#Weekend deep dives

[cringywhitedragon]

So I found an animator over the weekend by the name of Jo_sipu thanks to Manly’s playthrough of her game (TW: Don’t look up her videos if you can’t handle sensitive subjects)

And even as a person who’s usually squeamish to guts the lore’s actually pretty interesting.

Also for some reason “Night Surgeon” from Repo! The Genetic Opera fits pretty well for Balvine and Co (Or anything from the soundtrack. Don’t judge me =-=, I like musical soundtracks….)

[pencilofawesomeness]

I was so caught up in the euphoria of making shit up, I forgot I wasn't uncontested. Wild that canon exists and is ongoing. Wild.

[iknowshocker]

so chapter 25 is painful, your honor

Bonnie flinches back from the shadows of the cave, the sudden brush of cool water hitting her skin from the falls making goosebumps rise along her arms.

Next to her, Jo faces the waiting dark in silence, tears still streaming from her eyes, though she makes no move to scrub them away.

There's a strange stiffness to her body, each of her movements jagged and rough - as though she's fighting through the sensation of being turned to stone. Despite the fact that her switch has clearly been flipped back, an eerie sort of calm settles over her, another pulse of Kai’s magic spreading out from her pendant. 

It breaks the moment they round the corner into the main hall of the cave and see the body. 

Ric is on his knees beside Kai, one hand braced over his own ribs, the other tugging a charred stake from his brother-in-law's chest. His desiccated, unmoving, perfectly still chest - 

Jo’s hand slips from Bonnie’s as she flashes away, making Ric jump as she lands in the dirt across from him. The sound she makes as she looks down at her twin nearly sends Bonnie to her knees, her mind struggling to catch up as Jo’s fingers clench in the ruined fabric of Kai’s shirt. 

Magic howls through her blood, thrumming with the unbearable truth, but Bonnie pushes it away, shaking her head as she stumbles back. Even if it is real, it can't be permanent - Kai always has a plan.

If he's dead, then there must be a good reason.

[moonshynecybin]

what’s your take on franky/alex? where did this ship even come from?

franky and alex DOES have an origin point it is dr @baking-soda and @yekoc they experience many rpf prophetic visions that end up being pure characterization genius tbh... and i am hardly the person to come to for the franky/alex manifesto BUT. i think this is one of those rpf ships that is less about what how they have interacted irl in the literal sense (they were teammates in the lower classes though, which has a fun childhood sweethearts angle), and more about how their personalities and place within the broader "story" of motogp intersect, yknow? although i will say (and this is SO crucial for the irl drama of it all) that when franky had his bad accident during preseason at portimao last year and got LITERAL AMNESIA FROM HIS HEAD INJURY, it was the marquez brothers who got to him first, signaled for the medical staff, and put him in the recovery postion. and it just doenst get more high drama romance than that like literally. LITERALLYYYY

SO primarily i see it used as a vehicle to interrogate alex as the little brother of the most main-character-syndrome man alive who is mostly okay with that because marc is his best friend, but ALSO yearns for his own identity and independence while recognizing that marc is like. not interested in independence really at all. and feeling a little weird about that. and then he DOES carve out something for himself with franky and has to reckon with the sort of. extreme guilt and overwhelming wonder/excitement that comes with that while lowkey feeling like rotten scum because SO much of his life has been about marc in some way and this one thing is entirely free of him and he doesnt even feel like he can TELL marc this because franky is the original vr46 academy guy.... which is a fun way to dig into alex's whole deal for me like its about alex embracing being his own person (which he has done in little spurts irl, post marc injury and moving out recently come to mind. it is also crucial to me that i dont even think he really RESENTS marc) with his own wants and desires and life which is FUN ! like thats just a neat little character arc that giving him a bf fulfills, and then its also a way to explore franky as probably one of THE most like. well rounded and measured and friendliest (and TRAUMATIZED...) individuals off the motogp track (on track. much like alex. less so.) who is as such perhaps the perfect angsty romcom boyfriend for this specific scenario.... especially because the pics from when they were teammates are very cute !

[frozenambiguity]

The good news: my job is going great and I'm really excited. The bad news: I barely have any energy to write.

[savagebisand]

I'm actually starting to be of the opinion that nick is the more manipulative mastermind one out of the lot once he's suspicious or hurt enough which means Boston is in some serious dangerous waters and I can't wait to see him taste some of his own medicine right back. I was of the belief nick was going to just fall apart in Boston's scheming cunning hands before but it actually seems like he's going to use some of Bostons own tactics to put him in the uncomfortable position for once.

Something I've wondered since the trailer is that everyone eventually finds out about Boston and Top but how? Whose responsible for making Boston face those consequences? I think it genuinely might be Nick with Sands help. Which would also explain why nick is upset at sand for something he's done to Boston which makes nick feel "embarrassed" and sand is so angry when he tells nick that Boston is a shit person anyway. He clearly has the context Boston doesn't value anyone's feelings let alone nicks by next episode and that's only episode four. So what on earth is Boston going to have done by further down the line to nick that makes sand that upset?

I'm tempted to believe that because nick wants to play a long game with Boston after finding out about Top, he starts getting suckered in again and Sand, being Sand, isn't about to let that happen to his friend so he reminds Boston that nick is more inexperienced or something which causes nick to feel like he's lost a bit of the equal footing he's gained through sitting pretty and silent with Boston's manipulations to Boston's face but in reality doing things like bugging cars, snooping into his personal belongings etc. All that confidence nick has gained by being sly and now he feels stupid and inadequate again.

[killemwithkawaii]

At the library so i can actually focus on drawing/writing and I'm pleased to announce that MY DUCKIES ARE BACK!!!! 😭🦆🦆🦆💖

[hwas]

ok but i'm not even half way through ateez's discography and i'm annoyed that I didn't check them out sooner

[smittenkitteninbrittain]

No, no, Emmerdale didn't just hire a baby. The actors that played Jack (Robert's father) and Pat (Robert's mother that died within a year after Robert was born) were a couple in real life, made a baby in real life and I'm fairly sure THAT baby played Robert (as a baby at least). So yeah, Robert is meant to be on Emmerdale and you cannot convince me otherwise.

