle: How many calls?

Arthur: 😒 A few.

Isabelle: Arthur.

Arthur: It’s not like I did it on purpose. I was busy.

Isabelle: You always say you’re busy. You make people feel like they’re last on your list. She didn’t dump you because you were busy. She dumped you because you made her feel like she didn’t matter.

Arthur: Oh come on.

Charles: It’s not that deep.

Lorenzo: Yeah, you can’t prioritize everything. You have to focus on yourself too.

Isabelle: It’s not about choosing yourself. It’s about neglect. She wasn’t asking you to quit racing. She was asking you to show up sometimes.

Arthur: You don’t know anything about it, Isabelle. Stay out of it.

Isabelle: I’m trying to help you understand. So you don’t keep hurting people you actually care about.

Arthur: Maybe if you knew what it was like to be in a real relationship you’d get it.

Isabelle:  Good luck next time.

Arthur: Whatever.

Lorenzo: Can we all just cool down?

***

Belle sighed as she pushed another hanger aside, her eyes half-focused, her mind still somewhere in the Leclerc sibling group chat.

Emilie glanced over from across the boutique, one eyebrow already raised. “Okay,” she said, “that’s the third sigh in under two minutes. Who are we mad at today?”

Belle didn’t even hesitate. “Arthur.”

Emilie snorted. “That tracks.”

“He got dumped,” Belle said flatly, holding up a hanger, immediately making a face and putting it back.

“Oh no,” Emilie said, mock-gasping. “Did he forget she was a person with feelings?”

Belle let out a short, sharp laugh. “How did you guess?”

“He’s a Leclerc brother. It’s always a safe bet.”

They both paused, clearly considering that.

Belle leaned against a rack of sundresses, crossing her arms. “Charles and Lorenzo immediately jumped in to defend him. Said he was just busy. That he can’t be expected to prioritize everything.”

“Classic,” Emilie muttered.

Belle pressed her lips together. “I just… I tried to explain why she was upset. I told him he made her feel like she didn’t matter. Like she was at the bottom of his list.”

“And how did that go?”

Belle gave her a pointed look. “He told me to stay out of it. Said I wouldn’t understand because I’ve never been in a real relationship.”

Emilie blinked. “Oh.”

Belle’s smile was tight. “Yeah.”

“Does Max know he said that?” Emilie asked casually, flipping through a rack of skirts like she wasn’t already ready to throw hands.

“No,” Belle said quickly. “And please don’t say anything. I’m not dragging Max into this.”

Emilie gave her a knowing look. “He wouldn’t just be dragged. He’d sprint into it with a flamethrower.”

Belle smiled faintly. “Which is why I’m not telling him.”

There was a beat of quiet between them — one of those moments where it was clear they were thinking the exact same thing but neither wanted to say it.

Finally, Belle sighed again and rubbed at her temple. “God, why is this lighting so weird? I’ve been dizzy all morning.”

“Have you eaten today?” Emilie asked, immediately switching gears.

“Croissant and coffee,” Belle said. “Which was three hours ago. Maybe I need something salty. Or sweet. Or both.”

“You always want sweet when you’re tired,” Emilie said, looping a silky hanger off the rack. “Or hormonal.”

Belle didn’t react, too distracted by the way the room seemed to sway slightly when she turned her head.

“You okay?” Emilie asked.

“Yeah, I just—” Belle waved a hand vaguely. “Probably just low blood sugar or something.”

“Okay. Well, I’m getting you a granola bar before we go anywhere else,” Emilie said, and then held up a hanger with a little grin. “And you’re trying this on.”

Belle narrowed her eyes at the dress. “White? Really?”

“It’s a beautiful dress,” Emilie said. “Max is going to pass out when he sees you in it.”

Belle rolled her eyes — but took the hanger anyway.

Ten minutes later, she stood in front of the mirror in the changing room, smoothing her hands down over the fabric. The dress was soft, floaty and a little too pretty.

And it fit perfectly.

She stepped out, blinking into the hallway light.

Emilie looked up — and grinned. “There she is.”

Belle tilted her head. “You really think it’s not too much?”

“I think Max is going to malfunction,” Emilie said simply. “And that’s reason enough to buy it.”

Belle flushed, but she didn’t argue.

She looked back at the mirror, the soft silk falling over her hips, the way the white made her skin glow just a little. She felt oddly… peaceful.

