#if so... i need to know who that special person is

[cressidagrey]

White Horse - Chapter 36: October 2024 - Part 3

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Isabelle Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

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

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

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

Warnings and Notes: 

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

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

Belle had always known that Lorenzo loved Charlotte.

You didn’t need to be particularly observant to catch it — not when he looked at her like she was sunlight bottled into human form. He was quieter about it than most, but in a way that only made it more obvious: the way he listened, the way he waited, the way his eyes found her even in a crowded room. Not infatuation. Not flair. Just… certainty.

So when Lorenzo asked if he could stop by for coffee, she hadn’t expected it to be anything dramatic.

But then he sat at her kitchen table — still in his work clothes, his tie half-loosened, hands wrapped too tightly around the mug she’d handed him — and didn’t speak for almost five full minutes.

That’s how she knew something was up.

She didn’t press.

Not yet.

She just waited.

Lorenzo had always been the sort of person who unfolded in his own time, like a letter written in longhand — slow, thoughtful, deliberate.

Finally, he cleared his throat and said, “I think I want to propose.”

Belle blinked. Once. Twice.

Then smiled softly. “You think?”

“I know,” he said. “I do. I’ve known. For a while. I just…”

He looked down at his mug.

“I want it to be right.”

Belle rested her chin in her palm and watched her oldest brother. He looked—nervous. Earnest in a way she hadn’t seen in a long time. Maybe since they were kids, before life got complicated and painful and messy.

“And what does right look like to you?”

“That’s the problem,” Lorenzo said, huffing a laugh. “I don’t know. I just keep getting in my own head. She deserves something special. Not flashy. Not over the top. Just… her.”

Belle smiled wider, something warm unfolding in her chest.

“Okay,” she said. “Let’s build it.”

Lorenzo looked up, surprised. “You’ll help?”

“Of course I’ll help,” she said. “You’re my brother. She’s your person. This is literally my favorite kind of project.”

“But don’t you have enough on your plate?”

Belle gestured around the room, where baby things sat half-unpacked in calm, expectant chaos. “Max is currently on a mission to figure out how to swaddle a stuffed animal. I think I can spare a little time.”

He laughed, properly this time, and some of the tension in his shoulders eased.

“Alright then,” she said, reaching for a notepad. “Talk to me. What are the non-negotiables?”

Lorenzo leaned back, thinking. “Nothing public. Nothing performative. And something that includes her family, somehow — she’s close to them. But also something quiet. Intimate.”

Belle nodded. “Sentimental. Classic. Maybe something outdoors? A picnic? Or a dinner somewhere that matters to you both?”

“There’s a lake house,” he said slowly. “Her grandparents used to take her there when she was a kid. We’ve been a few times, and she always looks… peaceful there.”

Belle’s heart softened.

“There,” she said. “That’s the place. That’s the moment.”

Lorenzo looked like he was still trying to catch up to the fact that she was doing this with him — no teasing, no commentary, just belief.

“Belle,” he said quietly. “Thank you.”

She looked at him then, really looked at him — her oldest brother, who had been too busy or too far removed to see her as anything other than Charles and Arthur’s quiet shadow. But right now, he was here. Asking her. Because he trusted her.

“You’re going to do this right,” she said. “Because it’s not about perfect words or some cinematic moment. It’s about her. And you already know how to love her. You just need to show her that in a way she’ll remember.”

Lorenzo exhaled slowly. “You’d be a terrifying wedding planner.”

“I’m saving that energy for Emilian’s first birthday,” Belle said dryly. “There will be a live band and possibly jungle animals.”

He laughed again, eyes a little glassy now. “God, you’re going to be a good mum.”

Belle smiled down at the notepad, heart full.

“And you,” she said, writing down lake house, sunset, something honest, “are going to be a husband.”

****

They were on the couch, tangled together in the quiet kind of way that felt like routine now. Max’s head was resting on Belle’s belly, his hand absently tracing slow circles over the stretch of skin beneath her shirt, like he was trying to memorize every inch before December came.

Belle had one hand in his hair. The other held her planner, open but forgotten on the coffee table.

“He kicked again,” Max murmured, pressing a kiss just above her navel.

Belle smiled, her heart aching in that full, quiet way that still caught her off guard sometimes. “He’s been kicking all day,” she said. “Probably hates how I folded over during that client call.”

Max snorted. “He already has opinions. Verstappen genes.”

She rolled her eyes, fond. “God help us.”

They fell into silence again, the kind that didn’t need filling. Outside, Monaco glowed—blue and gold and still.

Then Max said, softly, “We’ve got the triple header coming up.”

Belle nodded. “I know.”

“Austin, then Mexico, then Brazil.”

“I know.”

“I want you to come.”

Belle looked down at him.

Max sat up slowly, brushing a hand through his hair. “If you feel up to it,” he added. “If it’s safe. I just… I know it’s the last one before—before you can’t really travel anymore. And I don’t want to go three races without you if we can help it.”

His voice was quiet. Honest.

Belle let her hand rest on the slope of her belly. Their son kicked again—just once, like punctuation.

“I was thinking the same thing,” she said softly. “I don’t want to miss this part. After Brazil, I’ll stay home. Nest. Wait. After that, I won’t be able to travel long haul. Not safely, anyway. I just… I want to be there with you. One last time.”

Max’s expression shifted—surprise giving way to something deeper. Something tender.

“You’d really be okay with all that travel?” he asked. “Three races in three weeks?”

She nodded. “I already talked to my OB. I’ll be 34 weeks by Brazil. She said if I’m careful, and I rest, and we don’t take risks, it’s fine. After that, no more flights. But until then…”

Max reached for her hand, threading his fingers through hers.

“I’d love that,” he said softly. “I miss you when you’re not there.”

Belle smiled. “You have GP.”

Max smirked. “GP doesn’t sneak me cookies or remind me to drink water. Or kiss me before every quali.”

Belle raised an eyebrow. “You want kisses before quali?”

“Obviously. It’s good luck.”

She laughed and leaned in, pressing one to his temple.

“Then it’s settled,” she said. “Three races. Three cities. Then we come home. And wait.”

Max smiled. It was a tired kind of smile, edged in awe. “He’ll be here so soon.”

Belle nodded. “It still doesn’t feel real.”

“It will,” Max said. Then, after a beat: “Are you sure, though? It’s a lot of travel. Long flights. Weird hotel beds.”

“I’ll bring my pillow fortress,” Belle teased, nudging him with her foot. “And snacks. And compression socks. I’ll be fine.”

Max leaned over, pressing a kiss to her cheek. Then her collarbone. Then her belly. “Okay,” he murmured. “Then we’ll do this together.”

Belle closed her eyes. Felt the hum of his voice against her skin. And the tiny flutter of their son, responding like he knew.

Together.

Until they weren’t two anymore.

But three.

***

Leclerc Sibling Group Chat

(Members: Arthur, Isabelle, Charles and Lorenzo)

Lorenzo: So… I have some news. Charlotte said yes 💍😊

Arthur: WHAT?????? WAIT YOU PROPOSED????

Charles: BRO. What do you mean “said yes”??? WHEN??? HOW??? WHERE???

Arthur: Wait Belle knew didn’t she SHE TOTALLY KNEW

Belle: 👀

Charles: UNREAL. I TELL YOU EVERYTHING. AND YOU STAYED QUIET FOR THIS???

Belle: It wasn’t my news to tell! 😇 Also… I helped pick the ring. And the spot. And the picnic menu.

Arthur: I KNEW IT THE BASKET IN YOUR BACKSEAT LAST WEEK YOU SAID IT WAS FOR A “CLIENT MEETING”!!!

Lorenzo: It was a meeting. With my future wife 😌

Charles: Okay but for real—congratulations. You both deserve all the happiness. Still mad you didn’t tell us though.

Belle: 🥹 I was under strict brother-sister confidentiality. But I’m so happy for you, Enzo. Truly.

Arthur: Can we plan the bachelor party?? Please??

Charles: No. I know you. Absolutely not.

Arthur: 😤

Lorenzo: Thanks, all of you. Belle, especially. I couldn’t have pulled it off without you.

Belle: Anytime. Now go be nauseatingly in love.

***

Pascale hadn’t even set her wine glass down when Lorenzo said, “Charlotte and I are engaged.”

There was a beat of silence—sharp, almost theatrical—and then the room burst into overlapping exclamations.

Arthur stood up to hug him, nearly knocking over the bowl of olives. Charles thumped Lorenzo on the back like they were still teenagers. Even Alexandra, who was usually more reserved around the Leclerc chaos, was smiling wide, clutching Charlotte’s hands and asking a thousand questions.

Pascale pressed both hands to her heart, eyes wet. “Oh, my darling—felicitations!” She turned to Charlotte, enveloping her in a tight hug. “You are already family, but now it’s official. I am so, so happy.”

Belle watched it all unfold with a soft smile, Max’s hand resting on her knee under the table. She was genuinely happy for Lorenzo. 

But when Pascale dabbed her eyes and said, “Oh, we have to start planning,” Belle felt the old, familiar weight settle in her chest.

“Summer wedding?” Arthur asked. “Italy?”

“Too hot in July,” Charlotte said, laughing. “We were thinking September.”

“Belle should help you with everything,” Pascale added warmly. “She always has the best taste.”

Belle opened her mouth, closed it again.

“She already has,” Lorenzo said quickly, rescuing her. “She helped plan the proposal. Honestly, it was perfect.”

Charles raised his glass. “To love. And to Belle being a better event planner than all of us combined.”

They all drank. Belle sipped at her water, but she couldn’t quite keep the smile on her face when Pascale turned to her and said, with teasing affection, “Well, I expect an invite this time.”

The joke slipped out easily.

The silence that followed was harder.

Max’s fingers subtly curled around Belle’s under the table. “What do you mean?”

Pascale looked at Belle. “You know. The last wedding. The one none of us were invited to.”

“Maman,” she said quietly.

“No, I’m not trying to be rude, I just…” She trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. “We found out from the press, Belle.”

Belle exhaled. “You forgot my birthday, remember? All of you,” Belle said sharply. 

“I turned 25. And you were all too busy with Charles winning Monaco.”

“Belle,” Pascale said gently, “we didn’t mean—”

“But you did,” Belle interrupted, and her voice wasn’t cold. It was tired. Bone-deep tired. “You never mean it.”

The table was quiet now. Even Arthur wasn’t fidgeting.

Belle glanced down at her plate. Then back up. Her gaze flicked to each of them—her brothers, her mother, Charlotte and Alexandra.

“Max and I got married on a Tuesday morning. At Monaco City Hall. We didn’t want the press. Didn’t want a spectacle.”

Pascale’s face crumpled. “But we should’ve been there.”

“No,” Belle said, with finality. “You really shouldn’t have.”

She folded her napkin slowly, carefully, like it would help her hold back the years she hadn’t said anything.

“Because in that moment, I didn’t want to wonder if any of you thought I was enough. I didn’t want to hear one more backhanded joke about how I decorate houses for Instagram. Or how I was the ‘soft’ Leclerc. Or how I should be grateful for being in the room.”

Max stayed silent beside her, but his hand remained warm on her knee, steady, grounding.

“I wanted to be surrounded by people who saw me. Who remembered me. Who didn’t compare me to Charles or Arthur or Lorenzo. Who didn’t make me feel like a placeholder in my own life.”

She turned toward her mother. “So no, you weren’t invited. Because it wasn’t about you. Or about what a wedding should look like. It was about what felt safe.”

“Belle,” Pascale began, reaching for her, “we didn’t mean to—”

“But you did,” Belle cut in. “You’ve spent years not meaning to. Not meaning to forget. Not meaning to brush me off. Not meaning to act like my work is just expensive Pinterest. Like I’m the background character in someone else’s success story.”

Pascale’s expression shifted, like someone trying to balance shame and defensiveness and failing at both.

“When Max and I got married,” Belle continued, her voice lower now, steadier, “we had everyone there who mattered. People who saw me. Who remembered me. Who didn’t need a headline to decide I was important.”

Max’s hand tightened around hers under the table, silent but solid.

“It wasn’t a grand wedding. There was no string quartet, no designer gown. Emilie somehow managed to get my favourite flowers and cake. And it was the best day of my life.”

She looked at her mother.

“And I didn’t invite you. Not because I wanted to hurt you. But because, in that moment, I couldn’t handle the way you made me feel. Like nothing I did would ever be enough. Like even that day would be compared to someone else’s. Like I’d be asked why I didn’t wait. Or why the photos weren’t professional.”

Pascale looked stricken.

“I didn’t want to feel like an afterthought at my own wedding,” Belle finished, quietly. “So I didn’t invite the people who made me feel like one.”

Silence.

Lorenzo swallowed hard. Arthur looked like he might cry. Charles… looked wrecked.

And Pascale, for once, said nothing at all.