The "you don't belong here" from Paddy is WILD. He was literally born on the show. Emmerdale hired a baby and said "This is Robert Jacob Sugden"

[wavernot4love]

two days and counting until joy 2 the world night two musings: permanent pleasure fifth studio album from american indie pop band joywave from rochester new york great record ..... swimming in the glow Best song methinks ..... joywaveverse,,,, joyverse if you will,,, can you Hear me

[reitziluz]

hnnnnn i'm holding back --

guard of godwyn has a planetary electromagnetic field brooch. like. what's on radahn's swords etc, but simplified

beating the impulse to jump down the rabbit hole back with a rolled up newspaper

[lordsardine]

.

[citrisz]

[kamitv]

Saw a pottery video earlier and started thinking about Nanami and how he’d definitely take pottery classes just for fun.

You miraculously attend a class one weekend and meet him there, watching the way his thick fingers dive in and out of the clay over and over and over—secretly wishing that it was your cunt he was sinking those lengthy digits into.

The veins in his hand bulge with every firm press of his fingertips into the moist clay and lord knows your thoughts are everywhere else except for the instructions he’s giving you.

Even when you work on the same item as him and as he guides your noticeably smaller fingers against the steadily molding clay, you can’t keep the erotic thoughts out.

He’d be right there, practically in your ear, hushing out a low, “Juuust like that sweetheart, right there.” In that sexy deep baritone voice of his.

If you weren’t squeezing your legs together before, you damn sure are now.

Hours in and you swore he was doing it on purpose, slipping his smoothly surfaced fingers in between yours and forcing you to curl your digits against the clay as he teased you with his words, “Feel right here? This spot’s important,” You don’t know a damn thing about clay or pottery but you’re pretty sure there’s no reason for him to be speaking like that over some weathered rock.

“Dig in there nice ‘n deep,” Nanami hums right against the shell of your ear. You can feel his hot breath tickling your skin and your lips part to let out an all too lustful breath of air.

Even while he was correcting something you did wrong, your mind was spinning. He’d ease your hands out and whisper yet again, “Not like that, watch me.” Nanami would instruct, tipping his head to the side to find your eyes and watch you watch his hands.

It’s definitely purposeful the way he slides only his middle and ring finger against the wet clay in a downward motion. Then he’s talking again and you’re soaked. “Like this. In and out, sweetheart. Carefully and slowly. Wouldn’t want it to break, would you?” Each word is dripping with a husked tone that makes your legs glue together.

And when he leans in even closer, your breath noticeable hitches. “I’m gonna need an answer from those pretty lips,” He hushes out, voice barely above a whisper.

It’s like it was only you and him in the room—despite there being many other people with their prospective partners or teachers.

Your lips are shaky as they part, “N-No, I-“

“Look at me,” He orders.

Your spine stiffens and your eyes flick up to meet his, only for your lashes to flutter as if to mask the heat that overcomes your flustered expression.

Nanami gives you a kind smile, “There she is. Now, what was that? I couldn’t hear you, you’ll have to speak up a bit for me, pretty girl.”

Your heart clearly wants to jump out of your chest at the intimate eye contact he’s giving you and his gentle words. All as his fingers still dig in and out of the nearby clay. Clearing your throat, you shake your head, “I was s-saying no, I don’t want it to break.”

He nods at your every word and you swear his eyes linger on the outline of your lips far longer than they should be. “Mhm, exactly. Now try again for me.” Nanami requests.

You swallow the lump in your throat and move your hands over to the clay once more. Your entire body feels hot and you pretty much lose your mind when he slides closer to you.

“Careful with the tip, it’s sensitive,” He whispers directly into your ear. Truth be told, he was referring the the edges of what seems to be a small pot forming but, that didn’t matter to you at the moment.

You nod again, ��Sorry.”

He hums quietly to acknowledge your little apology and then his hands cup yours again, molding your fingers to almost sensually slide in and out of the forming pot.

Nanami’s lips graze your ear this time and you sigh a little too heavily. “She’ll be set out to dry later but, listen to how wet she is. It’s almost lewd.” He purrs, making your lashes bat at the way he refers to the pot as she instead of an it.

“N-Nanami, I don’t think—“

“Kento,” He corrects, “You can call me Kento.”

You gulp, “Are you-, are we still uhm, talking about pottery?”

The man lets out a low chuckle and he shakes his head, “What else could I be talking about that’s wet and makes lewd noises when you touch it? Hm?”

Oh he’s such a fucking tease.

“N-Nothing, sorry.” Lord knows if you stutter one more time you’re going to lose your damn mind. This is just embarrassing at this point.

“Are you sure?” He presses on, forcing your fingers deeper into the pot ahead. “Because if there’s something else you’d like to talk to me about, I’m all ears.”

Your face is burning. “No. There’s nothing else,” You try to mask your nervousness through words spoken without a stutter but the slight shake in your tone wasn’t helping much.

Nanami hums deeply, the sound vibrating against his throat. “Mmmh, but there is, isn’t there?” He points out, dropping his voice even lower as he moves his lips against your ear again, “Every time I open my mouth, your thighs clench together. Something tells me this soon-to-be pot isn’t the only thing wet right now.”

“I, uhm…” You sigh, “I—“

“It’s okay, I know these sessions can be quite arousing, pretty girl.” Nanami talks to you so quietly and gently, like he’s known what he’s been doing since the start.

“I’m not-, uh,” All you can do is sigh and try to control the constant pulsing in between your legs.

You feel him smile against the shell of your ear before he utters, “Just admit it, you’re soaked.”

How could you not be? Especially when he talks to you like that. “I…”

“Say it for me.” Nanami urges, “I promise I’ll help you after this if you admit it.”

You’ve never admitted to something faster in your life, “O-Okay, fine. Yeah, I am…”

Nanami’s fingers sensually slip against yours, “Good girl.” He hums. You’re so fucked. “See? Was that so hard?” He asks rhetorically, “Now, once we finish with this, I’ll be sure that you do as well.”

All you can do is nod blankly, “Okay…” Then a moment passes as his word truly sink in and you realize what he meant. “Wait, what—“

[cressidagrey]

White Horse - Chapter 34: October 2024 - Part 1

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Isabelle Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

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

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

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

Warnings and Notes: 

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

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

It started with Max googling “how to swaddle a newborn.”

Which led to YouTube.

Which led to a deep dive into baby vlogs.

Which somehow landed on a video titled “Our Baby’s Christening (ft. emotional godparent reveal!!)”