Even with her brothers being impossible.

Even with everything.

She didn’t say anything else — she just turned back into the changing room and hung the dress on the “buy” hook.

One quiet victory. ***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Gianpiero Lambiase

Max: I have the ring.

GP:  …The ring?

Max: The ring.

Max: It’s a very nice ring. She’s going to cry.

GP: Tears of joy or terror?

Max: GP.

GP: Okay, okay. Do you know how you want to do it?

Max: No.

GP: Excellent start.

Max: I want it to be private. Not like… public public. Max: But still special. Max: Not over the top. But meaningful. Max: Lowkey. But not boring.

GP: So basically you want the emotional equivalent of pole position without the media circus.

Max: Exactly. GP: When it happens, just make it about her. Not the moment. Not the pressure. Her. The life you want with her. Keep it simple. Keep it real.

Max: What if I mess it up?

GP: You won’t. 

GP: Propose when it’s quiet. When she’s happy. When you’re already laughing. GP:  You don’t need fireworks. Just give her the one thing she’s never had.

Max: What’s that?

GP: Someone who chooses her first. Without question. Every time.

Max: She already has that.

GP: Just don’t do it mid-race weekend. I don’t need you distracted and proposing during a pit stop.

GP: Why are you even asking me?

Max: Because you’re married.

GP: That doesn’t make me a proposal expert, it just means I survived it.

Max: So how did you do it?

GP: I kept it simple. Just us, no big scene, no stress. And it worked.

Max: Yeah. I like that.

GP: And Max?

Max: Yeah?

GP: She’s going to say yes.  Probably before you finish the sentence.

***

Pascale’s Dining Room always looked nicer in the evening, when the light softened and made the crystal on the table sparkle. Alexandra had helped Charlotte with the flowers this time — something understated, nothing over the top — and they’d both arrived early to actually help set the table. For once.

Not to watch Isabelle do it all herself.

Isabelle had already laid out the linen napkins and finished folding them with practiced, almost mechanical ease by the time they arrived, but Charlotte slid in next to her without a word and took over the cutlery. Alexandra poured the wine. Between the three of them, the atmosphere felt lighter than usual — like something unspoken had been reset.

There wasn’t a lot of chatter at first. Pascale was in the kitchen, issuing gentle orders; Charles and Lorenzo were in the living room arguing softly about tires and someone’s new dog; Arthur arrived late and looked like he’d slept in his hoodie.

Isabelle, to her credit, looked… calm.

Different.

Still soft-spoken, still gracious — she greeted them all with kisses on the cheek and asked about everyone’s week — but there was something else now. A steel edge underneath all that quiet.

Alexandra didn’t know what had changed, exactly. 

She couldn’t quite put her finger on it at first. The table was full, the food was good, the siblings were loud in the way siblings always were. Pascale hovered, fussed, smiled. Lorenzo made some dry remark that no one laughed at. Arthur was in a mood—understandable, post-breakup—but even his sulking had a familiar rhythm to it.

The difference wasn’t around Isabelle.

It was Isabelle herself.

Alexandra noticed it in the kitchen, when Isabelle didn’t rush to take over. Usually, she was the one checking on the roast, plating the salad, folding napkins without being asked. This time, she’d helped, yes—but only what she chose to help with.

Charlotte, bless her, had already stepped in to cover what Isabelle left untouched.

"I’ve got the starters," Charlotte said cheerfully, sliding past Pascale with a tray. "You sit, Isabelle. Seriously."

And Isabelle had. No protest. No automatic rise. No quiet martyrdom.

Alexandra handed her a glass of wine on the way by and got a grateful smile in return.

Progress, Alexandra thought. Real, tangible progress.

Later, at the table, Arthur was complaining about how no one "warned him" that relationships required emotional availability. Charles laughed a little too hard. Lorenzo made a noise of agreement.

Isabelle didn’t even look up from her plate.

"Maybe next time, try listening instead of defending," she said calmly.

Arthur blinked at her. "What?"

"You keep saying your ex didn’t get it," Isabelle said, her tone cool, even. "But maybe she just got it sooner than you did. That she wasn’t going to wait around forever."

It was the kind of sentence that, even six months ago, she would’ve swallowed. Bitten her tongue. Let it pass to keep the peace.

Now?

Now she met Arthur’s stunned silence with an arched brow and took another sip of her water.