Belle pushed her chair back gently, the scrape of wood on tile loud in the quiet.

“I’m going to check on dessert,” she said, standing. “Max, come with?”

He rose immediately. ***

The kitchen was warm and low-lit, all copper tones and quiet clatter. Belle moved automatically, opening drawers, checking the oven—like she hadn’t just dropped every hard, buried truth onto the dinner table like a thunderclap.

Max followed, quietly closing the door behind them.

For a second, neither of them spoke. She reached for plates with trembling hands.

“Belle.”

“I’m fine,” she said. Too fast. Too flat.

He crossed the room in three steps, gently placing his hands on her hips. “You don’t have to be.”

Belle inhaled like she was bracing for another wave, but when it didn’t come, she sagged slightly into him, just enough that he felt it.

“I didn’t mean to make it a scene,” she murmured, voice frayed at the edges.

“You didn’t make a scene,” Max said. “You told the truth.”

She didn’t answer. Just stared at the cake tin on the counter like it might disappear if she focused hard enough.

“I’m just surprised you said all that out loud,” he added gently.

Belle let out a sound that was halfway between a laugh and a breath. “So am I.”

He rubbed small circles into her back. “They needed to hear it.”

“She won’t change.”

“Maybe not right away,” Max allowed. “But tonight… that landed. They were quiet, Belle. Your mother looked like she got hit with a brick.”

“That’s not exactly comforting,” she muttered, though she didn’t pull away.

Max lowered his head, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. “I mean it. You gave them a wake-up call they couldn’t brush off. That takes guts.”

She was silent for a long beat. Then: “I didn’t want to cry in front of them.”

“You didn’t. You stood up for yourself.”

Belle turned slightly to look at him. “Did I come off like an asshole?”

Max smiled, brushing a lock of hair from her cheek. “No. You came off like someone who’s tired of being invisible.”

Belle exhaled. “I wasn’t trying to hurt her.”

“I know,” he said. “And deep down, I think she does too. But she needed to feel it. You gave her the truth. What she does with it is up to her.”

Belle leaned into his chest fully now, the tension finally starting to seep out of her limbs. “I just… I don’t want our son to ever feel that way. Like he has to earn being seen.”

Max wrapped his arms around her and kissed her temple. “He won’t. Not with you as his mother.”

She let out another breath, steadier this time. “God. Dessert feels so stupid now.”

Max tilted his head. “It’s chocolate tart. Nothing about that is ever stupid.”

She laughed, soft and tired. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you,” he said, brushing his thumb across her cheek, “are the bravest person I know.”

***

The moment Belle disappeared through the kitchen door with Max, the silence she left behind clung to the room like smoke.

No one spoke.

Charlotte gently touched Lorenzo’s arm, but he barely registered it.

He turned to his mother, voice low. “Do you realize what you just did?”

Pascale blinked at him, eyes still wide. “Lorenzo—”

“No.” He shook his head, biting back the anger rising in his throat. “You don’t get to play innocent now, Maman. You made a joke about not being invited to her wedding, and you didn’t think once about why you weren’t.”

“I wasn’t trying to hurt her,” Pascale said, voice trembling. “It was meant to be lighthearted.”

“And that’s the problem.” Lorenzo’s voice hardened. 

Pascale blinked at her oldest son. “Lorenzo—”

“No,” he said, calm but sharp. “Don’t deflect.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Yes, you were. Like you always do. Like we all do. And I’ve let it slide for years. We all have. Because it’s Belle, and she never kicks up a fuss, right?”

He leaned forward, fingers pressed against the edge of the table like he needed something solid to hold him down.

“But she remembers.” His voice dropped, hard with the weight of truth. “She remembers everything you brush off. Every joke about her job. Every time we prioritized a podium over a person. Every thing we forgot because we were too caught up in what one of us was doing on the track.”

Pascale’s eyes were glassy. “I didn’t mean to hurt her—”

“That’s the problem,” Lorenzo snapped, sharper than anyone in the room had ever heard him. “You keep saying that. You never mean to. But it happens anyway. And because she doesn’t fight you on it, you think it didn’t cut.”

Arthur looked down. Even Charles didn’t try to interrupt.

“She helped me plan my proposal, Maman. Thought of every detail, reminded me to tell Charlotte’s parents first—she did it all with a smile. And not once did she bring up her wedding. Not once.”

He sat back slowly, tone dipping into something quieter. “She didn’t even want a wedding with us. You understand how much that says?”

Pascale had a hand pressed to her lips now.

“She didn’t invite you to her wedding because she didn’t feel safe with you. Not loved. Not supported. Safe. Do you know how devastating that is?”

Pascale blinked hard, and for once, she didn’t have anything to say.

“And you know what?” Lorenzo added. “That’s on you. Not her. She found someone who sees her. Who values her. Who protects her, because he understands what it feels like to be treated like you’re never quite enough.”

Lorenzo’s tone turned more bitter than he meant it to. “God, Max Verstappen treats her better than any of us ever have. And we’re her blood.”

Pascale shook her head, tears finally spilling over. “I didn’t mean—”

“But you did,” Lorenzo echoed Belle’s words, soft but resolute. “And I’m done pretending you didn’t.”

He stood, placed a hand on Charlotte’s shoulder.

“I’m going to help with dessert,” he said quietly.  He looked around the table, gaze landing on his mother last. “You can sit with what Belle said for a while.”

And without waiting for a response, he walked away.

***

Belle’s hands stayed on the countertop, gripping the edge a little tighter than necessary. Her breath was steady, but only because she’d fought for every inch of calm since leaving the dining room. Max hovered nearby, silently setting out the plates for dessert. He hadn’t said a word—just let her have her silence, the same way he always had when she needed to recalibrate.

Then she heard the second pair of footsteps.

Lorenzo.

“Belle,” he said gently, and that was all it took for her throat to go tight again.

She turned slowly, blinking fast. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to—tonight was supposed to be about you. And I—God, I just—ruined it.”

He stared at her for a moment. Then let out a breathy, disbelieving laugh and crossed the kitchen in two strides.

“Petite sœur,” he said softly, wrapping her into a hug so immediate and so warm that it nearly undid her.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” he murmured into her hair. “Don’t ever say that.”

Belle shook her head against his shoulder. “But I took the spotlight—”

“No. You spoke your truth. Finally. That’s not stealing attention. That’s surviving.” He pulled back slightly, hands still on her shoulders, anchoring her. “And frankly? Someone needed to say it. It should’ve been me. Years ago.”

Her eyes welled again. “I didn’t want to make it about me.”

“It wasn’t about you,” he said. “It was about all of us. And what we didn’t see. What we didn’t do.” His voice softened. “And for what it’s worth? I’ve never been prouder of you.”

Belle blinked at him, stunned.

“I meant it when I said you helped make the proposal perfect. And tonight? You gave me the best gift you could have—your honesty.”

She leaned her forehead against his. “I love you, you know.”

“I know,” Lorenzo whispered. “And I love you. Even if you made Charles nearly cry during dinner.”

Belle laughed, a wet, breathless sound. “He’ll recover.”

“Barely,” Max called from the counter without turning around. “Pretty sure he is still emotionally buffering.”

***

Text Messages: Belle Verstappen & Emilie Abadie

Belle: I just emotionally nuked a family dinner. Max says it was brave. I think I might throw up. (Also, Charles looked like someone kicked his puppy.)

Emilie: WHAT. WHAT DID YOU DO. Please tell me it was deserved and you finally snapped. I’ve been manifesting it for a year.

Belle: Lorenzo announced his engagement. Pascale made a joke about not being invited to my wedding. So I told them why.

Emilie: Holy. Shit.

Emilie: You didn’t just light a match. You set that table ablaze. I am SO proud of you.

Belle: I didn’t mean to make it about me. It just came out. All of it. Every forgotten birthday. Every time they dismissed my work. I told her she wasn’t invited because she made me feel like an afterthought.

Emilie: GOOD. She needed to hear it. You’ve spent your whole life trying to be palatable. Quiet. Easy. But you are not an afterthought. And it’s not your job to shrink so they’re comfortable.

Belle: Max has been perfect, obviously. Didn’t say a word while I was talking. Just stayed next to me. Held my hand. Told me later I didn’t make a scene—I told the truth. That they were finally quiet because it landed.

Emilie: That man. That man would build you a cathedral out of reclaimed stone and lavender if you asked.

Belle: I’d settle for the chocolate tart he just plated.

Emilie: I’m proud of you. So proud. I hope you know how big this is. You stood up for yourself and didn’t apologize for it. You chose yourself.

Belle: I think I finally did. And I think—for the first time in a long time—I don’t feel guilty about it.

Emilie: Damn right you don’t. Also I need Charles' face in that moment. Please. A voice note reenactment. I beg.

Belle: He looked like someone told him Ferrari ran out of red paint.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Sophie Kumpen

Max: Just got back from dinner at Belle’s family’s place. It was… Intense.

Sophie: Oh? What happened? Are you okay?

Max: I’m fine. Belle’s a bit wrung out. Her brother Lorenzo got engaged. Announced it at dinner. Everyone was celebrating. Pascale made some joke about expecting an invite this time.

Sophie: Oh no.

Max: Yeah. Belle told them why they weren’t invited to our wedding. In front of everyone. Calm. Clear. Brutal.

Sophie: Good for her.

Max: She told them they forgot her birthday. That they treat her like she’s nothing. Said she only invited people who remembered her. I’ve never seen her do that before. Not with them.

Sophie: She finally snapped.

Max: Yeah. But it wasn’t dramatic. It was worse. It was honest. Tired. She just laid it out—like she wasn’t going to carry their excuses anymore.

Max: And her mother. God. She looked shocked. Like she couldn’t believe Belle didn’t feel loved.

Sophie: Because people like that don’t notice until it’s too late. They don’t think they have to change because they’re the mother.

Max: Exactly. She kept saying “I didn’t mean to.” And Belle just said, “But you did.”

Sophie: Oof. That girl has been swallowing it all for years, hasn’t she?

Max: All of it. Her work. Her feelings. Being ignored. She told them the reason she married me without them was because she didn’t feel safe. And I think it finally hit them. Maybe. Hopefully.

Max: But I don’t understand her mother. How do you look at someone like Belle and not see her? She’s brilliant. She’s kind. She feels everything. And they made her feel like she didn’t matter.

Sophie: Because some people only love the version of you they can control. And Belle? She’s soft, yes—but she’s also steel. That scares people who only know how to hold love with conditions.

Max: I didn’t even have to say anything. She did it all on her own. And then she turned to me in the kitchen and asked if she came off like an asshole.

Sophie: Oh, sweetheart.

Max: I told her no. She came off like someone who’s tired of being invisible.

Sophie: I’m proud of her. And proud of you. She needed someone who would stand beside her while she took her voice back. And that’s exactly what you did.

Max: I don’t get it, Mama. How can you have a daughter like Belle and make her feel like she has to earn your love?

Sophie: Because some people only know how to love the loud ones. The gold medals. The press conferences. The obvious successes. Not the quiet girl who builds beauty and doesn’t ask for applause.

Sophie: But you see her. And that matters more than anything.

Max: She told me she didn’t want our son to ever feel like that. Like he has to earn being seen.

Sophie: He won’t. Because his father will show him what love looks like. And his mother will teach him how to build a home out of strength and gentleness.

Max: I hope so. I just hate that it ever made her feel small.

Sophie: That’s because you love her. And you, my boy, are nothing like her mother.

Max: Good. Because she deserves better.

Sophie: She has better now. She has you.

***

Victoria hadn’t meant to stay long.

She’d only stopped by to drop off a scarf she’d picked up for her mother in Amsterdam. But Sophie had made tea, and the afternoon light was soft, and somehow they’d ended up on the couch with lemon biscuits between them and a conversation that turned, inevitably, to Belle.

Specifically, the Leclercs.

Max had told Sophie the whole story via text—blunt, half-capitalized, frustrated in a way he rarely got—but Victoria hadn’t realized how much had happened until Sophie quietly said, “Pascale made a joke about expecting an invite next time,” and stirred her tea like she was imagining stirring something else instead.

Victoria blinked. “She joked about not being invited?”

Sophie hummed. Calm. Neutral. Terrifying.

Victoria sat back a little.

Because she knew that sound. She’d heard it as a teenager when Jos yelled and stomped and slammed doors—and Sophie just got quiet. When Jos was a hurricane and Sophie was the pressure drop right before the sky cracked in two.

Everyone thought Jos Verstappen was the scary one. And he was, in his own way. But Jos exploded, and Sophie? Sophie waited. Sophie watched. Sophie didn’t lose control—she took it. And there was something so much more lethal in that.

“She said it with a laugh, apparently,” Sophie went on, still stirring. “Right after Belle helped plan the proposal. Said she expected an invite to this one.”

Victoria blinked again. “Oh, wow.”