Max blinked at the thumbnail. “Do we have to do that?”

Belle, curled sideways on the couch with a pregnancy pillow squashed under one knee, looked up from her book. “What? Swaddle? We should probably learn that, yeah.”

“No,” Max said. He pointed at the screen. “The christening.”

She tilted her head, expression unreadable. “Ah. Right. That.”

Max paused the video and turned toward her. “You want one?”

Belle let out a breath. “My grandmother would probably claw her way out of the grave and personally haunt me if we didn’t.”

He snorted.

“I’m serious,” she added. “She made Maman promise we���d all be christened Catholic, and that our children would be too. I think the woman crossed herself more than she blinked. She literally sewed crosses into every one of Charles’ race suits.”

Max laughed again — but softer this time. “Okay. So… we do it?”

Belle gave a small nod. “I’d like to. If that’s okay with you.”

He reached for her hand without hesitation. “If it matters to you, it matters to me.”

She squeezed his fingers, then added, “But no vlog. No TikTok trend. No godparent cupcakes. That’s where I draw the line.”

“Noted,” Max grinned. “Subtle drama only.”

They were quiet for a beat, and then Belle said, without looking at him, “I want Emilie to be the godmother.”

Max didn’t even blink. “Obviously. She’ll be both protective and terrifying.”

Another pause.

“Do you know who you want?” Belle asked, quieter now.

He nodded slowly. “GP.”

Belle looked at him, eyebrows raised. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Max shifted slightly, his voice gentler now. “He’s been there for every moment that mattered. He’s steady. He’s smart. He puts up with me.”

She smiled. “That last one should qualify him for sainthood.”

Also Max, after a beat: “Plus, he’s Italian. He has a terrifying Catholic grandmother of his own. He’ll understand the stakes.”

Belle burst out laughing.

“Are you saying he’ll bring his own incense?”

“I’m saying he’s probably been guilted into mass more times than he can count. He knows the drill. He’ll kneel on command.”

Belle was still giggling as she wiped her eyes. “God, that’s perfect.”

“Exactly,” Max said, grinning. “Emilie and GP. Chaos and calm. Fire and structure.”

“They’ll balance each other out,” Belle said softly.

“Yeah,” Max agreed, smiling as he glanced down at her belly. “I think he’ll need that.”

***

Leclerc Brothers Group Chat

(Members: Arthur, Charles and Lorenzo)

Charles: ok we need to talk we cannot mess this up

Arthur: bonjour to you too what is the emergency now

Charles: the baby shower, Arthur Belle’s baby shower the baby is coming in like. weeks we have to get her something meaningful something GOOD like heart-wrenching

Arthur: You’re only saying that because you forgot it’s this weekend

Charles: I did NOT forget. I just didn’t realise it was THIS weekend.

Lorenzo: You’re panicking again. This is worse than the time you tried to write your own Christmas card and cried at the word “warmth.”

Arthur: “with all the warmth of a snowy heart” 💀

Charles: SHUT UP both of you I’m being serious this is our sister’s first baby and I wasn’t the best brother for a long time but I am trying now and we CANNOT show up with like. A teddy bear and a shrug

how do we say “we love you and we’re trying and sorry we were trash for so long but now we want to be the kind of uncles that get called first before any emergency”

Arthur: ok ok calm down we won’t get her a shrug I was thinking maybe like… custom baby shoes?

Charles: how is a baby supposed to know they’re custom?? that’s just for Instagram!

Lorenzo: that is not a gift. that’s just emotional damage control. we need to get her something ACTUALLY USEFUL

Charles: ok mr tax accountant what’s “actually useful” for a baby?? diapers??

Arthur: baby monitor white noise machine one of those things that stops the baby from eating electrical cords

Lorenzo: you just googled that didn’t you

Arthur: shut up i’m TRYING

Charles: can we please just buy something cute and emotional?? like a tiny ferrari onesie??

Lorenzo: absolutely not do you want Max to fight us in the parking lot

Lorenzo: Okay then, what do you want? A monogrammed bassinet? A tiny race suit with Verstappen on the back?

Charles: you are making it WORSE I want something that says “I love you and I see you and I’m sorry for every birthday I missed and also your child will be so loved he’ll never doubt it for a second”

Arthur: so a card?

Charles: arthur i will drive to your apartment and throw a diaper at your head

Lorenzo: we could put together a basket things for her. not just the baby. like pampering stuff??

Charles: like bath salts??? she’s not allowed hot baths isn’t that a pregnancy thing

Arthur: ok so NOT that what about like a robe. nice robe. soft. hug-adjacent.

Lorenzo: robe fuzzy socks giant water bottle snacks that Max isn’t allowed to touch

Arthur: gift card for foot massage???

Charles: matching pyjamas for her and the baby 😭😭😭😭

Lorenzo: now you’re crying aren’t you

Charles: OF COURSE I AM SHE’S GROWING A WHOLE PERSON

Lorenzo: yes done group letter, gift basket, and we each pick one thing for the baby too

Charles: dibs on tiny hat

Arthur: dibs on bedtime book. i’m starting his library.

Lorenzo: i’ll sort the blanket. cashmere. he deserves cashmere.

Charles: guys we’re going to be uncles 😭😭😭

***

Belle hadn’t meant to fall in love with that stroller.

It wasn’t even on the list. She’d made a list — a sensible one, full of safety reviews and budget considerations and real-world feedback from exhausted parents online. The plan was to look at a few models, ask questions, keep it practical.

She had not planned to stand in the middle of the baby store cradling the handlebar of a €1,500 dutch-engineered stroller that folded with one hand and rolled like a dream, her heart inexplicably full.

It was beautiful.

Matte black. Compact. Sleek enough to look like it belonged on a Formula 1 grid. The kind of stroller that could survive cobblestones and airport chaos and whatever post-apocalyptic terrain a toddler might drag it through.

But it was also—

Ridiculous.

Belle let go of the handle and stepped back quickly, like maybe that would dull the sting of wanting something so wildly over-the-top. She turned toward the more modest display beside it.

“This one’s nice too,” she said, gesturing vaguely at a midrange model. “The safety ratings are almost identical and the basket is bigger. It’s more—reasonable.”

Max didn’t answer immediately. She could feel him behind her, that quiet hum of attention he always gave her even when he wasn’t saying a word.