Alexandra exchanged a glance with Charlotte.

Interesting.

Over dinner, the change became even more obvious. Isabelle, who usually sat back and filled glasses and smoothed over awkward silences, didn’t hover this time. She served herself first. Didn’t get up to clear plates halfway through. When Charles grumbled something about the seasoning being off, she didn’t apologize or jump to fix it.

She just raised an eyebrow. “Maybe you should cook next time.”

Alexandra nearly choked on her wine. Charlotte, across the table, tried very hard not to smile.

Later, when Isabelle reached for the bread, the sleeve of her blouse slipped slightly and something glittered on her wrist.

Alexandra blinked.

It was a delicate emerald tennis bracelet. Stunning. And definitely not costume jewelry.

And when Isabelle leaned over to pull her phone from her bag — a small, quilted black Chanel purse with the gold chain strap looped twice — Alexandra’s brain paused.

Because Isabelle had always dressed nicely. Classic. Understated. But not… that.

Not luxury.

Not the kind of luxury that didn’t scream but whispered.

Charlotte leaned over at the same time to grab the wine, and Alexandra caught the way her eyes lingered just a moment too long on the bracelet.

So it wasn’t just her who noticed.

They didn’t say anything. Not right away. But Charlotte gave Alexandra a slight nudge under the table, her brows lifting ever so slightly.

Do you see it too?

Oh, she did.

Something had changed. And not just the jewelry.

Isabelle was still sweet. Still generous.

But Isabelle Leclerc had finally put up a door between herself and the rest of her family.

And she was the one holding the key.

Isabelle didn’t let her brothers talk over her this time. When Lorenzo interrupted her story — not even rudely, just casually — she didn’t fall silent or shrink back. She finished her sentence calmly, firmly. Charles frowned a few times when she deflected a passive-aggressive comment from Pascale, but didn’t say anything.

And Arthur — Arthur, still bitter from his breakup — made a snide comment halfway through dessert about people thinking they know better than they do.

Isabelle didn’t flinch.

“I’d rather be the girl who tries too hard than the boy who gives up the moment something gets hard,” she said lightly, reaching for the espresso spoon.

The table went silent.

Charlotte coughed quietly.

Alexandra sipped her wine and tried very hard not to grin.

When the dishes were done and the conversation finally wound down, Isabelle hugged them all goodbye — even Arthur, who stiffly muttered something like an apology.

She left with her shoulders straight, that little bag swinging against her hip, and a quiet sort of confidence that Alexandra hadn’t seen before.

As they watched her disappear into the Monaco night, Charlotte leaned in, her voice low.

“Is it just me,” she asked softly, “or is she finally choosing herself?”

Alexandra smiled. “About damn time.”

Charlotte hesitated. “The bracelet?”

“And the bag,” Alexandra added.

“Think she bought them herself?”

Alexandra just hummed thoughtfully, eyes still on the door.

If she had to guess?

No.

***

The second Belle opened the front door, she smelled home.

Warm spice and something sweet from the candle he always lit when she was gone. The low hum of the dishwasher in the background. The quiet shuffle of paws on hardwood as one of the cats wandered toward her with a questioning meow.

And then she saw him.

Max was on the couch in sweatpants and a shirt, barefoot, hair still damp from a shower. He had a bowl of popcorn in his lap and was halfway through some racing docuseries, one hand absentmindedly scratching behind Lilly’s ears.

Belle didn’t speak.

Didn’t drop her bag.

Didn’t bother with hello.

She crossed the room in five fast steps, dropped straight into his lap, and kissed him like she meant to erase the entire Leclerc family from her memory.

Max made a startled sound against her mouth but caught her instinctively, one hand flying to her waist, the other slipping beneath the hem of her blouse as she pressed closer.

“Okay,” he managed when she let him breathe for a second, his voice already hoarse, “so I’m guessing dinner went well?”

Belle didn’t answer. She just kissed him again—hot, hungry, all teeth and frustration and fire. Her fingers tugged at the collar of his shirt, nails scraping lightly along his neck as she pressed herself more firmly into him.

Max groaned, tightening his grip. “Not that I’m complaining, schatje, but are you okay?”

“I am now,” Belle said, her voice low and breathless, and then kissed him again like she couldn’t get close enough.

Max let himself fall back against the couch, pulling her with him. “Want to talk about it?”