“Mm.”

“She said that in front of everyone?”

“In front of Belle. At the table.”

Victoria felt something flicker in her chest. A cold edge of anger on Belle’s behalf. “What did Belle say?”

“She told them the truth,” Sophie said softly. “That she got married surrounded by people who remembered her birthday. That she didn’t want backhanded comments at her own wedding. That she didn’t feel safe with her own family.”

Victoria’s jaw tightened. “And Pascale?”

“Tried to say she didn’t mean to hurt her.” Sophie finally set the spoon down, slow and deliberate. “I suppose that’s supposed to count for something.”

There was a long silence then—thicker than the steam curling from the kettle, heavier than any of the words still hanging between them.

Victoria had grown up around volatility. Her father’s temper was legendary, a weather system that built and broke and sometimes came back with no warning at all. But Sophie—Sophie Verstappen was a different kind of terrifying. Jos exploded. Sophie observed. Calculated. Waited. And when she struck, it was always surgical.

Jos could knock you over like a thunderclap. Sophie could gut you with a whisper.

And right now, Victoria could see it: that slow, icy rage simmering just beneath her mother’s carefully neutral face.

“She told them,” Sophie said finally, “that she didn’t invite them to her wedding because she didn’t feel safe. Not unloved. Not forgotten. Unsafe.”

Victoria swallowed. “Yeah.”

“I have half a mind to call Pascale and tell her exactly what I think of her.”

Victoria blinked. Sophie never said things like that. She didn’t make threats. She made decisions.

“She’s pregnant,” Sophie added, quieter now. “And still had to stand there and explain why her family made her feel like a placeholder in her own life.”

“I have watched Belle love that family with her whole heart,” Sophie said, and now her voice had an edge. “I have watched her shrink herself so they wouldn’t feel uncomfortable. I’ve watched her pretend she doesn’t care that they forget her. That they talk over her. That they diminish everything she is.”

The kettle clicked off, but neither of them moved.

“She was raised to believe love is conditional,” Sophie said, not looking at her. “That it comes after achievements. Or for being quiet. Or for not asking for too much.”

Victoria felt something lodge in her chest.

“She has spent her whole life shrinking to fit into their idea of family,” Sophie continued, her voice steady and lethal. “And they still managed to ignore her.”

Victoria swallowed.

“And then she gets married—to my son—and not one of them is there. And not because she wanted to hurt them, but because she didn’t feel safe with them.” Sophie’s expression didn’t change, but her tone dropped low. “That’s not something you laugh about over dinner.”

Victoria sat very still.

Because that was the thing about Sophie Verstappen. You never saw her fury coming. She didn’t yell. She didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t rant or throw things or storm out. She just… waited. Like gravity. Like consequence. And then she spoke with that glacial softness that made you feel every syllable like it might cut.

Victoria suddenly felt like she was sixteen again and had missed curfew by three hours.

“I’m so mad for her,” she said after a pause. “Belle.”

Sophie nodded. “So am I.”

“She deserves better.”

“She has better,” Sophie said. And that time, there was warmth in it. Fierce. Unshakable. “She has Max. And she has us.”

“You like her,” Victoria said, surprised by the softness that slipped into her own voice.

“I love her,” Sophie corrected. “I don’t care how she came into this family. I don’t care what her last name is. Belle is mine now.”

Victoria blinked fast. “God. Okay. You’re mad.”

Sophie looked at her, eyes dark and razor-sharp. “No, Victoria. I’m focused.”

And Victoria—who had seen Jos Verstappen angry enough to make grown men shrink back—felt a shiver run down her spine. Because Jos might yell. He might throw chairs and punch walls.

But Sophie? Sophie waited until your guard was down and then made sure you never forgot the consequences.

Victoria took a sip of her tea when Sophie finally poured it. “Remind me never to piss you off.”

Sophie raised an eyebrow. “I thought you learned that lesson in 2011.”

Victoria laughed, a little breathless. “Fair.” Then paused. “Do you think they even realize how lucky they are to still be in her life?”

Sophie gave her a look that said no, not yet.

But they would.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Victoria Verstappen

Victoria: i just left mom’s pretty sure she’s going to have words with your mother in law like. capital W. Italics. Possibly in multiple languages

Max: …oh no what kind of “words”

Victoria: the terrifying kind you know how dad yells? mom doesn’t yell. she plans

Max: okay but like what kind of planning are we talking tea-and-a-pointed-sentence planning or scorched-earth-PR-nightmare planning

Victoria: you know the answer to that she was calm. TOO calm. like she’s already made a list and put a neat little check box next to “remind pascale she’s on thin ice”

Max: oh god

Victoria: on the bright side if belle didn’t feel protected before she definitely has a battle unit behind her now

Max: she does she always did but still maybe warn me if mom starts practicing her diplomatic voice that one always ends in casualties

Victoria: consider this your official warning if Mom puts on pearls and offers to “drop by for a coffee,” RUN

***

Instagram DMs: @sophiekumpen → @charles_leclerc

Sophie: Bonjour, Charles. Would you mind sending me your mother’s number?

Charles:Bonjour… of course. Is everything alright?

Sophie: Everything is fine. I just think she and I should have a little chat. Mother to mother.

Charles: ... Is this about dinner?

Sophie: Among other things. Don’t worry. I’m always very polite. Even when I’m deeply unimpressed.

Charles: ...I’ll send the number. Should I warn her?

Sophie: If you like. Though I find surprise tends to make people more honest. 😊

Charles: Noted.

Sophie: Merci. And Charles? Be kind to your sister. She’s braver than most of you realize.

***

Leclerc Brothers Group Chat

(Members: Arthur, Charles and Lorenzo)

Charles: Sophie Kumpen just DMed me asking for Maman’s number.

Arthur: wait what. as in Max’s mum????

Lorenzo: …what did she say?

Charles: She said she wants to “have a little chat.” “Mother to mother.” Also said she’s “always polite. Even when deeply unimpressed.”

Arthur: holy shit

Lorenzo: That’s… terrifying. She’s the quiet kind of scary.

Charles: Right?? Jos is like a storm. You see him coming. Sophie is the earthquake under your feet.

Arthur: did you give her the number???

Charles: Yes?? What was I supposed to do?? She said “merci” and then told me to be kind to Belle because she’s braver than any of us know. I was emotionally held hostage.

Lorenzo: She’s not wrong. Belle is braver than any of us. We just didn’t see it.

Arthur: we should’ve. we should’ve made her feel like she didn’t need to be brave around us.

Charles: Well. Now we wait for the Sophie Effect.

Lorenzo: Maman’s not ready.

Arthur: nobody’s ready.

***

Text Messages: Belle Verstappen & Sophie Kumpen

Sophie :Good Morning, Belle! I’m in Monaco on Thursday. Would you like to have lunch?

Belle: Yes. That sounds great. Please. Wherever suits you. (Unless you want to come to ours, I’ll make something.)

Sophie: I’ll let you choose. I just want to see you. 12:30?

Belle: Perfect. I’ll make a reservation. Thank you for asking. I’ve really been wanting to talk to you.

Sophie: As have I. I’ll see you Thursday, sweetheart. Bring that beautiful baby bump. And don’t you dare worry about anything else.

***

Text Messages: Belle Verstappen & Max Verstappen

Belle: Did you know your mother is in Monaco on Thursday?!

Max: …no? I had no idea. Why? What’s happening? Is she okay?

Belle: She just texted and asked if I wanted to get lunch. No drama. Just lunch. She was very sweet.

Max: That’s good?? I mean, she loves you. I’m just confused why I didn’t know 😅

Belle: Maybe she didn’t want you to stress about it.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Victoria Verstappen

Max: The day has come. The talk is upon us. Mom’s going to be in Monaco on Thursday.

Victoria: oh. oh no. is this about Pascale?

Max: She asked Belle to lunch. Alone. So I am expecting her to verbally annihilate Pascale for breakfast.

Victoria: SHE’S GOING TO EAT HER ALIVE IN A TAILORED COAT AND PEARL EARRINGS

Max: I’m honestly more afraid for Pascale than I was for Dad that one time

Victoria: she’s going to do the quiet voice

Max: the lethal quiet voice the "I’m not angry, I’m disappointed and also morally superior" tone

Victoria: may God have mercy on Pascale’s soul (because mom won’t)

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Charles Leclerc

Max: Heads up. My mum is going to be in Monaco on Thursday.

Charles: Oh no.

Max:

I’m 95% sure this is about Sunday.

And your mother.

Charles:

Ah. She asked me for her phone number but clearly she has decided that she needs to talk to her in person… 

Max: Yeah. She knows what happened at dinner. I didn’t tell her everything, but I didn’t need to. She’s connected enough dots to be… not thrilled.

Charles: How bad are we talking?

Max: Sophie-bad. Not Jos yelling bad—worse. The calm kind of bad. The “I will destroy you with facts and a smile” kind of bad.

Charles: …she’s going to kill Maman.

Max: She’s not going to kill her. She’s going to sit across from her in linen trousers and a silk scarf and say things that sound perfectly polite and make your mother spiral for weeks.

Charles: Oh god.

Max: Belle has no idea. And I would prefer to keep it that way.

Charles: Understood. I’ll warn the others. (Should we call Lorenzo?? He’s the diplomat.)

Max:

If Sophie wants to talk, Lorenzo couldn’t broker peace if he tried.

***

Leclerc Brothers Group Chat

(Members: Arthur, Charles and Lorenzo)

Charles: 🚨 Update: Sophie Verstappen is going to be in Monaco on Thursday. It’s not a social visit. It’s a Sophie visit. Max warned me. She knows what happened at dinner. Apparently Max didn’t even tell her everything—but she figured it out. She’s not happy.

Arthur: Okay but what does that mean exactly??

Lorenzo: It means she’s coming in tailored trousers and quiet fury and is about to emotionally dismantle Maman using three polite sentences and an herbal tea.

Arthur: …should we warn Maman??

Charles: That’s what I said.

Lorenzo: If we tell her, she’ll try to control the situation and that’ll make it worse.

Arthur: So we just… let her walk into the Sophie Trap??

Charles: We let Max handle it. He asked us not to say anything to Belle. She has no idea.

Lorenzo: She deserves a break, anyway. Honestly, Sophie giving Maman a long-overdue reality check might be the best gift Belle could get.

Arthur: She’s going to obliterate Maman, isn’t she. . 

Charles: Max literally said: “She’s going to sit across from her in linen trousers and a silk scarf and say things that sound perfectly polite and make your mother spiral for weeks.”

Lorenzo: …well.

Arthur: Should we do something?

Charles: Max said not to. I quote: “If Sophie wants to talk, Lorenzo couldn’t broker peace if he tried.”

Lorenzo: Rude, but fair.

Arthur: I vote we hide.

***

Sophie hadn’t come to Monaco to start a fight. She didn’t need to.

People like Pascale Leclerc didn’t respond to raised voices. They responded to subtle shifts in temperature. Gentle truths. Icy clarity.

Sophie’s heels clicked softly against the stone path leading to Pascale Leclerc’s door, the rhythm even, precise. She’d chosen her outfit deliberately: clean ivory trousers, a soft blue blouse, hair pinned back. No jewelry except for her watch. Everything about her appearance said calm, collected, reasonable.

And that, of course, was the point.

Jos could intimidate with volume. Sophie did it with silence, with poise, with a steel-edged smile that didn’t need to raise its voice to be heard.

The door opened.

Pascale blinked at her, startled and still in her dressing robe, a coffee cup in hand.

“Sophie?”

“Bonjour, Pascale,” Sophie said, smooth as ever. “I hope I’m not intruding. I was in Monaco and thought we could catch up.”

“Oh, I—of course, come in.”

Inside, everything was as Sophie expected. Elegant. Neutral. Impersonal.

She took a seat in the sitting room, hands resting lightly in her lap as Pascale flitted to the kitchen to prepare espresso. Sophie’s eyes wandered—not snooping, just observant. Pictures of the Leclerc children lined the mantel. Arthur, Charles, Lorenzo—big frames, central placements. Belle was there too, but off to the side. Cropped in. Slightly tilted behind a decorative candle holder.

That told her everything she needed to know.

Pascale returned with the espresso cups and handed one over with a tentative smile. “Sugar?”

“Always,” Sophie replied.

There was a moment of polite silence.

“I’m not here because something’s wrong,” Sophie said calmly. “I’m here because something has been wrong for a very long time. And I think you need to hear it from someone who isn’t your daughter. I heard about Sunday finner”

Pascale blinked. “From Belle?”

“From my son.” Sophie’s gaze didn’t waver. “Belle doesn’t complain. She survives.”

Pascale flinched. “I didn’t mean to upset her—”

Sophie tilted her head, eyes cool. “You didn’t mean to. That’s always the excuse, isn’t it? You’ve built your whole motherhood on the idea that intention erases harm. It doesn’t.”