“Schatje.”

She turned. He was still standing by the expensive stroller, one hand on the handle, frowning slightly.

“You like this one.”

“I mean, yes,” she said quickly. “But we don’t need it. It’s just—it’s a stroller, Max. It’s wheels and a seat and—honestly the cheaper one is probably better for the city anyway.”

He tilted his head. “Do you like it?”

“Max—”

“Do you like this one?” he repeated, quietly.

Belle hesitated. Then nodded, almost sheepish. “Yeah. I do. It’s stupid, I know. It’s just—smooth. And quiet. And it folds up in one hand and looks like a spaceship and I kind of imagined walking him around the paddock in it.”

Max’s mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile too hard. He looked at the stroller again. Gave it a slight push. It rolled half a metre in near-silence.

“You’re right,” he said. “It does look like a spaceship. I like it.”

Belle crossed her arms. “That doesn’t mean we should spend—”

“I’m not looking at the price tag,” Max said gently. “I’m looking at you.”

She blinked.

“You’re trying to downplay how much you want this,” he said, stepping closer. “Because you think it’s too much. Too expensive. Too...extra. But Belle—” His voice softened further. “You’re growing our child. You can have the spaceship stroller.”

She looked down, a little overwhelmed. “I just don’t want to be stupid about money.”

“You’re not stupid,” Max said. “You’re thoughtful. And kind. And responsible. And if the only irrational thing you do this year is fall in love with a stroller that turns like a kart, then I think we’re doing pretty well.”

Belle laughed — a short, breathless sound that cracked under the emotion welling in her throat.

“Besides,” Max added with a sly grin, “I’ve seen the way you push shopping carts. You deserve a machine with proper steering.”

She rolled her eyes and wiped at the corner of one, now-damp eye. “You’re not helping.”

“I’m absolutely helping,” he said, pulling her into a hug. “We’re getting this one. And we’ll find the car seat with the same level of unnecessarily perfect suspension while we’re at it.”

Belle rested her head against his chest for a moment, letting herself breathe.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

“Don’t thank me,” Max murmured. “You’re the one doing the hard part. I’m just here to carry boxes and make you laugh.”

She stepped back and looked at the stroller again — really looked at it. “Alright. We’ll take it.”

Max turned to the sales assistant. “Hi, yes, we’ll take this one. And whichever car seat she points to next, no questions asked.”

The assistant blinked. “Um. Do you want to see the matching bassinet—?”

“She wants it.”

“I do,” Belle admitted.

“Then we want it too.”

And that was that.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Gianpiero Lambiase

Max: you had a kid right?

GP: …yes why? what did you do

Max: nothing?? yet i just have a question

GP: go on

Max:

what’s the one thing you didn’t think you’d need for the baby

but you absolutely needed

GP: Oh. Hands down? The snot sucker.

Max: the WHAT

GP: The little vacuum thing that pulls snot out of their nose. You’ll think it’s disgusting. You’ll use it at 2am during a cold and swear it’s the greatest invention since DRS.

Max: 😭😭😭😭😭

GP: Also:

A white noise machine that doesn’t sound like an airplane

About 30 burp cloths

Nappy cream that costs more than you think it should

Somewhere to put the baby when you both need your hands free and he’s awake and plotting chaos

Max: ok writing all this down you’re like the FIA of fatherhood

GP: Don’t make me enforce a penalty for incorrect swaddling.

***

Group Chat: HELP ME

(Members: Daniel Ricciardo, Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Lewis Hamilton, Carlos Sainz Jr., George Russell, Alex Albon, Nico Hülkenberg, Nico Rosberg, Sebastian Vettel, Mark Webber, David Coulthard, Sergio Pérez, Fernando Alonso, Kimi Räikkönen, Zhou Guanyu, Logan Sargeant, Esteban Ocon, Lance Stroll, Valtteri Bottas, Pierre Gasly and Yuki Tsunoda)

Alex: any news from max + belle land? baby update?? does the baby have eyebrows yet??

Pierre: what kind of question is “does the baby  have eyebrows yet”

Oscar: technically not the worst question asked in this chat

George: …so? anything new?

Lando: not really?? they’re chill max is full dad mode already and Emilie is planning this jungle baby shower thing with victoria and it’s kind of elite actually—

George: Baby SHOWER??? EXCUSE ME??

Carlos: I wasn’t invited. Were you invited??

Lewis: …there’s a baby shower?

Fernando: What is a baby shower and is there alcohol

Lando: i didn’t say when it was or where or if it’s happening at all could be a metaphorical shower

Sebastian: There’s nothing metaphorical about you being the worst secret keeper on the grid.

Alex: Can someone confirm: is this a real event is there a dress code do I need to bring a onesie

Pierre: I WILL BRING A ONESIE

Yuki: I AM LEARNING TO BAKE COOKIES CAN I COME

David: Are we seriously doing this. Are we all going to Max’s house with pastel cupcakes and nappy cakes.

Mark: I’ve RSVP’d emotionally and spiritually. When’s the flight.

Oscar: Guys. There is a guest list…

Sergio: too late. i’m already designing a balloon arch.

George: Do we need a theme? Should I coordinate my shirt? What if there’s a group photo?

Fernando: I repeat: will there be alcohol.

Valtteri: I’ll bring gin.

Zhou: I’ll bring matching baby sneakers and also a mini car seat in Ferrari red 😌

Nico R.: As a father  I consider it my duty to attend and to offer unsolicited stroller advice

Esteban: What do babies want though?? Do they want socks? A small hat? A tiny car??

Sebastian: They want love. And safe sleep environments. And emotionally intelligent parenting. Also probably a stuffed turtle.

Lewis: i already have three gift ideas none of them are practical all of them are fabulous

Fernando: does anyone know if there’s a registry

Lance:  wait so we’re all invited???

Lando: no one’s invited i literally JUST said that

Alex: so it’s like a stealth party and we’re the chaos agents

Nico H. : i refuse to be left out i am exceptional at baby showers

Sebastian: what does that mean

Nico H: don’t worry about it

***

Text Messages: Lando Norris & Emilie Abadie

Lando: hi hey hello

Lando: please don’t kill me but like hypothetically how flexible is your headcount for the baby shower

Emilie: … what did you do

Lando: ok so someone asked if there was any news about max and belle and the baby and i said no not really and then i MAY have mentioned the shower and the jungle theme and victoria’s iced coffee and now i think there might be 30 more people coming?