“Nope,” she said, her mouth trailing along his jaw. “Want to pretend it didn’t happen. Want to be here. Want you.”

Max didn’t need to be told twice.

He shifted them easily, her legs sliding to either side of his lap, his hands moving over her hips like he was grounding himself. Like she was something holy and he needed to memorize every part of her.

“You’re tense,” he murmured against her neck. “Your brothers being assholes again?”

Belle pulled back just long enough to look him in the eye. “They always are.”

He studied her face—her flushed cheeks, her messy hair, the faint crease in her brow she hadn’t even realized she was still wearing.

And then he kissed her—slower now, deeper. One hand cupped her jaw, the other settled over her heart.

“You’re home,” he whispered.

She nodded, eyes softening. “I know.”

“And here,” Max said, voice thick with something almost reverent, “you don’t have to carry anything.”

Belle exhaled shakily, her fingers curling into his hoodie.

“I don’t want to carry anything else tonight,” she said.

“Good,” Max murmured, kissing her again. “Then let me.”

She didn’t respond—not with words.

But her mouth found his again, and that was all the answer he needed.

Because whatever the world had thrown at her—judgment, silence, pressure—here, in his arms, she didn’t have to hold any of it alone.

Not ever again.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Victoria Verstappen

Max: hey

Victoria: Oh no. What did you break?

Max: Why does everyone assume I broke something?

Victoria: Because you're you. And also: “hey” is how you text when you’re about to be weird.

Max: not weird… serious actually

Victoria: Now I’m worried.

Max: I need advice

Victoria: What kind of advice? Relationship? Life? Skin care?

Max: engagement

Victoria: OH MY GOD

Max: stop yelling

Victoria: I AM NOT YELLING I AM CELEBRATING IS THIS REAL???

Max: I have the ring

Victoria: The ring??? You picked it already??? How did you not ask for my input?? I’m hurt.

Max: It's perfect. I promise. You’ll cry.

Victoria: Okay I forgive you. Now. What do you need help with?

Max: How do I actually do it?

Victoria: Max. You drive a car at 300km/h every weekend. And you’re scared of proposing?

Max: Yes, because Belle is not a race. She’s everything. 

Victoria: 😩🥹❤️ Victoria:  Okay. First of all: AWW.Victoria:  Second of all: good. You should be a little scared. It means you care.

Max: I want it to be quiet Not dramatic. But not like… just while brushing our teeth

Victoria: Well thank GOD you’re not proposing in the bathroom. Victoria:  Let’s set the bar higher than toothpaste and LED mirrors, yeah?

Max: I’m serious

Victoria: Okay, okay. What feels like her?

Max: Home. Cats. Candles. Soft things. Making fun of me while stealing fries off my plate.

Victoria: That’s the energy you need. Do it when she’s already glowing. When she feels safe. Maybe after dinner. Or one of your cozy nights in. You don’t need fireworks. You just need to mean it.

Max: I mean it so much it makes my chest hurt

Victoria: You sap 😭 I’m so proud of you.

Max: You think she’ll say yes?

Victoria: She’s been saying yes to you for a long time, Max. Victoria:  This is just the easy part.

Max: I want her to know it’s forever. Like really know it.

Victoria: Then tell her that. And if you cry, that’s okay too. Just not while holding the ring box. You’ll drop it.

Max: Should I tell mom?

Victoria: ABSOLUTELY NOT Victoria:  She’ll book a chapel and ten florists before you finish the sentence Victoria:  Tell her after. Or I’ll tell her for you.

Max: noted

Victoria: And Max?

Max: yeah?

Victoria: She’s already part of our family. Victoria:  But I can’t wait to call her my sister for real. Victoria:  Now go make it official, Romeo.

Max: thanks, Vic. love you

Victoria: Love you more. Victoria:  Now go be soft and romantic and terrifyingly in love, or whatever it is you’re doing. Victoria:  And text me the second she says yes. Or I’ll assume you passed out.

***

Nico Hulkenberg didn’t expect to run into Max Verstappen at a café.

He especially didn’t expect to run into that version of Max Verstappen.

It was a quiet weekday afternoon in Monaco, the kind of day where the sun was warm but not blistering, and the harbor breeze made everything feel like it was lifted straight out of a postcard.

Nico was sitting with his wife and daughter at a shaded café terrace—iced coffees, orange juice, tiny pastries. A good mood. A good day.