Pascale didn’t answer.

“You didn’t mean to forget her birthday. You didn’t mean to dismiss her work. You didn’t mean to make a joke about not being invited to her wedding when you didn’t even ask why you weren’t invited in the first place.”

Pascale went quiet.

Sophie continued, voice calm and exact. “You didn’t mean to hurt her. But you did. Over and over. Because you assumed she’d take it. That she’d understand. That she’d be fine.”

Sophie set down her cup and folded her hands neatly. Her voice didn’t sharpen, but it grew firmer. “I have two children. Max and Victoria.”

Pascale nodded. “Yes, of course.”

“They’re just about two years apart. He was born in 1997. She arrived in 1999. They were loud. Competitive. Wild.” A fond smile tugged at Sophie’s lips. “Very much siblings.”

Pascale exhaled. “They’re close in age too, you know. All three of them. Charles was born in 1997. Belle in ’99. Arthur in 2000. They were always… together. Loud. Chaotic. There is no manual for parenting children so tightly packed.”

Sophie let the silence breathe before adding, “And yet somehow, I managed not to forget my daughter.”

Pascale flinched.

“I love both of my children. Equally. Differently. Fiercely. And not once have I ever made Victoria feel like she mattered less than Max. Even when he started winning karting trophies. Even when the spotlight was on him and him alone. I could’ve let him take up all the space. He’s Max Verstappen—how easy would that have been? One child chasing world titles, the other left in the background.”

Sophie folded her hands delicately around her coffee cup.

“I know what it’s like to sit at a dinner table and choose to ask my daughter how her week was. I know what it’s like to remember her birthday even when Max has a race. I know what it’s like to see them both as whole people—equally deserving of being seen, even when the world tries to make it about just one.”

She let that sit between them. Let it sting.

“I don’t think you meant to forget Belle,” Sophie said, her voice soft now. “But you did. For years.”

“I know I haven’t always handled things well,” Pascale said. “Charles’ career took so much of everything. Time. Energy. Attention. And Belle never demanded anything. Not like the boys.”

“That’s the thing about girls like Belle,” Sophie said. “They don’t demand—they just quietly disappear. Until one day, they don’t come back.” Sophie leaned forward slightly. “You didn’t just forget your daughter. You erased her. Slowly. Kindly. With a smile. The kind of maternal neglect you can hide behind birthday cards and a roast chicken.”

Tears pricked in Pascale’s eyes. Sophie didn’t flinch.

“Belle is more than Charles’ sister. More than a Leclerc. She’s a woman. A professional. A wife. A soon-to-be mother. And you made her feel like the understudy in a family performance that never had room for her.”

A pause.

“She didn’t invite you to her wedding because she didn’t feel safe. That’s not an oversight, Pascale. That’s a statement. And she was right to make it.”

That landed.

“She didn’t marry Max because of who he is on the grid,” Sophie went on. “She married him because he saw her. Because he made her feel like she mattered. Because he never asked her to shrink.”

A long pause.

“She loves you, Pascale. That’s obvious. It’s why it hurt so much. It’s why she stayed quiet for so long. But she’s not going to beg anymore. And you don’t get forever to fix this.”

“I’ve watched Max fall in love exactly once,” Sophie said softly. “And it was with her. I’ve never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at her.”

That stopped Pascale. She said nothing.

“Do you understand what that means, Pascale?” Sophie asked. “Max is not an easy man. He’s brilliant, yes. But he is intense. Demanding. He grew up in a house where love was conditional, where you earned praise by winning. And then Belle—your daughter—walked into his life, and everything changed.”

“She softened him,” Sophie continued. “Not by shrinking herself, not by appeasing him. But by loving him exactly as he is. By never making him feel like he was too much. She steadies him. Sees the parts of him he doesn’t let anyone else see. And because of her, he’s gentler. Happier. Kinder.”

A beat.

She met Pascale’s eyes. “Do you know how rare that is? Do you know how much it means to me, as his mother, that the person he chose makes him feel safe?”

Pascale looked down at her hands.

“She is so good for my son,” Sophie said. “She sees him as Max, not a trophy. And he sees her—really sees her. Your daughter. Your brilliant, kind, fiercely steady daughter.”

She picked up her phone and slipped it into her coat pocket. “You may not get many more chances to prove you see her too.”

Pascale rose slowly, still blinking.

Sophie reached the door, paused, and turned. “It’s not too late, Pascale. But it’s getting close.”

And with that, she left. Silent, measured, devastating. Like a queen who didn’t need a crown to be feared.

***

Leclerc Brothers Group Chat

(Members: Arthur, Charles and Lorenzo)

Arthur:ok but like who’s going to check on Maman

Charles:not me.

Arthur:not me. Enzo, you’re up. 

Lorenzo:you’re both cowards. you’ve driven at monaco in the rain and you’re scared of a 60-year-old woman in linen this is above my paygrade

Charles: this is above everyone’s paygrade

Lorenzo:i’m not a diplomat. i can’t emotionally reparent maman.

Lorenzo: if i don’t text back in 20 mins assume the worst and tell Charlotte i loved her

Arthur: Also… maybe don’t bring up Belle for a bit.

Lorenzo: She already said, “I was trying my best.” I didn’t know what to say.

Arthur: Maybe: “Then your best wasn’t good enough”? 😬

Charles: Jesus Christ. Do not say that.

***

Belle was already seated at their usual table at Le Petit Marché by the time Sophie arrived—linen blouse perfectly pressed, sunglasses still perched on her head like she’d walked out of a silent film set in Saint-Tropez.

“Bonjour, sweetheart,” Sophie said, leaning down to kiss both her cheeks before taking the seat across from her.  “You look glowing.”

Belle laughed, a little breathless. “I look puffy.”

“You look lovely,” Sophie corrected, settling across from her. She flagged down the waiter with a tilt of her chin. “Still sparkling water?”

Belle nodded. “You remember.”

“I remember everything,” Sophie said lightly, but her eyes lingered on Belle for a second too long to be casual.

They ordered—salads, tartines, nothing too heavy—and by the time the drinks arrived, Belle had finally let herself exhale.

It was easy, being with Sophie. It always had been.

Max’s mother had never made her feel like she needed to be louder, or smaller, or clever in a way that didn’t come naturally. Sophie simply saw her, and for Belle, that was still something of a quiet miracle.

They talked about everything and nothing. It was only when their plates had been cleared and coffee had been brought that Sophie said, in her most casual tone, “And how are you doing? Truly?”

Belle blinked. “I’m… okay.”

Sophie tilted her head.

“Some days are harder than others,” Belle admitted. “But Max makes them better. Always.”

Sophie stirred her coffee once, twice, then set her spoon down with precision. “He’s different with you, you know.”

Belle smiled, ducking her head. “I know.”

“I’ve watched that boy drive through everything—noise, pressure, fire. And still, you’re the first person who made him slow down.” Sophie’s gaze softened. “It’s beautiful. And it scares him.”

Belle was still smiling when she looked up and saw Sophie watching her. Not assessing. Not judging. Just… looking.

“I had coffee with your mother this morning,” Sophie said, tone gentle but deliberate.

Belle blinked. “You did?”

“I did. She didn’t know I was coming. I like the element of surprise.”

Belle set her fork down carefully. “Was she…”

“Wrecked? Defensive? A little of both.” Sophie shrugged. “But I said what I needed to say.”

Belle was silent, unsure if she wanted to ask what that entailed.

Sophie didn’t make her. “I told her that I have a son who drives a Formula One car. And a daughter who has spent most of her life in his shadow. Just like you.”

Belle’s throat tightened.

“But I didn’t forget my daughter,” Sophie continued, voice calm and precise. “I didn’t ask her to shrink so her brother could shine. I didn’t treat her love as smaller just because it wasn’t in a headline. And I certainly didn’t make her feel like the supporting character in her own life.”

Belle looked down at her water glass. Her eyes stung.

“I told her,” Sophie went on, “that my son saw your worth immediately. From the first moment. ”

Belle swallowed, hard. “Sophie…”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Sophie said. “It was overdue.”

“She loves you, I think,” Sophie said. “But love without effort is just sentiment. And you deserve more than sentiment.”

“Thank you,” Belle whispered.“I’m really glad you’re here,” Belle said softly.

Sophie smiled and reached across the table, brushing a piece of hair from Belle’s cheek. “You are my daughter now. I will always show up.”

Belle blinked fast. “If I cry in this café, Max is going to blame you.”

“He already does,” Sophie said breezily. “Now then we’re going shopping. I saw a pair of flats that are very you, and you’re not leaving without them.”

 Which meant Belle left the afternoon with a pair of maternity jeans so well-tailored she could cry, a cashmere cardigan in the softest dove grey, and a little knit hat for the baby that Sophie claimed she couldn’t walk past without buying.

“I spoil the people I love,” she said, like it was obvious.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Charles Leclerc

Charles: Your mother’s intervention has resulted in our mother questioning all her life choices.

Max:Good. She should.

Charles: She’s been sitting on the balcony for an hour Just… staring at the sea Like she’s in an existential French film. Alexandra brought her tea and she whispered "Am I a bad mother?"

Max: Sophie works fast. And thoroughly.

Charles: She didn’t even raise her voice.

Max: She never does. That’s how you know it’s serious.

Charles: Do you think she’s available for hire? We could send her to FIA meetings.

Max: I’ll ask.

Charles: No but seriously I think it got through to her. She hasn’t deflected once today. She’s just… quiet.

Max: That’s progress.

Charles: She’s still herself, don’t worry. She asked if Belle wanted a proper wedding And Arthur started choking on his juice.

Max: Tell your mother our wedding was already perfect. No upgrades needed.

Charles: Tell your mother she might be the only person who’s ever successfully made our mother reflect. It’s like watching a glacier move.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Victoria Verstappen

Victoria: And has your mother-in-law survived Mom? 👀

Max:

She’s still breathing. But I think she’s in a mild existential crisis.

Victoria: Mild?

Max: She spent twenty minutes staring at the ocean in silence. Then apparently asked Charles if she’s been a bad mother. Then actually listened when he answered.

Victoria: Oh damn. Mom really unleashed the linen-trousered therapy nuke.

Max: She just sipped her espresso and dismantled a whole family system. Belle doesn’t know the half of it.

Victoria: She doesn’t need to. Mom did what moms are supposed to do: Protect their daughters.

Max: I know. And Belle’s glowing today. She had lunch with her and came back with a cardigan, a hat for the baby, and suspiciously expensive flats.

Victoria: That’s the Sophie Kumpen Experience™ Phase 1: espresso. Phase 2: emotional reparenting. Phase 3: light shopping spree.

Max: Tell me you’re related without telling me you’re related.

Victoria: Tell Belle I said she’s now Mom’s favorite. Also tell Pascale not to test her again unless she wants a sequel.

***

The room felt softer this time.

There was no cold weight in her chest, no sense of armor laced tight under her ribs. Belle still sat close to Max, still had one hand resting over her bump, but for once, it wasn’t to brace herself. It was just—her hand. On her stomach. Because their son had been active all morning, and she could feel the light nudges that reminded her, constantly, of the new chapter ahead.

Camille gave everyone the same calm nod as she sat. “Thank you for being here again.”

They all murmured polite hellos. Belle caught her brothers’ expressions—Charles quiet but attentive, Arthur slightly wary, Lorenzo composed as ever. Max, steady and grounded next to her, nodded at Camille. She always liked how seriously he took this.

But it was Pascale who surprised her.

Her mother looked tired—but not defensive. Not braced. She looked… resolved. There were faint lines beneath her eyes, the kind that come from crying. Her hair was pinned back neatly. Her hands folded in her lap. Belle didn’t recognize this version of her. And somehow, that made it harder.

“Before we begin,” Camille said gently, “Pascale mentioned she had something she’d like to say.”

Belle tensed automatically. Max’s pinky brushed hers in silent reassurance.

Pascale looked at her daughter.

“I owe you an apology,” she said quietly.

The words landed like a stone in the water. Clear. Heavy. Real.

Belle didn’t speak.

“I didn’t come here today to justify anything,” Pascale said. “I’ve spent too long doing that. Dismissing things. Telling myself that good intentions were enough.” She exhaled. “They weren’t.”

The silence in the room wasn’t awkward. It was reverent.

“I’ve been thinking a lot this week,” Pascale continued. “About you, Belle. About how many birthdays I missed. How many quiet accomplishments I treated like background noise. I thought I was being fair. Letting everyone find their own way. But I see now—I see that I didn’t give you the same space I gave the boys.”

Belle’s throat tightened.

Pascale looked down, voice softer. “I told myself that because you didn’t complain, you were okay. That you were independent. That you didn’t need as much.” Her voice cracked. “But you did. Of course you did. And I wasn’t there.”

There was a moment—brief, flickering—where Belle’s heart stuttered. She tried to breathe through it.