Emilie: THIRTY?1?

Lando: it was accidental!!! they asked!!! i panicked and told the truth like a GOOD PERSON

Emilie: you are not a good person you’re a flight risk in high tops

Lando: accurate but like harmless??

Emilie: you told Fernando Alonso there’s a baby shower do you know what kind of unhinged energy that man brings to a jungle-themed event

Lando: to be fair he’s bringing his own wine

Emilie: EXACTLY. that’s not comforting. that’s alarming.

Lando: i’ll help i’ll bring chairs i’ll build the balloon arch i’ll inflate things

Emilie: you’re already inflating this situation

Lando: i’m sorry 😭😭😭 can i at least bring the mochi yuki found

Emilie: yes but you’re on damage control duty

Lando: fair 🫡

***

Belle looked tired.

Not the kind of tired Emilie was used to seeing on her — not the jet lagged, I’ve-been-working-until-3AM-on-a-pitch tired. This was slower. Deeper. A quiet sort of exhaustion that lived in her shoulders now, settled into the lines under her eyes and the cautious way she moved around the apartment.

Still, she looked happy. Different. Softer, in some ways. Sharper, in others. Like becoming someone’s mother had rearranged something fundamental in her bones.

Emilie watched her from the couch, flipping through a book of baby names that had no business being as long as it was.

“I’m vetoing anything that ends in ‘-aden,’ by the way,” she announced, drawing her finger down the page. “Caden, Braden, Jaden—no child of yours is going to sound like a forgotten High School Musical extra.”

Belle gave her a look — dry, affectionate. “You’re not even on the naming committee.”

“I’m your best friend,” Emilie replied. “I am the committee.”

Belle laughed — quietly, with the kind of smile she used to have before everything got complicated. Before the distance and the silence from her brothers. Before therapy sessions and phone calls that never came.

And then, suddenly, her expression shifted. Her hand slid to rest over her belly — protective, thoughtful — and she looked up.

“I wanted to ask you something.”

Emilie straightened. “Everything okay?”

Belle nodded. “Yeah. Just…”

Her voice faltered slightly.

Emilie felt the weight of it before she even heard the words.

“I’ve been thinking about… about the kind of people I want in his life. And I realized… it’s always been you. It was always going to be you.”

“Belle—?”

“I want you to be his godmother.”

The air seemed to still around them.

It hit Emilie square in the chest — that kind of quiet statement that felt like it split the world into before and after.

She blinked.

“Me?” she said, and hated how her voice cracked. “You want me?”

“You’ve been my person since before I knew how to fight for myself,” Belle said. “And you’ve never let me forget who I am, even when I wanted to. You’ve seen all the ugly and stayed. You’ve been my mirror and my sword and my sister in everything but blood. And now…”

She looked down, one hand covering her belly.

“…I want him to have you, too.”

Emilie didn’t trust herself to speak.

So she didn’t.

She just set the book down, crossed the room, and knelt next to Belle. Her palm flattened instinctively over the small swell of Belle’s belly, the other hand reaching for hers.

“I would be honoured,” she said, her throat tight. “And I swear to you, Belle—no matter what happens, I will always be in his corner.”

Belle let out a breath, smiling even as her eyes welled up. “Thank god. Because Max chose GP and I need someone to balance out the Italian Catholic chaos.”

That made Emilie snort, even through the emotion. “Oh god. That poor child’s christening is going to be like a Formula 1 team meeting with incense.”

They both laughed — the kind of laugh that felt like coming up for air.

And as Emilie rested her head lightly against Belle’s shoulder, she felt it.

A tiny kick beneath her hand.

A life.

A future.

And the unwavering, unquestionable knowledge: this baby was hers too, in every way that mattered.

***

***

Belle had suspected something was off the moment Emilie told her to wear something cute, but not too cute, but maybe something with a bit of jungle energy, but also neutral enough for casual lunch dining.

That sentence had seventeen warning signs in it.

But she hadn’t pressed.

Mostly because she was tired. And pregnant. And when she asked Max if he thought Emilie and Lando were acting weird lately, he just blinked at her and said, “They are always weird.”

Fair point.

So she’d put on a soft green wrap dress, pulled her hair into a loose braid, and let Max drive them to Overture, the place of their first date and wedding reception, that always looked like a painting.

“Maybe they just want to feed us,” Max had offered helpfully on the way there. “You’ve been craving that fancy tomato salad.”

Belle had narrowed her eyes. “You remembered my craving down to the exact vegetable.”

Max had shrugged. “Your cravings have a rota. It’s tomato week.”

And she’d laughed, because of course they’d made it a routine. That’s what they did—weathered things by naming them. Max kept track of her cravings like he kept track of tire degradation. Belle loved him for it more than she could ever say.

But still.

Something felt off.

Belle should’ve known something was up when Lando was on time.

Not just on time—early. Waiting outside Overture in a pressed shirt that he hadn’t spilled anything on yet, sunglasses perched in his hair, hands suspiciously empty.

Max parked the car beside him and narrowed his eyes instantly. “He’s being too still.”

Belle smothered a smile. “Maybe he’s maturing.”

“I’ve met Lando,” Max said. “That’s not maturity. That’s guilt.”

He had a point.

Lando spotted them and waved a little too enthusiastically. “Hi! Hello! You look so normal and unsuspecting!”

Belle blinked. “…What?”

“Nothing. I mean—nothing,” Lando added quickly. “Just. Great weather for… lunch. With friends. And not… other things.”

Max gave her a look that clearly read: he’s blown something up, hasn’t he?

“Where’s Emilie?” Belle asked, shifting slightly in the passenger seat. At 7 months pregnant, shifting at all required strategic maneuvering, and the sudden hush in Lando’s tone was not encouraging.

“She’s inside. Setting up—I mean—sitting down. Already. For… soup.”

“…Soup?”

“Yup!” Lando opened her door with the exaggerated cheer of someone trying very hard to pretend everything was fine. “Come on, let’s go. I hear the risotto is life-changing.”

Belle stepped out slowly, one hand on Max’s for balance, her other resting instinctively on the curve of her stomach. Max grabbed her hand and gave Lando one last suspicious squint.