And then he heard a voice behind him.

Familiar. Low. Laughing.

Max?

He turned his head.

And there—across the terrace, half-tucked into a corner table beneath a bright umbrella—was Max Verstappen.

Wearing sunglasses. One arm slung lazily over the back of the chair next to him.

A chair that was currently occupied by a woman.

A very pretty, very familiar-looking woman.

Dark hair pulled back in a soft braid. Linen blouse, minimal makeup, sun-warmed skin. Laughing softly as she leaned in to steal a bite of Max’s croissant.

Max let her. Smiled at her, even.

Not a quick twitch of the mouth. A real smile. Soft. Stupid. The kind of smile Nico hadn’t seen on Max’s face since... ever?

And then it clicked.

Isabelle Leclerc.

Ferrari’s golden boy’s sister.

Nico blinked hard.

Max and Isabelle were sitting side by side, ridiculously cozy. She had one hand casually resting on his knee, and when the waiter brought a second iced tea, Max slid it toward her without even glancing down.

It was domestic. Intimate. The kind of casual comfort that didn’t happen overnight.

And Nico—who had known Max for years, had seen him at his most guarded and most cutting—felt like his brain short-circuited for a moment.

WHAT.

Max noticed him then.

Lifted his sunglasses just enough to meet Nico’s wide-eyed stare. And smirked.

Because of course he did.

Max nodded in acknowledgment, gave a little wave.

Nico stood, made some vague excuse to his wife, and walked over, trying not to look like he was entering a psychological thriller.

“Max,” he said slowly. “Hey.”

Max looked up, entirely unbothered. “Hey, mate.”

Isabelle turned, polite smile already in place. “Hi, Nico. It’s good to see you.”

“You too,” Nico said automatically, shaking her hand. “It’s been a while.”

“Monaco’s small,” she said with a shrug. “We figured it’d happen eventually.”

We.

WE.

Nico blinked at Max again. “So this is... a thing?”

Max just shrugged, arm still resting comfortably behind her. “Yeah.”

“Like a real thing?” Nico asked, unable to help himself.

Max raised an eyebrow. “What would you call brunch with your girlfriend?”

Nico turned to Isabelle. “Are you okay? Is he... being nice?”

Isabelle laughed. “He made me breakfast this morning. And fed the cats.”

Nico blinked. “You have cats?”

Max took a sip of his coffee. “Three.”

Three??

Nico stared. “How long has this been happening?”

Max tilted his head thoughtfully. “A while.”

Isabelle gave him a look and gently nudged his knee with hers.

Max sighed, as if put upon. “A year and a bit.”

“You have been dating Isabelle Leclerc for a year!?”

Max grinned. “You say that like it’s a scandal.”

“It kind of is! Does Charles know?!” Nico hissed. 

Max, meanwhile, was completely serene. “No. But there’s a group chat.”

Nico frowned. “What group chat?”

Max’s smirk deepened. “The one other drivers made when they found out. You know. The one they think I don’t know about.”

Isabelle elbowed him gently. “Don’t tease.”

“I’m not teasing. I’m offended I wasn’t invited,” Max said with mock gravity. “Oscar’s in it. Lando. Lewis. I’m told Daniel runs it like some form of reality tv series.”

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Nico muttered.

Max raised a brow. “You sound like Lando when he found out.”

“I am Lando right now,” Nico said, staring at Isabelle. “And you’re just...okay with this?”

Isabelle smiled sweetly. “He’s not that scary once you get to know him.”

Max leaned in and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “I’m charming.”

Nico blinked at them. Then sighed. “You’re telling me they all knew—before me?”

Isabelle looked genuinely apologetic. “Sorry. It wasn’t personal. We were just… keeping it quiet.”

“Quiet?” Nico echoed. “You just kissed her in a cafe in Monaco!”

Max just shrugged, looking entirely unbothered. “Yeah.”

Nico stared at them both for a long moment, then finally let out a breath and sat back in his chair. “Jesus. Charles is going to have an aneurysm.”

“We’re working on that,” Isabelle said dryly.

Nico blinked again, then started to laugh. He shook his head and raised his espresso in mock salute. “Good luck. To both of you.”

“Thanks,” Max said, and leaned over to press a quick, fond kiss to Isabelle’s temple. “But I don’t need luck.” Max glanced down at her, the smirk softening into something fond.