“I was a good mother to Charles,” Pascale said. “And Arthur. And Lorenzo. But I wasn’t a good mother to you. And I want to say that out loud. I need you to hear it. No excuses. Just truth.”

A beat. Then another.

“And I am so proud of the woman you became anyway.”

That broke something in Belle. She didn’t cry—but the tears burned hot in her chest, where all the old silences used to live.

Pascale looked up, eyes glassy. “Your work is brilliant. Your marriage is strong. And this baby—this baby is so lucky. Because he’ll be raised by someone who knows how to see people. Truly see them.”

Belle exhaled shakily.

“I want to earn my place again,” Pascale said. “Not as your mother by name. But as someone who supports you. Who shows up. Who listens, even when it’s uncomfortable.”

Max stayed quiet beside her. Charles had his hand loosely over his mouth. Arthur blinked hard. Lorenzo watched his mother like he was seeing her clearly for the first time.

Belle’s voice was small. “It hurt.”

“I know,” Pascale whispered. “And I’m sorry.”

[sonnabug]

The worst part to me as someone who is both neurodiverse and a health care worker is that we are quite literally trained on this, they tell us over and over that physical appearance and vital signs DO NOT override a patients stated pain level, and we talk about pain presentation in special populations as well and how its different.

And yet this STILL happens.

Maybe its because I have personally lived the expiriance my self but I have quite literally never refused pain medication to a patient unless there was a legitimate reason (blood pressure was too low for morphine for example). And its actually Not That Hard to just give the medicine!!!

There are real reasons and circumstances not to. But as someone who has expirianced extreme pain, if there are legitimate reasons why you can't then you need to throughly explain that to your patients.

Most people understand things like "you have kidney damage so this medicine could kill you, but let's try something else" because they want to know youre at least fucking working with them!!!!

it’s crazy how many times I’m like “I don’t feel good” and doctors are like “there is nothing wrong with you actually” and then they get test results back and go “oh fuck. wait a minute. you weren’t lying. this is real not good.”

and I get it, I know an element of medical misogyny plays into because they see me as a woman but I think it’s also because I’m autistic and my reactions are not ‘appropriate’. when I’m in severe pain I’m silent and I’m fidgety. they probably think I’m overstating my symptoms because my affect is flat and I’m not emoting when that is actually a sign I am doing very badly.

[dating-eveeything]

can you do romance hcs with an autistic mc? any characters you want really, but i would love dorian, cam, skips, johnny, betty, idk i'm not picky!

Them with an autistic S/O

Featuring: Dorian, Johnny, Betty, Amir

Fic type: fluff, comfort, headcanons/scenarios

Gender neutral reader, I'm using my own experiences of being autistic as a reference- please keep that in mind. Length varies for each

In all honesty, he's a decent person to be around, especially if you're overstimulated or about to have a melt down.

He's an overall quiet guy, and can easily recall stories or just talk about something random if you need the distraction.

His build is firm, and while he doesn't do it often, his hugs are just as firm and are a good way to calm you down, the pressure of his big arms a wonderful way to ground someone who's out of it.

Honestly, he doesn't really know anything about autism, nor does he quite care- he's a busy guy guarding doors, but post-relationship he pays attention more. He's watching out for you, making sure you don't stress yourself out; especially if you're leaving the house.

Very helpful when it comes to remembering things, he can help you find anything you might've misplaced. He always goes over a list of essentials needed when you leave the house.

If you're someone who gets overwhelmed quickly, he's your guy. Like earlier, he's a pretty quiet guy, so go ahead and sit against him- he'll keep quiet for you. And if you ask real nicely (though you really don't have too), he'll crouch down and pull you into his side, humming a quiet melody. The melody doesn't really matter, he knows the deep vibrations of his chest are what's helping you.

His outfit isn't as textured as you'd expect- he's a simple guy- but if you really like textures he'll let you touch and play around with his suit. Secretly enjoys it when you wrap your arms around him to feel the inside of his suit jacket (which is most definitely silk).

He stands at the door, barely letting a muscle twitch as he stares ahead. It would've been an intimidating sight if it weren't for you hugging his legs, leaning your head on his thigh like he was a pillow.

It had become a somewhat common occurrence after your relationship with Dorian started to truly blossom, you started going to him when you felt stressed and needed a moment of silence. The soft texture of his pants was enough to get some sort of sensory to help you calm down.

His hand slips down from his chest where it was crossed and rests his hand on the top of your head, not doing anything else put lightly resting it there. What a sweet door.

THIS MAN. He is the person you go to when you need to TAAALK. Lemmie tell you.

Johnny is open to hearing all about your hyperfixation or special interest. He knows so much about how it feels to be ashamed for his passions, for simply liking what he likes, and he would never want to make anyone feel that way.

He'll sit on the floor with you and listen about whatever it is you like, doesn't even have to know anything about it! He'll try and ask related questions to understand more.

Will be so excited when you come to him all excited to tell him about something that happened with your favorite topic. Go ahead and tell him all about your favorite show or game, the plot twist in your book or maybe an animal you saw that isn't usual for the area!

Absolutely remembers the little things about what you like, and when he sees you (even in passing) he'll ask for updates or just to see if he can chat you up.

Just for fun, he would write little songs just for you about your special interest! It's not exactly related, anyone but you wouldn't be able to tell what he's singing about, but you? You hear him say a single line similar to what you've told him and you're basically jumping up and down and leaning in while he sings. He does his best work just for you.

Johnny sits on the floor, legs stretched out, and listens as you speak. He has a huge smile on his face as he listens to you yap about this TV show you've been watching recently, going episode by episode about the plot and how the characters are cool or stupid.

You sit on his knees and hold onto his shoulders, every now and then shaking him when you get really excited about something. His smile never fades, and you can tell it's the most genuine smile he's ever had on his face- well, other than when he sings.

Another amazing object to go to when it comes to sensory/stimulation.

Her honey smooth voice is like a favorite song you play on loop when everything gets too much, and she knows it.

She holds you close, but doesn't whisper in your ear knowing it's uncomfortable, her head lays on yours and she practically suffocates you in her hole; just like you want. Often she repeats things she's said before, quiet funny stories she remembers about other objects in the house, repetitiveness is good for you.

Telling you something you know already is calming. She doesn't get it herself, but if it helps you she'll repeat the same thing over and over.

The blankets and pillows that decorate her are almost always the perfect temperature for you. Never too hot nor ever too cold, she makes sure of it.

Absolutely let's you play with her hair. The curls as soft as a freshly washed pet, easy to brush your fingers through and mess with, making little braids before brushing them out and starting again.

She's one of the few objects that can get anyone to shut up with a polite ask, especially if the other lives in the bedroom as well (the Hanks). It's real nice to know you have a guarantee of a quiet space whenever you want.

"There you go, lover" Betty mutters, her arms keeping you close to her. Your hands are wrapped around her and playing with the ends of her hair, the soft texture relaxing against your fingers.

She rests her hands on your head and places a big kiss on the crown of your head, resting down and slowly recalling a story she's told a million times, something about Jean Loo and Dorian- probably a silly fight- she knows you don't pay attention to the stories; just that you like to hear her voice verberate though her and to you.

Amir is GREAT for self image help and helping set routines. No one knows how to help get you out of an episode funk like this guy, let me tell you!

He'll sit next to you on the bed and rub you back as you lay away from him, not able to do much but lay there. He can be quiet if you really want, but he enjoys giving you compliments; we know this, it's like second nature for him.

Eventually he does get you out of your bed, at least getting you to sit up and lean against him. His arms wrap around you and a hand of his will come up to run through your (let's be realistic here) greasy hair and just sit there for as long as you need.

Of course he can't go a true minute without giving you a compliment. He's stroking your cheek and talking about how gorgeous you are, even with how out of touch you look after sitting in bed for who knows how long, he still takes the time to tell you how gorgeous you are.

When it comes to setting up a routine, Amir is your object. He's supportive every step of the way, holding onto you to help. When you forget to do something he's reassuring you it's alright, when you can't bring yourself to do something, again, he's there to reassure you it's alright and that you'll be able to do it tomorrow. Routines are made to be broken sometimes.

Even at your worst, when you haven't taken care of yourself in days, he's still giving you the sweetest- most genuine compliments; it's hard to believe him at times, but he has never lied about how much he finds you to be the most stunning human he's ever seen.

Amir sits on the counter, holding you- who's standing- in-between his legs as he holds onto your face. He's got a bright smile on his face, looking at you with nothing but love. "It's alright" he murmurs, moving his thumbs to brush up on your face.

Your routine had been ruined for after you had slept in and refused to get out of bed when you had woken up. It was a minor setback, but to you it was the destruction of something you had worked so hard to set up. Amir believed otherwise, helping you into the bathroom to help start up when you would've done a few hours ago.

"It's alright my darling, so you're a few hours behind. No problem, there's no better time to start than now." He leans down and kisses your forehead, grabbing the brush behind him to bring up to you. "What do you say, Sweetheart?"

[sh1-n0bu]

https://www.tumblr.com/sh1-n0bu/786706354567053312/some-things-humans-do-that-seems-like-self

As someone who has acne scars/small curators all over their face, how would Yautja react to the their human mate having many? Would they see acne scars as special markings since there are many humans that don’t have it, or are less noticeable? I don’t know anything about the predator movies so I’m going into this fandom completely blind haha

oh no worries anon, i was going into the fandom completely blind when writing my yautja thirsts as well lol. but now i have finished watching every yautja movies there are so, hopefully i know some things about their race

personally, i believe your yautja mate would adore it! whenever the yautjas are unmasked in the movies, they have skin texture as well. bumps, scales, exoskeleton etc are all common things you can find on the head part or their whole body when unmasked so if your yautja mate finds that you have acne scars, acnes or things that would give your skin ‘texture’ — AKA make them bumpy, rigged or have some facial hair — they would absolutely adore it. their human mate is just like them!

if you have scars, they would be curious. their ‘ooman has scars! battles! fights! they have prevailed against all odds and came out victorious! they knew they chose right, their sweet little ‘ooman is as strong as they are cute. they can hold their own. if feeling particularly curious, they might even ‘ask’ about them, pointing at a scar with their clawed finger and clicking their mandibles in great curiosity

if you’re the more adventurous type and go on hunts alongside them, despite being worried — i mean come on, humans are fucking tiny compared to yautjas and doesn’t have extra padded muscles or bones to withstand great amounts of pain and injury like them — they will allow you to join under the condition of being close to them at all times. and if by some blind luck or stupid bravery, you are to kill a prey, they will be willing to mark you, leaving a scar on your skin proving that you’re blooded all the while they preen in satisfaction

it’s not the little flinch or the gritting of your teeth when they cut your skin and leave the blooded mark behind that makes them preen. no, it’s the fact that their ‘ooman had joined them in a hunt and had successfully killed a prey that makes them preen. even more so if it’s a hard-skin AKA xenomorph. they always knew their ‘ooman was one of great strength and courage. this incident will only prove to them and their clan more of your worthiness

if you don’t choose to join him on his hunts, that’s okay as well. your yautja only wants you to be safe, away from harm. but that doesn’t mean their curiosity will die down. they will still ask you of the scars you have, even if they may be acne scars

this is just a ‘what if’ thought i had while answering but, what if the yautjas sees acnes as mini-xenomorphs or parasites that act like chestbursters? they’re of all sizes, with the skin becoming red around the ‘head’ and must not be popped unless you have much tinier ones and have experience popping them. so it would make a bit of sense if the yautjas were to see acnes as a mini parasite that acts like chestbursters, so they will probably need to be explained that no, although some are painful to the touch, not all of them are bad and have deeper lodges in your skin

i think your yautja mate would be happy if you were to have acnes or acne scars on your face. mostly because it gives your face the bumpy texture/look and therefore, it makes you look more like them. they love it! will probably be curious about trying some herbal remedies from yautja prime if you would want it. if not, they are more than willing to place their closed mandibles on them and click in quick little precisions to ‘kiss’ you

[not-maggie]

hi my love you should do a spencer agnew x reader but based off that one reddit story with the two friends who are secretly in love with each other and then the sperm donor thing. because thats cute. you should do that.

Baby Fever

Spencer Agnew x Reader

A/N) I just got this request and cranked it out because it's so cute! Hope I did it justice! Thanks anon <3

Baby fever hit almost every girl in the world, and unfortunately, it was hitting you hard. Every video on your feed, every post you saw, all contained adorable videos of babies. You wanted a baby, a child of your own, someone to love and watch grow, a person to raise and see their life build around them.

 One small problem, you were single. Painfully single. Like, no chance of finding a boyfriend anytime soon, let alone someone to start a family with. So, like any smart woman living on her own in L.A, you looked into sperm donors. Is getting pregnant on your own while living in one of the largest cities in the U.S a smart decision? Probably not, but your chances of finding the one aren’t looking too good right now, and you’re a smart, capable woman. You can do this, right? You have the Smosh family to help, they’re not the most traditional family, but they’re yours.