“If there’s a marching band in there,” he muttered, “I’m turning around.”

***

Belle took three steps into the restaurant and immediately knew.

It was the flowers, first—bright tropical blooms clustered around a jungle of greenery and gold balloons. Then the smell of cinnamon and vanilla from the table in the corner. Then the sound of someone shushing someone else behind the doors to the private terrace.

Then—

“SURPRISE!”

A chorus of 40+ voices hit her all at once.

Belle stopped breathing.

For a second, all she could do was blink at the explosion of green and gold. Banners that said A LITTLE WILD ONE IS ON THE WAY. Monkeys hanging from paper vines. A table stacked with animal-shaped cookies,  Donuts and baby books.

And then—the faces.

Victoria. Emilie. Max’s parents. Her mother (gasping into a tissue). Half the Grid. Half the WAGs. GP and his wife. Oscar and Lily waving beside a massive jungle-themed cake. Sebastian Vettel in a pastel button-up. Mark Webber next to him. Yuki Tsunoda in a lion costume for some unknown reason. 

And Max—

Max was frozen beside her, eyes wide, expression somewhere between awe and mild existential terror.

“I knew it,” he muttered. “Lando can’t be trusted.”

Belle turned in stunned, slow motion toward Emilie, who was beaming.

“You knew,” Belle breathed.

Emilie looked smug. “Of course I knew. You would’ve cancelled if I’d told you.”

“I—” Belle looked around again. The room swam a little. “This is so much.”

“Exactly,” Emilie said. “Because you deserve everything.”

Belle opened her mouth. Closed it. And then did the most Belle thing possible: started crying.

“Oh no,” Victoria said, bustling over with a fan. “We made her cry already. You owe me five euros, Emilie.”

Max stepped forward instinctively, hand warm on her lower back, his other hand taking hers.

“You okay?” he asked, voice quiet, leaning in.

Belle nodded, overwhelmed and luminous. “Did you know?”

“Absolutely not,” he said.

Yuki trotted up in his lion onesie, holding out a tray. “Mini mochi? I made it.”

Belle laughed, finally—soft and loud at the same time.

There were flowers on every table. Jungle leaves woven into centerpieces. A hand-painted sign that said Little Wild Thing under a tiny Formula 1 flag. Max’s eyes were full of disbelief and something almost like panic, and yet—

He looked at Belle.

At the way she brought his hand to her belly. At the way her face broke open with joy she hadn’t prepared for.

And he melted.

“Okay,” Max murmured. “I think I get it now.”

Belle turned toward him. “Get what?”

“This,” he said. “All of it. He’s already so loved  loved.”

She looked around the garden again. At the friends. The family. The absurd decorations. The stupid jungle soundtrack someone had snuck into the speaker system. The paper racing bibs. The absolute chaos of it.

Then she looked at him.

And smiled. “Yeah. He really is.”

Her mother approached with a trembling smile. Charles was filming the decor like a proud brother. Lorenzo handed her a lemonade and kissed the top of her head like she was still ten years old.

And Belle—

Belle looked around the room at the people who had gathered, the people who stayed, and felt something settle deep in her chest.

Not just love.

Belonging.

“You planned all this?” she asked Emilie, voice thick.

Emilie grinned. “With a little help.”

***

Charles wasn’t prepared.

Not for the decorations (someone (he suspected Alex) had arranged a stuffed orangutan to dangle dramatically off a trellis.), not for the sheer number of people present (nearly the whole grid? really?), and certainly not for the sight of his baby sister glowing in the center of it all.

Belle stood surrounded by balloons and laughter and the kind of joy that fills a room without needing to shout. She wore a soft green dress that curved around her bump, her hair twisted up with a little gold leaf pin Charles was almost certain Max had chosen for her. Her cheeks were pink from laughing, not crying—though she’d done a bit of that too when she first walked in and realized what had been done in her name.

He’d never seen her like this before.

Comfortable. Radiant. At home.

And what truly stunned him was that everyone else seemed to have always known this version of her.

He watched from near the drinks table, cradling a lemonade someone had thrust into his hand, as Belle greeted Max’s mother and kissed both her cheeks. Belle smiled, not shyly, but easily, her hand resting on her belly like it belonged there. Like she had nothing to prove.

When did that happen? Charles thought, swallowing hard.

She used to shrink at family parties. Fade into corners. She used to hover near the kitchen while the rest of them celebrated.

Now—people gravitated to her.

He spotted Victoria Verstappen nearby, fussing over the dessert table, muttering about fondant leaves. Emilie, supervising like a general. And just to Belle’s left, Max hovered with a protective ease that would’ve startled Charles if he hadn’t already spent the last few months watching them gradually orbit closer and closer to something unshakable.

Max touched the small of Belle’s back when someone came too close. Whispered something in her ear that made her laugh. Charles felt a flicker of something bitter-sweet crawl into his throat.

And then—Jos appeared.

Charles froze. Reflex, mostly.

But Jos wasn’t the same stormfront Charles remembered from Max’s early years. The man who now stepped into Belle’s space was… soft. Not smiling, not exactly—but his eyes were kind. His voice quiet.

He said something to her in Dutch. Belle laughed, eyes bright. Jos nodded once, then—stunningly—reached forward and tucked a loose piece of hair behind her ear.

Charles stared.

Jos Verstappen had never been gentle in his life.

And yet here he was, touching Belle like she was something rare and breakable and deeply his. Like family.

That realization knocked something loose in Charles.

Max’s family didn’t just tolerate her. They adored her. They saw her.

And Belle, for the first time in her life, didn’t have to shrink to fit into someone else’s frame. She had carved out a space entirely her own, and filled it with people who loved her without question.

Even Oscar.

Charles’s gaze shifted to where Oscar Piastri stood off to the side, casually handing Belle a leomnade as if it were a normal occurrence. Belle accepted it with a soft smile, and Oscar returned it.

Charles had known Oscar for years. Calm. Steady. Brilliant under pressure.

But now he watched the younger man hover near Belle like a devoted shadow. Not obtrusive. Not obvious. Just quietly, deeply loyal. Like if Belle so much as tripped, he’d catch her before Max even turned around.

And Charles realized something else then.

Max wasn’t the only one who would fight for her.

She had a battalion now.

Loving, chaotic, fiercely loyal people who had chosen her again and again, even when her own brothers hadn’t seen her fully. Charles felt shame, but also something softer curling beneath it.