Nico blinked again.

“Okay,” he said faintly. “I need to sit down.”

Max just gave him a lazy thumbs-up. “Enjoy your pastries.”

***

Text Messages: Nico Hulkenberg & Daniel Ricciardo

Nico: DANIEL. WHAT. THE. FUCK.

Daniel: 👀 hello to you too, sunshine

Nico: I just saw Max. With a woman. At a café. IT WAS ISABELLE. ISABELLE LECLERC.

Daniel: OH MY GOD WE GOT ANOTHER ONE

Daniel: Nico. Nico buddy. I’m one of the founding members of the support group.

Nico: WHAT SUPPORT GROUP

Daniel: say less you’re coming with me

***

Group Chat: HELP ME

 (Members: Daniel Ricciardo, Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Lewis Hamilton, Carlos Sainz Jr., George Russell, Alex Albon and Nico Hulkenberg)

Daniel added Nico Hulkenberg to the group.

Lando: ANOTHER ONE HAS SEEN THE LIGHT

Alex: rip nico

Carlos: bienvenido al infierno

Lewis: welcome. please proceed to the panic corner

Nico H: You are all insane. How long has this been going on??

Lando: March 2023-ish?? It’s fuzzy. Like trauma memory.

George: We were so innocent once.

Daniel: So. How’d you find out?

Nico H: Café in Monaco. Saw them sharing a croissant. He called her his girlfriend. They have cats. He kissed her on the cheek like it was nothing.

Carlos: a casual public kiss?? he’s escalating

Nico H: They looked… happy. Like really happy. Max was smiling. LIKE. PROPERLY.

Oscar: it's disarming, right?

Nico: And he said you guys have a group chat that he “knows about”

Lewis: ...well shit

Daniel: he wasn’t supposed to know

Alex: he always knows

Carlos: i bet belle told him

Lando: Did you tell Charles?

Nico H: NO. Do I look suicidal?

Daniel: good answer

Carlos: we don’t tell Charles. that’s a rule.

Lewis: He finds out when the rest of Monaco does.

Nico: I need a drink.

Daniel: don’t worry you’ll get used to it Max + Belle = our collective emotional crisis but also the healthiest relationship in the paddock

Oscar: and she sends cookies sometimes

Lando: and fixes your interior lighting plan if you ask nicely

Nico: You’re all too comfortable with this

Daniel: you will be too in time

Nico: Okay, hold on. Just so I know how far down the rabbit hole I’ve fallen— Who else actually knows?

Carlos: good question

Lando: like… besides us?

Oscar: uh. I may have told Mark Webber at one point

Lando: YOU TOLD MARK WEBBER??

Oscar: HE ALREADY KNEW! I JUST ACCIDENTALLY CONFIRMED IT. 

Oscar: Apparently he and Coulthard had a bet? 

Lando: WHY DOES DC KNOW?!

Lewis: I told Seb.

Daniel: YOU WHAT

Lewis: I needed a sanity check!!

Carlos: that’s fair

Daniel: Okay. Great. Good. We’ve gone from “don’t tell Charles” to “this is a United Nations subcommittee.”

Alex: Max told me Nico Rosberg knows.

Lando: do we have a list???

Lewis: we NEED a list

George: Okay hold on. Running tally. People who know:

Lando

Oscar

Daniel

Carlos

Lewis

Alex

George

Nico Hulkenberg

Mark Webber

David Coulthard

Sebastian Vettel

Nico Rosberg

Daniel: …There is no way Checo doesn’t know. He’s literally Max’s teammate. 

Carlos: We should just invite them all in here at this point.

Daniel: Seb knows. Coulthard knows. Webber knows. We're three ex-Red Bulls away from summoning Christian Horner.

Oscar: Do we… invite them all?

Daniel: YES.

Daniel Ricciardo  has added Sebastian Vettel to the chat

Daniel Ricciardo  has added Mark Webber to the chat

Daniel Ricciardo  has added David Coulthard to the chat

Daniel Ricciardo  has added Nico Rosberg to the chat

Daniel Ricciardo  has added Sergio Perez to the chat

Sebastian Vettel: Hello everyone. Lewis told me. I love them. I’m emotionally invested. Carry on.

Lando: THE GOAT HAS SPOKEN

Daniel: Thanks for coming, Seb. We’re just trying to track how many people know about Max and Belle.