Just one issue, the sperm donor. Do you really want to go to a bank and get some random college guy’s jizz who probably only did it for the money just so you can have a little you? You don’t even know who the donor is, the child would be yours, yes, but the father…that's a special connection you want your kid to have. Someone you trust, someone you know, someone like Spencer. Oh, Spencer. Your best friend since you started at Smosh. You two started around the same time as editors and quickly grew close, bonding over games and movies. You became the dynamic duo of chaos, where one was, the other wasn’t far behind. You liked Spencer, like more than ‘you’re my best friend and work husband’ liked. You loved him, and who’s better to be your sperm donor than your best friend, right? It’s just because you trust him, not because you’re totally head over heels for him and would love to start an actual family with him, that would be crazy. 

And that’s how you pitched the idea to him. It was a Saturday night, movie night at Spencer’s. You were both lying on the couch, you tucked against his side, under his arm, as the credits for some dumb movie rolled on the screen. “Hey, Spence,” you began softly, not wanting to break the cozy quiet. He let out a small hum, prompting you to continue. “I’ve been thinking, and y’know, I finished college, I have a good job with Smosh, I’m at a comfortable place in my life right now.” He tilts his head to look at your face, you pick at your nails as you talk, a nervous habit you formed, and he always picked up on. He gently takes your hand in his to stop your fidgeting, “and…?” he knows there’s more, he always knows, he can read you like a book. “And…” you continue, “I think…I think I want a baby, I want a little me, y’know. So, um, I was thinking, since I obviously don’t have a boyfriend or fiance or anything…would you…would you be the sperm donor? I mean, obviously you don’t have to if you don't want to, and it’s totally up to you, and you don’t have to answer now. But, um, I trust you, and honestly I’d rather have you be the father of my kid than some rando…”

Spencer’s brain dies, fully, 100%, shuts off. Here you were, in his apartment, on his couch, curled up into his side…asking him to be the father of your child, and he has to pretend that it’s because your best friends and he’s not totally in love with you. god you two were terrible Someone pinch him because he has to be dreaming. “I- um, yeah.” He finally answers after a moment of silence, “yeah, thats…thats a huge honor, (y/n/n). I…if you want me to, then I’d love to…” And there it was, the agreement, the details needed to be planned out, but Spencer was going to be the father of your child. 

Monday morning rolled around and Spencer entered the Smosh office, finding Shayne talking to Courtney and Angela. “Talk, now, please,” he immediately grabs Shayne’s arm and drags him away. Shayne gives a confused goodbye to the other two as Spencer drags him into an empty conference room. Shayne knew about Spencer’s crush on you, having heard it originally after a long day of filming and Spencer’s tired ramblings. Shayne was a support for Spencer, since he knew a thing or two about liking a coworker, he offered advice to the poor gamer. The door closes behind the two, “What’s going on?” Shayne immediately questions.

 Spencer leans against the table, face buried in his hands“(YN)askedmetobethefatherofherchildandIagreedtodoit.” He quickly mumbles out. “Uhh…what?” Shayne didn’t catch any of that. “(Y/N) asked me to be the father of her child and I agreed,” Spencer repeats louder. Shayne freezes, “holy shit! Did you two….y’know? Did you at least tell her you like her?” Spencer’s face burns at his questions, “no we didn’t y’know,” he rolls his eyes. “And no…I didn’t tell her…” “Dude, why the hell not? She’s asking you to have a kid with her!” Shayne eyes widen at Spencer pure stupidity (lovingly). “It just didn’t feel right! What was I supposed to say, ‘yeah I’ll have a kid with you, by the way, I’ve been in love with you for three years’?” “Uh yeah, actually, that’s what you were supposed to say,” Shayne deadpans. “Look, dude, what do I do now?” Spencer sighs in defeat. “You gotta tell her man.” Spencer knows Shayne’s right, any idiot could see that Shayne was right, but it didn’t make it any easier. He knew what he had to do, “fine,” he relents, “I’ll talk to her.” Shayne gives him a smile and a pat on the shoulder, “let me know how it goes.” WIth that Shayne leaves the conference room to return to his previous conversation with Courtney and Angela, leaving Spencer alone with his thoughts.

You were at your desk editing a Pit video when you got a text from Spencer, “Can you meet me by the parking lot?” You quickly save your work and throw on your Spencer’s hoodie and make your way outside. You find Spencer leaning against the side of the building, “hey,” you greet quietly, sensing his nervous demeanor. “Hey, um listen…I need to tell you something,” he runs a hand through his curls, yeah, he's nervous. You nod softly, prompting him to continue, “So, um…You asked me to be the sperm donor for you…and um, obviously I would love to…but I…I need to be honest with you.” He braces himself, “I’m in love with you, I have been since we started working here, and I assumed I would never be able to get you so I was content with just being your best friend. But then you asked me that, and I…I would love to start a family with you (Y/N), but the right way, y’know? Together, as a couple…” 

You stare at him in stunned silence for a moment before you smile, “Spence, I asked you because I love you too. There isn’t anyone in the world I’d rather start a family with. I guess I could’ve just asked you out, but in my brain this seemed easier, I dunno why.” You admit bashfully, embarrassed at your own stupidity.  Spencer lets out a relieved sigh, “so, do you…want to go on a date? Do this the real way?” He asks softly. “Yeah, yeah I’d love to,” you agreed with a small giggle. Maybe you would be able to have a real family of your own, a weird, nerdy, but true family.

[maimaily]

the lads boys as kittens. 🍐 ‧₊˚ zayne

summary: You were living in your new apartment now, a free space for yourself, but maybe it was too free. You weren't quite used to the silence and loneliness of it, so you decided to welcome a little one to your home. After considering many options, a cat seemed the most adequate: clean, independent, wouldn't take much of your time as a dog... right?

characters: kitty!zayne + mc as reader (other characters will be posted separately

a/n: cat breeds are selected based on the "Yes, Cat Caretaker" event. If there's any change, it'll be based on the appearance of each breed, but not its personality traits strictly. proofread but if there's any mistake please let me know! (eng isn't my first language).

xavier 🢒 rafayel 🢒 sylus 🢒 caleb (coming soon)

Zayne — Maine Coon How did he get to live with you?

A precious cat café that you frequented was your favorite, it had a cozy atmosphere and the kitties were adorable. Most of them were young and lively, playing between the tables and napping on the window frames. You loved that place, but one day you received the unfortunate notice: they were going to close permanently soon.

The nostalgia of memories formed in that special place drove you to visit again before it shut down forever. There was no longer service, and just a couple of employees were cleaning up the place. They apologized and explained that maintaining the establishment was becoming impossible since the rent had become pricier and the cats needed more medical treatments. Upset, you were about to leave just when the owner stopped you at the door.

In his fragile arms he carried a pitch-black beauty, bigger than a regular cat. You recognized him as the cat you always found at the reception desk every day you visited, staring at the door in an upright sitting position or taking a nap from time to time.

The owner explained that it was his cat. He tried many times to introduce him to the rest of the cats in the café, but he never got along much, mostly because his big body intimidated the smaller ones, and apparently, he wasn't as playful. Because of this, he made it stay with him at the reception to keep him company, rarely getting any caress besides yours, who always showed him affection.

The gentleman explained the complicated state of his health. His business had become a chore for him, it made him stay away from home for long hours, and he couldn't bring himself to leave his precious cat alone that much. Since his goal was to provide the kittens with a better life, he got them new owners who were happy to adopt them before closing the shop. But for his boy… he needed the perfect caregiver. That's when you learned his name: Zayne.

"Even now that I'll be more at home, he deserves an owner who can take care of him as he deserves. My mobility is getting more limited with each passing day, and I'm worried he's starting to take care of me instead of me taking care of him… My wife and I adopted him some years ago, but I'm not selfish enough to make him stay with me now that she's gone… I know he will be happier living with you."

And that's how it happened. After a couple of days of proper procedures, your new angelic boy was home.

Gracious presence. Zayne has the unique talent of making looking through the windows a solemn sight, with his silky, daintily groomed black fur glistening in the late afternoon sunlight. His tall, long body stretches gracefully when he wakes up from his small naps, purring tenderly when you scratch his chin (he loves it). His existence is so full of grace that your gallery is now loaded with his photos.

Shy boy! During the first days of living together, it was hilarious to see such a big cat jumping in surprise each time Rafayel got closer to sniff him when he was napping, accidentally waking him up. But his reclusive demeanor was as endearing as it was concerning, you didn't want to cause him any discomfort or anxiety, so you did your research and got a few toys and treats ready, compromised to spend the day bonding with your cats. Rafayel was enthusiastic, Xavier liked being rewarded for his hard work, and Zayne... well, he played with the plush mouse toy along with Xavier! It was something, wasn't it? The next day when you returned home after work and saw them napping together, you knew it had been all worth it.

Quiet. Continuing with the previous trait, he's an even quieter cat than Xavier! Doesn't really let out meows and just occasionally chirps when he's hungry or expresses discomfort. He doesn't make any noise at night… someone could learn a thing or two from him.

Glutton in disguise. Zayne is a well-mannered cat, he is clean, polite, and mostly never causes trouble, but when food is involved… sigh. His usual wet food is fine, perfect even: nutritional, tasty, and prepared with love when you add the supplements recommended by the vet. There's nothing wrong until treats are involved. He likes them too much and will get pretty moody if he doesn't get at least one per day. The vet strictly restricted him from eating them so frequently after his last check-up. He doesn't like to talk about it.

His favorite place to make biscuits is your thighs. Soft, squishy even, he doesn't hurt you with his weight and you always reach out your hand to pet him as he commits to his duty. It occurs as you're lying down: he'll announce himself with a short meow and jump on top of your legs gently. After he's done, he lies on your lap quietly (nap time!)

Nuzzles, nuzzles, nuzzles. Against your legs, your hands, your face, anywhere you allow him to, really. Doesn't do it frequently, just when you've been gone for too long or when he's showing affection. Oh, he also likes to stretch his body up on you, so you must carry him and let him nuzzle against your neck when he's needy.

Grooming grump. No, don't get me wrong, I said it before: he's always neatly groomed. Not "most of the time", no. Always. He spends a good amount of time getting his fur clean and shiny, not even Rafayel is as meticulous as him, but... the grooming brush? Get that away from him. You have to prowl around while he basks, acting as if you're not looking for him, then reach down to pet him a couple of times, gaining his trust... and now! You take the brush from your pocket and start from his exposed belly. He'll surrender the first 5 minutes, gently smacking your hand when he's done with the sensation. And let me tell you he's still very polite about it.

No touch. Strangers can't touch him, he'll run off. You can, but that doesn't mean all the time. His ears are particularly sensitive so he'll move away if you scratch him for too long, and how open he feels that day to allow you to shower him in caresses or not relies on his mood. You've learned to respect his boundaries, giving him space when he needs it, and he knows for sure your arms are all open to receive him when he wants to be pampered.

It felt, at times, like the world was a heavy storm cloud perched on your shoulders—loud, weighty, and unwilling to lift. "Bright days and cloudy days" you merely called it, but deep inside, the truth was that exhaustion made you feel like you were running in circles.

“Hey, it's fine. We're all bummed about it, but it's already done. Take this. It'll help you sleep at night”, the forever-sweet Tara told you after seeing the guilt in your eyes, still heavy from today’s mission... including that disastrous report you submitted, which didn’t exactly win points with your boss. She handed over a small packet of herbal tea—the kind that promised to calm your nerves. Her usual remedy when things felt off.

With a sigh, you put it away in your bag and left the Hunters Association building. Your bike was under repair again since it had been damaged during your previous mission, so you had to take the bus—and yes, what your eyes saw was the bus, the only one that came every hour, pulling away as you arrived at the bus stop seven minutes late.

On the outside, you only sighed heavily and rubbed your temples. But inside, you felt like you were reaching your last straw for the day.

The door locked itself after you, matching your hundredth sigh of the day. Kicking your shoes off and not caring about picking them up to store them was the first sign. Dragging your feet in dim light and just pouring food on each of the bowls was the second one. Ignoring the mess of toys Rafayel created during the day, and Xavier asleep on your clean laundry was the third.

Finally, heading to your bedroom without taking a shower first was the fourth and last one he needed before jumping off the wall hammock and walking towards the dark room. The soft click of the door handle turning startled you. “Zayne?"

You were sitting on the bed, breaking your rule of no outside clothes on the freshly cleaned covers, but frankly, you were too tired to even bother. Your body was facing the open window, small tears blurring your eyes as you stared at the starry sky outside, counting the tiny sparkling dots to avoid any form of thought about your awful, lousy day coming to your head.