Hope.

Maybe it wasn’t too late.

He took a sip of lemonade. Let the noise wash over him. And quietly, for the first time in a long time, he said a silent thank-you—to Max, to Emilie, to the whole wild circle Belle had built around herself.

Because she was safe now.

Loved.

Home.

And Charles, standing just a little outside of it all, knew: he would spend the rest of his life earning his way back in.

***

Belle was already emotionally compromised before the gifts started.

She had made it through the surprise. The jungle theme. The personalized cookies shaped like lions and giraffes.

She’d smiled through it all — grateful, overwhelmed, but holding it together.

But the gift-giving?

That was where she started to unravel.

Lando was in charge of “gift passing.” A job he had appointed himself for no reason other than chaos.

“I HAVE GIFTED EXCELLENCE,” Daniel Ricciardo declared, swaggering toward her with an obnoxiously large gift bag patterned with racing flags and glitter. “You’re welcome in advance.”

Belle gave him a look of wary affection. “Do I want to know?”

He grinned, clearly thrilled with himself.

Inside the bag: a series of baby onesies, each printed with increasingly absurd slogans:

DRS = Diaper Release System

My First Sector Time

Rookie of the Year

My Other Stroller is the RB19

Belle laughed so hard she nearly knocked over her lemonade.

“Danny,” she wheezed, holding up the ‘Mini Verstappen, Maximum Chaos’ onesie, “this one might start a diplomatic incident.”

“I can live with that,” he said proudly, then pulled her into a careful hug. “Love you, Mama Verstappen.”

Oscar followed next with a sheepish smile and a much softer gift: a plush stuffed koala wearing a tiny Red Bull cap, which he presented with all the ceremony of someone handing over a national treasure. Lily leaned against him and added, “It’s not just cute. He has a little eucalyptus oil pouch inside. Calming. Baby aromatherapy.”

“I love him already,” Belle said, hugging it. “The koala, not Oscar.”

Oscar pouted. “You’re hormonal and cruel.”

Then Lando handed her the next box. No wild wrapping this time — just brown paper and twine.

“This one’s from GP and Eloisa,” he said, much softer than before. “No theme. No chaos. It’s… you’ll see.”

Belle blinked.

Across the room, GP , who had been lingering at the edge of the crowd like a seasoned tactician avoiding a PR camera — stepped forward with his wife beside him. Eloisa smiled, warm and gentle.

Belle sat a little straighter, suddenly nervous.

GP didn’t smile, not fully. But his eyes were soft, his voice steady.

“It’s not flashy,” he said. “But we thought it might be… the sort of thing you don’t realize you need until you have it.”

She peeled back the paper carefully. Inside was a leather-bound journal, thick and soft and already a little worn, like it had been handled just enough to feel like home. Tucked into the front pocket were three pens — dark blue, capped, nothing fancy.

Max went still beside her.

Belle opened to the first page. There, in looping handwriting—Eloisa’s, she thought—was a note:

Write it all down — the moments you’ll swear you’ll remember and still forget.

The 3am feedings. The accidental laughter. The time he sneezed and terrified himself.

Every version of love.

Her breath hitched.

She flipped to the inside cover and found a second note, written in GP’s unmistakable, efficient scrawl:

Max, you’ve driven through worse nights than these.

But these will be the ones that matter.

Keep track.

– GP.

Belle’s throat burned.

GP glanced down at the baby bump, his voice lower now. “I’ve known Max through every version of his life. Debut Max. Angry Max. World Champion Max. But this…”

He looked back up.

“This is the best one yet.”

Belle wasn’t crying. Not exactly. But the tears slid down her cheeks like they had permission.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “For seeing him. For seeing me.”

GP nodded once, then looked to Max — who was dead silent, jaw clenched, visibly blinking faster than usual.

GP clapped his shoulder. Not roughly. Just enough.

“You’ll be good at this,” he said.

Max nodded, lips parted like he might speak — then just reached out and hugged him.

Belle didn’t know what broke her more: the hug or the fact that GP hugged him back without hesitation.

Then came the Verstappen family gifts — a beautifully wrapped bundle of Dutch baby books from Sophie, knitted booties from Max’s grandmother…A tiny onesie that looked just like Max’s race suit from Jos. A whole box of baby clothing from Victoria…

And then came the grid-wide chaos pile, which featured:

George presenting a very serious "early childhood development kit" in aesthetically neutral tones (“It's all Montessori and machine washable,” he added, gravely).

Esteban and Pierre accidentally giving her the same exact baby blanket, then arguing loudly about who bought it first. (“You saw it in my cart,” Esteban insisted. Pierre gestured wildly with a croissant. “You think you invented cashmere?!”)

Fernando giving her a velvet pouch with a gold coin in it. Nobody dared to question it. 

Valtteri gave her a small, handwritten booklet titled F1-Themed Lullabies, As Sung By a Very Finnish Man. It included suggested lyrics for hits like “Soft Tyre Sleep” and “Hush Now, No Overtake.”

Sebastian, who handed her a cardboard box filled with native wildflower seed packets and a card that said, “Plant something when he’s born. Grow something with him.”

Nico Rosberg presented Belle with a heavily annotated 40-slide PowerPoint titled “Optimizing Infant Sleep Cycles: A Performance-Based Approach.” There were charts. Graphs. Citations. (“Did you—did you run simulations?” Belle asked. “I partnered with a pediatric sleep coach,” Nico replied, like that was normal.)

Nico Hülkenberg brought a wooden toy race car with “Baby’s First DNF” carved into the underside. (“No one talks about failure enough,” he explained.)

Lance Stroll gave her a gift certificate for a baby-safe yacht cruise along the Monaco coast.  (“There’s a shaded cabana,” he said. “For naps. His or yours.” He refused to say how much it cost. Belle refused to ask.)

Alex Albon had cobbled together a custom colouring book titled Track Limits and Life Lessons, featuring adorable little race cars learning the value of boundaries, tire management, and how to ask for help.

Lando, who had been suspiciously quiet since the chaos began, finally handed her a slim envelope with a handmade card inside that simply read: or when you need five minutes to breathe. Inside: a voucher for weekly baby-free coffee runs with Lando. He'd written "I promise to drive slow" and underlined it twice.