Sebastian: Oh. I told Kimi.

George: YOU WHAT

Alex: Oh my God.

Oscar: You told Kimi Räikkönen?

Sebastian: Yes. He said “Tell Max if he breaks her heart I’ll run him over with a snowmobile.” It was very moving.

Carlos: I believe this

Lewis: I… yeah that sounds about right

Sergio Pérez: WHY AM I HERE.

Daniel: Hey Checo! 😊

Checo: No. No, don’t smile at me like that. What the hell is this group.

Oscar: Support circle for drivers emotionally impacted by the Belle + Max reveal.

Alex: Also informal Charles Leclerc Early Warning System™

Checo: Absolutely not. I already know Max and secrets is a bad combination. I DON’T WANT TO BE HERE.

Lewis: Too late. Welcome. Take a seat. Don’t stand near Lando, he attracts chaos.

Mark: Fernando knows too. 

Daniel: Oh my god. He does, doesn’t he?

David: …yes.

Sebastian: This is better than any paddock meeting I’ve ever been in.

Nico H: This is a deeply cursed chat. I’m afraid to check my notifications.

Nico R: I told no one. I’m being so responsible.

Lewis: Shut up.

Nico R: You shut up. 

David: Can we add Kimi? For science?

Daniel Ricciardo  has added Fernando Alonso to the chat

Daniel Ricciardo  has added Kimi Raikkonen to the chat

Fernando: Hello. I have been expecting this.

Oscar: What do you MEAN you’ve been expecting this??

Fernando: They were inevitable. I saw it in her posture. And in his eyes.

Alex: WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN.

George: Is this… prophecy? Does he have prophecy powers?

Fernando: I am simply observant. You are all very slow.

Daniel: FERNANDO YOU HAVE BEEN SILENT THIS WHOLE TIME

Fernando: Some truths must reveal themselves on their own.

Carlos: Why are you the way you are

Lando: Please someone put that on a t-shirt

Daniel: He saw it “in her posture.” I’m losing it.

Kimi: Stop tagging me

Sebastian: Hi Kimi! 😊

Kimi: I already said what I had to say. If he hurts her I will deal with it.

Nico H: This is getting terrifying

Checo: This is already terrifying

Daniel: Okay okay okay, Let’s take stock

George: We’ve gone from “this is a small secret” to “seemingly every major F1 figure of the last decade is now here”

Oscar: And all of us are more stressed about Charles than Max himself

Mark: Charles is going to spontaneously combust

David: Honestly I’m surprised he hasn’t already

Alex: He’s probably still too busy thinking Lando is flirting with Belle over sprinkles

Lando: IT WAS A NORMAL CONVERSATION ABOUT ICE CREAM

Daniel: ...do we tell Christian?

Lando: NO.

Sebastian: Absolutely not.

Mark: God no.

Fernando: Let the chaos unfold naturally.

David: It’s already unfolding unnaturally

Oscar: Next person to find out gets added automatically?

Mark: Yes. It’s law now.

Carlos: So what happens when Charles finds out?

Lewis: The group chat will spontaneously combust.

Alex: Or evolve into a new form. Like a Pokémon.

George: HELP ME: FINAL BOSS EDITION

[inkinmyskinandsoul]

Many people may rightly say, “I had nothing to do with how this all started. I have nothing to do with the sins of the past. My ancestors never attacked indigenous people, never owned slaves." And, yes. Not one of us was here when this house was built. Our immediate ancestors may have had nothing to do with it, but here we are, the current occupants of a property with stress cracks and bowed walls and fissures built into the foundation. We are the heirs to whatever is right or wrong with it. We did not erect the uneven pillars or joists, but they are ours to deal with now.  

And any further deterioration is, in fact, on our hands.  

Unaddressed, the ruptures and diagonal cracks will not fix themselves. The toxins will not go away but, rather, will spread, leach, and mutate, as they already have. When people live in an old house, they come to adjust to the idiosyncrasies and outright dangers skulking in an old structure. They put buckets under a wet ceiling, prop up groaning floors, learn to step over that rotting wood tread in the staircase. The awkward become acceptable, and the unacceptable become merely inconvenient. Live with it long enough, and the unthinkable become normal. Exposed over the generations, we learn to believe that the incomprehensible is the way that life is supposed to be.

Isabel Wilkerson, Caste