Evidence destroyed, a fugitive, and a terrible feeling of resentment toward yourself for failing.

It felt unfair to disturb the peace of your cats with the gloomy mood you were in, and it was late anyway, so you allowed them to sleep and rest at ease, dealing with your turbulent emotions alone. But tricking Zayne into believing everything was fine turned out to be a fruitless mission.

He walked around the bed, his shiny, peridot-like eyes staring back at you. “Meow,” he bumped against your leg, nuzzling for a second before placing his paws on your knees for support. “Oh, Zaynie. Go back to sleep, it's nothing." You scratched his chin and he purred, leaning against your touch and jumping on top of your lap, sitting there. Avoiding falls from the unstable sitting spot, you cradled him in your arms like the biiiig baby he was. “Sorry for waking you up…”

His paws gently touched your face, and it sounded ridiculous maybe, but you felt it like reassurance you so badly needed in that moment, and that made you tear up. His paws patted your cheeks, and you couldn't help but smile. Your back rested on the mattress now, his body cuddled on top of you, purring slowly and tenderly, his soft breathing calming your own. He had nuzzled his face against yours as you cried and let out all the pent-up stress and frustration from the day.

His purring rumbled against your chest as your hands kindly petted his delicate fur, earning an affectionate lick on the cheek that coaxed a giggle out of you. You cupped his tiny face to pepper kisses all over it. "Thank you for coming to my emotional rescue, my loving gentleman," you teased, adoring every aspect of him. Zayne was observant, and after weeks of building your relationship, earning each other's trust, and caring for each other, it was clear as day how much of an emotional support he was for you.

Once your mind became clear of self-deprecating thoughts, you refreshed yourself with a warm bath, changed into your comfiest clothes, prepared the tea Tara gifted you, kissed Rafayel and Xavier goodnight —a well-deserved gesture after a whole day of absence—, and tucked yourself under the covers where Zayne waited patiently for you.

Your hands gently caressed him, waiting for the herbal infusion to take effect, and slowly you drifted into the land of dreams, your relaxed breathing bringing a sense of comfort to the cat beside your limp body. He stretched to reach the lamp on the nightstand, fumbling with his paws until he managed to press the switch and turn off the light.

You'd only notice until the next morning, but it wouldn't be the first time he surprised you with those actions. Were those small gestures the same as he did when he lived with the elderly couple that adopted him first? And if they were, was he tired of having to do it all over again for you?

A few words were enough to answer this: he would always look after you with pleasure, as you always took care of him.

© MAIMAILY. Please do not steal, copy or plagiarize this work.

Likes, reblogs are comments are greatly appreciated!

hi !! first of all: thank you SO much for the love the kitty series is receiving! I'm so happy y'all like it, these are really fun and relaxing to write for me, so I'm glad there is people who enjoy it too. For Zayne's part... I'm sorry Zayne girlies, I admit this isn't as fun as Xavier's or Rafayel's, but y'all are welcome to make me write something cuter if you want HAHAHA. Thank you again for reading, let's see each other again for Sylus's version! <3

thank you to all the people who started following me too! (⁠人⁠*⁠´⁠∀⁠｀⁠)⁠｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+

tag list ! @animegamerfox, @princessofenkanomiya, @aethercoreria

Dividers made by: @uzmacchiato, @v6que and @haecunt

[hurtspideyparker]

Opinions on winterdad and spiderson?

my opinion is that it's SICK AS HECK

I love a grumpy reluctant parental figure. Bucky who doesn't think he's good or safe to be around kids, like his past might leak through and taint their innocence. Bucky who can barely take care of himself half the time, let alone another person. who doesn't know how to be kind and patient like he probably should be, let alone to someone impressionable

And then a teenager who thinks Bucky's fantastic, who doesn't care if he's quiet because Peter talks enough for both of them. who's ecstatic about Bucky's capabilities and strength and arm and history, who can't take a hint that Bucky doesn't want a yammering kid in his ear. Peter who finds it endlessly amusing to annoy Bucky, which is somehow a comfort to the older man (at least the kid's not scared)

I love fics where Peter is hurt/kidnapped/tortured, and Bucky with the emotional wherewithal of a rock steps up to comfort him because he understands. He's been there.

Whenever I read a Hydra!Peter fic without Bucky I go "where's my DRINK? My DIET DOCTOR KELP?!" cause how dare you first of all. second of all how dare you /lh. But the Winter Soldier having a soft spot for a child is so special, who keeps needing to be wiped because he keeps developing this weakness. Or Bucky who's long escaped and Peter who's just been rescued, Bucky having to relive his Hydra trauma because he recognizes all the signs and triggers in this boy. Who has to decide to hide and preserve his own well being or face this kid and be his only real lifeline. Peter who's in awe of the Asset, who only trusts his own kind, or who doesn't trust him because he's his own kind

traumatized child & traumatized adult is the best soup

[phaideis-chimeras]

3.4? Angst? Naaaah, I only know fluff! So here, have a bit of of phaidei fluff to soothe the soul and forget about the pain.

--------

“After this is over, we should get married.”

Phainon never meant to say that out loud. The thought slipped out, just like that.

But now, the words are hanging in the air, met by… Silence.

After a few moments, Mydei props himself up from where he was lying on Phainon’s chest. He gives him a questioning look.

“You want to marry me?”

Phainon shrugs, suddenly feeling self-conscious. Maybe it was stupid to say that out loud. But he just can't let the idea go. It's the one wish he has for the future… That can't be stupid, right?

“I just want to spend the rest of my life with you.” He reaches out to cup Mydei's cheek. “I want to wake up next to you every day like this.” Mydei leans into his touch and closes his eyes, gently humming.

“You already do that, silly.” He slightly turns his head to kiss the palm of Phainon's hand.

“But if marriage is what you want, then I will happily agree.”

Phainon tilts his head a little. He looks at Mydei, trying to determine what he's thinking. “If marriage isn't for you… We can just keep living like this, of course.” He lets out a small, nervous chuckle, hoping it doesn't sound too disappointed. “I'll be happy as long as I can live my life by your side, really.”

Mydei contemplates for a bit. He shrugs.

“I never really thought about it before. I have you with me every day already. And I know that I love you and you love me. I don't need a special ceremony for that.” He leans in and kisses Phainon's nose, pressing their forehead’s against each other. He smiles down at Phainon, his expression full of love. “But the more I think about it, the more I like the idea. Phainon, my husband… It sounds good, doesn't it?”

Just hearing the words come from Mydei's mouth makes Phainon's heart skip a beat. Mydei's husband. He's giddy just thinking about it.

He smiles and runs a hand through Mydei's hair. “See? I knew you’d get the appeal.” He chuckles and kisses Mydei's cheek. “It's settled then. When the Flame Chase is over, we're getting married.”

Mydei looks at him, a gentle smile on his lips. “Why wait for that long? We could go to Aglaea tomorrow and ask her to officiate for us… Ask the others to join if you want. I don't need a big ceremony. You are the only person I need with me.”

Phainon can't help but laugh. It's rare to hear Mydei speak with so much excitement. His calm, somewhat reserved demeanor seems to have melted away.

“For someone who didn't even think about marriage just a few minutes ago, you're quite eager to get it done immediately.”

Mydei blushes a little and pouts. “You are the one who put the idea into my head, now you're mocking me?” He huffs.

Phainon lets out a hearty laugh. He wraps his arms around Mydei to pull him into a hug, repeatedly kissing his cheek.

“I'm not mocking you, Mydei. I'm happy you like the idea that much… And of course, I'd love to get married to you immediately.”

Mydei huffs and buries his face into Phainon's neck. “Good,” he grumbles.

Phainon chuckles and ruffles his hair.

His laughter dies a little and he solemly looks up at the ceiling.

“You know, I said that earlier because I was thinking about things to look forward to. Something to keep fighting for.” He let's out a small sigh.

“So what will I look forward to?”

Mydei looks up at him and scoffs as if the answer is obvious. “Your life with me, of course.” He pulls Phainon into a kiss and holds him close. Phainon rests his head against Mydei's chest.

“I will make sure every single day is something you can look forward to.” He can feel Mydei's hand gently stroke his hair.

Phainon smiles and closes his eyes. “I know you will. You always do. You are the future worth fighting for. And I swear I will fight for you.”

[isuggestforcefem]

Kinda frustrated and upset rn, have a psychiatrist who’s been pretty cool and good so far, but I asked him what stops him being able to just prescribe hormones to patients himself? And he said he technically can but it’s his responsibility if anything goes wrong and because he isn’t trained in gender stuff specifically he could lose his license. I asked him, not to be a dick but how involved would that training really be? And he admitted it would probably be just some online training and shadowing a few appointments of someone who can do it already, but also that he wasn’t gonna do it. Just didn’t have the time to add that to the priority list. Like I wasn’t suggesting he do it for me but if your practice mostly serves younger people and you wanna be a queer ally having someone who specializes in trans healthcare on site would be a HUGE boon. It sucks for me but I wouldn’t feel right asking him to risk his license for my sake, my problem is it’d be a gigantic pain to get to an endo right now but in a few months it’d be a breeze, I was asking him if I could start now and line up an appointment in a couple months, but he’s insistent I see the endo first before even starting.

But like, for anyone with executive dysfunction every extra thing you need to do can feel like 50 things, and if you’re still closeted you could be going through all of it on your own and my even need to stay discrete about it. If someone is already in your care and wants that help why don’t you want to be able to give it to them?

On the personal level I feel like I’ve just wasted so much time, it’s frustrating to think I found a shortcut then get shut down and have to keep waiting. I know it’s never too late but I’m so tired ☹️

That’s awful! That psychiatrist is horrible, his behaviour denotes such a lack of care for trans people. I’m so sorry darling, it’s unfair how people treat us.

[evilminji]

God it would be hilarious. The "!!!!" Leading to "!!?!??!????" Every time? Like? Wait... wait, no. Why is this not working? I am doing the Fighting™. This is the Fighting Stance. We... we Fight Now. Why are you still calm?

Stop being REASONABLE and OFFERING ME SNACKS!

We're supposed to fight! Everything is supposed to be AWFUL and-! Wait, actually? These snacks are surprisingly really good...

Like, "thanks! I made them myself. I also got some tea? So what brings you by?" And the next thing you know, you're sharing the whole frustrating affair of X attacking Y, so you gotta avenge Z, because you're allied with the daughter-in-law of B, who was attacked in retaliation by A and... AND-! It's been MONTHS!!! You just wanna GO HOME ALREADY!!! You done even KNOW half these people!

"That sounds really frustrating and hard." *emotional validation no jutsu/way of the Capybara*

And like? By the time the dude he was supposed to Climacticly Fight FINALLY is tracked down? ..... fuck off, actually. He has Therapy'd with the Capybara. This is stupid and he wants to go home. He misses his bed.

The OTHER half the time? It's personal. So it's like "you seem nice. Shame I have to Super Murder your Sectmate. But the guy is a dick, so he completely deserves." And she is like "well, actions have consequences, I'd prefer you not, but it is what it is. So how was the weather in X province?" Like? Capy-oc! Dude!!

We are SUPPOSED to present a UNITED FRONT!

"Not when you go around actively being a dick to people. If you invite problems, don't act surprised when they show up." *siiiiiiip* "Maybe stop doing that."

And like? So you're cool with me beating his ass like a drum? Just don't kill him? Sold! *cracks knuckles* Come 'ere punk. Time for some life lessons! (This is why they stopped putting you on Gate Duty Capy-oc. This is the OPPOSITE of what you are supposed to be doing. Stop letting Disciples get their asses handed to them!) (No. They need to stop picking fights. It's causing me stress. I don't LIKE stress.)

Chill doesn't mean Capy-oc doesn't have lines. A moral code.

The capacity to be a petty, petty BITCH sometimes.

She just.... generally doesn't want too. Everything is Starlight. Her soul feels like Hugs and flowing water made of sunshine. WHY would she be petty? Cranky? Irritable at all?? Everything is great!

But?

Like a sleeping giant, rumbling deep as mountains, a slowly cracking one eye open? Sometimes... she is NOT Chill. She does not LIKE the Not Chill. She spent YEARS of HELL in the Go Go GO Not Chill. So her ability to be VERY productive, VERY fast? Still there. She can hit like a bullet train. Pull all nighters and multi-task like a MONSTER.

She IS the army.

But! This is not The Way.

To reach Enlightenment. The Dao. She chooses the way of the Capybara. Like a leaf on the breeze. Resting on the surface of a pond. The peaceful capybara, chilling in a hotspring. Endless moments of stillness, gentle moments of peace. Quiet moments of contentment. We get there when we get there. Have a fruit. Drink some tea.

Breathe.

This is the Dao.

And like? The big thing? Isn't that it would be some golden super Cultivation? It would just sorta pour, slow and steady. Reliable. No leaps and plateaus. No shortcuts, but on the other hand? No need. It's so STABLE. So perfectly layered. Like building bedrock.