Belle was already blinking fast by the time her brothers stepped forward.

The basket came first. Inside: soft robes. A giant water bottle. Her favorite snacks. Bath oil, a silk eye mask, cozy socks, and an absurdly soft swaddle blanket.

“I didn’t even say half of this out loud,” she whispered, tearing up as she touched each item.

“We asked Emilie,” Arthur said with a shrug, a little too casual to be believed. “She said you wouldn’t buy any of it for yourself.”

The card was handwritten by all three of them.

Lorenzo’s blocky script. Arthur’s chaotic doodles. Charles’ clean lines, reading:

We were terrible at seeing you. You deserved so much more. Let us do better — for you, and for him.

And then Charles, silent, stepped forward.

“This is for when he won’t sleep,” he said softly. “Or when you won’t.”

Belle took the USB with shaking hands. “What is it?”

“I recorded a few lullabies,” Charles said, voice catching. “On the piano. The one Maman made us all fall asleep to. I figured… maybe he should have those too.”

Her heart cracked open in real time.

“I—” she tried, but her voice wavered too much to finish.

She reached for him. He pulled her into a careful hug, pressing a kiss to her hair.

“I love you,” he murmured.

“I love you too,” she whispered back.

And just when she thought she had nothing left in her heart to be surprised by—

Her mother stepped forward.

Pascale looked elegant and nervous in equal measure, her hands clasped around a small velvet box.

“This was given to me by my mother,” she said softly. “On the day I had Lorenzo. It’s been passed down, from mother to daughter, every time a child is born.” She opened the box, and there, nestled in cream satin, was a delicate gold necklace — thin chain, warm luster, and a small heart-shaped pendant.

Belle felt her breath catch.

Pascale fastened it gently around her neck. “I haven’t always known how to be there,” she whispered. “But I want to try now. For you. For him.”

Belle blinked fast. Her throat tightened. But she nodded.

“Thank you,” she said. And meant it.

***

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/tiregirlie:  🚨🚨 GUYS I’M LOSING MY MIND 🚨🚨 just walked past Overture in Monaco and saw like??? 3/4 of the grid??? plus SEBASTIAN VETTEL??? and possibly Nico Rosberg and David Coulthard?? leaving together????

what the ACTUAL hell???

@/tiregirlie:  updates:

i saw lando literally carrying a gift bag with vines coming out of it

pierre and esteban were arguing about something wrapped in the same paper

fernando was holding a BABY HELMET???

yuki had powdered sugar all over his shirt and looked emotionally wrecked

max walked out holding belle’s hand and looked like he’d been emotionally waterboarded

@/tiregirlie:  this wasn’t a brunch. this was a BABY SHOWER AND THEY WERE ALL INVITED even jos verstappen??? he hugged belle on the way out. i am not okay.

@/tiregirlie: someone make me a list bc i swear i saw: ✔ max (obviously) ✔ belle (STUNNING. glowing. ethereal.) ✔ lando + emilie(covered in glitter) ✔ oscar + lily (hand in hand) ✔ daniel (smiling like he committed a federal crime) ✔ seb?! ✔ george (in monochrome beige. enough said.) ✔ pierre + estaban ( fighting?? unclear.) ✔ fernando (baby helmet. zero explanation.) ✔ charles + arthur + lorenzo (looked like they’d cried.) ✔ jos (looked like he cried??) ✔ GP ???

 ✔ Nico Rosberg (??) ✔ Mark Webber??? ✔ Fernando Alonso IN LINEN?? AND THAT’S JUST WHO I SAW

@/tiregirlie:  also: Belle posted a jungle-themed baby shower pic five hours later. Victoria’s stories match the interior of the private terrace at Overture. That means— Oh my god. OH MY GOD.

We just witnessed a grid-wide surprise baby shower. Max Verstappen was ambushed. By emotions. And themed desserts.

@/tiregirlie:  final thoughts: i don’t know what that baby’s name will be but he already has 20+ honorary uncles and a literal army behind him

i hope he never forgets it. because i never will. 🐒🌿🍼

@/lilypadwithwifi: jos hugging belle is like the emotional equivalent of watching a lion become vegan

@/itsgivinggrid: the entire grid said “we will not let this woman raise a child without 37 handmade gifts, 12 breakdowns, and 4 stuffed animals” and honestly? beautiful.

@/girlsonsofts: the entire grid was invited we’re never topping this

@/teamsoftmax: This is giving — found family — quiet tenderness — emotional side quests — Daniel getting banned from baby gift shops — Belle as the axis around which the whole grid turned for one beautiful afternoon

@/tifosifangirl69: charles, arthur and lorenzo “looked like they’d cried” they DID i know it i feel it this was their apology arc and i support it

***

Instagram Stories: @/victoriaverstappen

***

Instagram Post: @/belleverstappen

Comments: 

@/maxverstappen1: 🦁🦁🦁

@/victoriaverstappen:  you deserved every balloon, every cookie, every tiny jungle leaf. and yes, max did cry. 🌿🍼💛

@/emilie_abadie: You’re the best mother already and the baby is not even here yet. ily always.

@/danielricciardo chaotic? no. visionary. (you’re welcome for the onesies) 😌🦁🔥

@/charles_leclerc:  je t’aime. toujours.

@/georgerussell63 I accept that the entire family is now neutrally toned. it was an honor.

@/landonorris: i regret NOTHING. (ok maybe the glitter)

@/sebastianvettel: plant joy, always. (He already has the strongest roots)

@/oscarpiastri: congratulations again, belle ❤️

@/babyverstappenupdates: everyone say thank you belle for soft-launching the most emotionally destructive baby shower of the decade 🐒🍼💛

@/softdrsgirl: this baby is already more emotionally supported than i’ve ever been in my life. congrats mama 🫶

@/tiregirlie: hi. it’s me. the one who saw ¾ of the grid leaving that restaurant. thank you for confirming what i felt in my soul. 🍼🌿💥

@/paddocktea: why does Belle’s baby shower look like it was planned by an elite wedding stylist, a Pinterest mom, and a race engineer who cries in secret?

@/pitlaneprophet: victoria verstappen needs to start an events company. i want my funeral to look like that baby shower.

@/leclairsintherain:  all jokes aside, i don’t think i’ve ever seen belle so loved. not by obligation. not by expectation. just… chosen. 🥹