And you have all the time in the world.

Why are you rushing? Are you not immortal? Why is this a race? Is your Cultivation a competition against others? Or a journey to better the self?? How flawed, these foolish children are. Mortal, in their immortality. No wonder they struggle.

Not that Capy-oc is judging! But the universe might be. It seems REAL sick of this "I'm going to break the heavens and fight fate! Because I'm SPECIAL and no one ever though of this befoooore~☆!!!" Type asshole. Like? Yes, yes, you're daddy's specialist baby and no one ever told you no. Grow up.

Fate is not a text book dedicated to your simple mortal life and the Heaven run FAR more then the affairs of mortals! You're NOT THAT SPECIAL!!!

Protagonist must be the bane of their existence. Stg.

Actually? You know what we don't see enough?

People who get isekai'd, go "sure I'll Change The Plot" but then... just kinda get swept up in the local power system/a hyperfixation and forget. (Or like, lose the desire too)

Cause like... do any of YOU know what Cultivation feels like? Physically? Can any of US really tell how we'd react to sitting down, trying this whole "gotta stay under the radar, act like everyone else" thing... only... ONLY?? To have our SOUL go Brrrr~☆

Have all our insides get filled with sunlight. Our veins, sigh like they just stepped into a hot shower after weeks rolling in questionable mud. Feel... clean. Calm. Filled with light. Just a good ol... no thoughts, head empty, vibe session. With the UNIVERSE. Breathing it in... breathing it out... breathing it IN... breathing it-

Wait...

HOW MANY DAYS HAS IT BEEN?!

And like? The great irony? Being that they ARENT TRYING. There is no Challenging The Heavens or Ten Thousand Dragon Dist Of Doom Sword nonsense. No drama with face slapping or inner/inter Sect politics. Just? The slow but creeping realization that this is the calmest they have ever felt in their life.

No rent. No capitalistic hellscape. No riots or genocides she can't go stab, due to complexe economic and sociopolitical reasons, firstly being it wouldn't solve shit. It's? So calming? She can just sit under a waterfall. Or under a tree. In a garden! People leave her alone!

Ha...ha ha...aha Ha HA!

*vaguely deranged hysterical laughter* She FREE!!! AaaaaaAAAAAAA-!!!!!!!

Do they have to sedate her? Yeah. That was a pretty big Qi Deviation. She may have hulked out a bit. Bit people. But heart demons get to the best of us, man. She hasn't felt this chill in her LIFE.

Fffffuck the plot. *cheers her tea cup* you do you, boo! Go get um, honey! Aim for the eyes!! *siiiiip*

She? Would ironicly? Be the most advanced Cultivator in her generation? Solely by virtue of just really, REALLY enjoying Cultivating. By, ironically, not CARING and simply doing? By accepting who she is and as she is? Drifting gently upwards like a feather on a warm breeze? The universe would reward.

She would be grasping the meaning of the project, where others fail.

Not demanding power. Not striving to break the game. Not DEFYING Fate...

Just? Gently setting Fate aside. Setting everything aside. And sinking into starlight. Cause positive reinforcement go Brrr. Why all these arguments? This drama? Have a steamed bun. You should go meditate. *sedated grin with flower background*

Is she high? Fucking with people? No one knooooows.

But she's the Sect Leader's and various Shizun's FAVORITE. Like a human Capybara. Immaculate Vibes, OC. Keep up the good work! (She's so low maintenance! Never causes trouble with other Sects! No drinking, no whoring around in the mortal villages, and best of all? She'll help with paperwork then stay for tea! Listen to you ramble! It's like the daughter you never had.)

@legitimatesatanspawn @babbling-babull @fangirlingpuggle @mayfay @hdgnj

[edwardhartenjoyer]

I'm here for the request hey!<3 I like to suffer, what if a new ghoul joins the school, and this person is close to mc, like a childhood friend, ghouls who see a side of mc that they've never seen, I don't know sarcastic and close🤷‍♀️

Hi!! Oh I like this idea! A touch of angst mayhaps? We'll see where this prompt goes. You didn't specify any certain ghouls so I picked some I got ideas for, definitely down to do this prompt again for the ones I didn't get to though.

Hope you enjoy it!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

A few months into your time at Darkwick, a new ghoul was announced as arriving. An assembly was held to place the new ghoul, and you went, curious who this new person was that you'd have to get to know.

To your surprise, you already knew him! It was your childhood best friend, and while very shocked to know he'd made a pact with a demon, you were also so excited to see him.

You screamed in delight and went running up to him. He grinned and pulled you into a massive hug. While not everyone was at the assembly, enough ghouls were that word spread fast.

Soon, your resident favorite ghoul finds out you know this new guy and are super close with him. Whatever, it totally doesn't bother him...right?

Featuring: Haku | Leo | Jin

Haku Kusanagi - Haku had been there to see how you greeted this new ghoul. It's fine. It totally didn't bother him. After all, you were both going to hang out later.

When you came to meet up with him later, he was totally not upset to see the new ghoul practically hanging off of you.

"Hey Princess." He greeted

"Princess? Oh your majesty have I not been treating you properly?" Your friend snorted, teasing you.

"Yes, you should be bowing to me, learn your place." You scoffed, lightly shoving your friend before turning to Haku. Haku was stunned watching this. He'd never seen you act like this with anyone else.

"Hi Haku, this is my close friend from childhood." You explained, gesturing to your friend.

"Oh, nice to meet you." Haku replied slightly coldly.

You sat down to study with him, and to his annoyance, your friend hung around too.

Haku saw a whole new side of you, and honestly, he wasn't sure how he felt about it. You were a lot more teasing and sassy with your friend than he'd ever seen you be with anyone else.

It made him jealous, he'd thought the two of you were really close, but clearly you were still hiding parts of yourself from him and he was unsure if he was hurt by that or not.

Well, he'd just have to double his efforts. He'd show you that you could be fully honest with him. That way you'd treat him special too.

Leo Kurosagi - Leo knew instantly about your childhood friend being the new ghoul around, and he was instantly trying to find out anything about him and, subsequently, your relationship with him and just how close you really were.

When he invited you over, he had not anticipated seeing your friend tagging along with you.

"NPC, I don't remember inviting this guy along." Leo sneered.

"I'm showing him around and it's nice to spend time with him again." You explained, and Leo tried not to look affected as you practically hung off this guy, somehow always touching him.

He'd spent a lot of time watching you, clearly because as his fake girlfriend, he needed to know about you, ok?! And you were never this..touchy, with anyone else.

He totally wasn't seething with jealousy, especially when he tried to pull you away from that guy. "Whatever, I need your help NPC."

You pulled away from Leo's touch and, much to his annoyance, practically reattatched yourself to this new guy.

"Help yourself, Leo, you're not using me to spy on Alan again. If that's all you wanted then we're going to keep taking a tour around." You huffed.

Leo didn't respond, so you turned and left with your friend, still being very touchy. Leo had never seen you like this, and he found it bothered him. Whatever, he'd fix this. He'd find some kind of dirt on that so-called friend of yours that would send you running right into his arms instead.

Jin Kamurai - Jin tried not to let it bother him when he heard that you were practically clinging to that new ghoul. After all, you were still his servant. You always came when he called, so it didn't bother him.

That was until you showed up to an interhouse mission meeting practically draping yourself off of this new guy.

Jin was very clearly staring daggers into your childhood friend. He was not happy with the idea that you felt so close to this guy you could hang off of him like that, but that you didn't feel close enough to Jin himself to act like that with him.

"Jin? You doing okay?" You asked quietly, and he blinked. He'd been so focused on staring daggers into your friend he hadn't seen you come closer.

"Fine." He huffed.

You tried to pry more information out of him, but he wouldn't say much else. Eventually, you gave up, figuring Jin was just having a hard day.

Jin kept his eyes on you and your childhood friend the rest of the time that you guys were around.

Internally, he was making his plans to keep you close to his side so that you wouldn't have time to hang off your friend, and that way, Jin himself could get closer to you so you'd be more open like this with him.

It was the best he could come up, and besides, he was a patient man when he wanted to be.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Tag list: @cloudcountry @ventisimpilysm

Wanna be added or removed? Let me know!

[notyancionline]

i think it’s actually insane that people are mad this video “leaked” like we’re talking about unreleased demo tracks and not a real person literally fighting for his life in a courtroom. y’all gatekept a video of him talking just speaking and now that people are seeing it, you’re mad??? what exactly are you mad about? that more people care? that you’re not the only ones who saw it first? you’re saying “we didn’t want it shared” like you had exclusive rights to him like he’s yours and now you’re guilt-tripping people with “this wasn’t supposed to get out” energy, when all that’s being asked is for basic humanity not secrecy. this isn’t about safety this is about control and no one is asking you to post a damn thing so stop acting like you’re being forced to “betray” some sacred trust. you’re not his lawyer. you’re a girl on tumblr hoarding crumbs if you cared about him more than your aesthetic, you’d be mad at the system not at the fact that people now know what his voice sounds like. you don’t need to be a fan. you don’t need to be a gatekeeper just admit it made you feel less special and move on.

[ko-existing]

https://www.tumblr.com/ko-existing/787662538590584832/do-you-ever-grieved-for-the-dream-once-you?source=share

how so?

You're "grieving" because there's still misidentification happening — a sense that you, the person, are watching something meaningful slip away. But if it’s really seen that it was never real to begin with, not even for a second, what’s left to grieve? It doesn't matter if you use the words 'illusory''. It doesn't mean you see it like that.

It’s like realizing a shimmering oasis in the desert is a mirage. Once you see clearly that there was never any water, do you walk away heartbroken? Of course not. There’s nothing to mourn because there was nothing there. Just like you wouldn’t wake up from a dream where you were famous or in love or flying and grieve it the next morning — it was a passing appearance. It never had weight. It never actually happened.

The phrase “I grieve the illusion” sounds poetic, but it doesn’t make sense when it’s seen clearly. If the world is illusory and the person is illusory, what is grieving what? It’s just thoughts looping on themselves, trying to find ground in something groundless. The grief arises only if it’s believed something real was lost.

But here’s where a big misunderstanding shows up for a lot of people — especially if they’re just reading and reading without truly seeing it for themselves: they start thinking I’m saying you should feel nothing, like you should become some robot or mountain monk detached from all emotion, sitting silently in the Himalayas next to a snow lion or something. That’s not it at all.

Look — feelings come and go. Happiness, grief, laughter, joy — they appear, they stay a while, and they subside. That doesn’t mean they’re “real” in the solid, lasting sense. They’re just part of the play, like weather passing through an open sky. No one needs to suppress anything. No one can — because there’s no person doing it to begin with.

I mean, just yesterday (actually not even 24h ago) I found a rare jacket I’ve been wanting for months, and I was grinning like someone who solved a centuries-old math puzzle. If it had sold out before I could grab it, I would’ve been devastated. That’s how it plays out sometimes. It's all spontaneous and planned at the same time. One big Paradox for no one experienced by no one. The difference is: none of that touches what 'I Am'. The joy or devastation is a movement within the field, not evidence of a solid “me” living a life. "Awareness" isn’t being stoic or detached. It’s not a monk. It’s not a robot. It’s not even something you become. It’s simply what is — beyond description, yet effortlessly present.

So — PSA for everyone, not just that anon — stop turning this into some mental maze. People message me all the time saying “I’m so sad my family isn’t real,” or “so if I’m real and the world isn’t, what’s the point?” But that’s not it either. That’s still personal identity trying to survive by splitting reality: “I’m the special one and the rest is fake.” No. If one thing is unreal, everything is. If one thing is real, everything must be. It’s not pick-and-choose. This is total. Either the whole dream is a dream — or none of it is.

And yes, it can be very simple. People don't believe that when I say it didn't take me long. They ask, “Then why does it take others years?” How would I know? Go ask them! Maybe they keep reading instead of seeing. Maybe they overcomplicate. Maybe they want an experience. I didn’t. I wasn’t even lurking on Tumblr or endlessly scrolling. I just stopped and looked.

So stop thinking reading will save you. You’re not trying to collect information — you’re trying to notice what never stopped being here. And for that, no books, posts, or teachers can do it for you. Just look.

[littlejoyss]

𝓮𝔁𝓽𝓻𝓪 𝓼𝓽𝓸𝓻𝔂 - 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓶𝓪𝓻𝓻𝓲𝓪𝓰𝓮

“One single thread of gold tied me to you.”

Stray Kids - Felix x Reader

Word count: 3k

𝓮𝓹𝓲𝓵𝓸𝓰𝓾𝓮 ← 𝓮𝔁𝓽𝓻𝓪 𝓼𝓽𝓸𝓻𝔂 - 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓶𝓪𝓻𝓻𝓲𝓪𝓰𝓮

Hey all! I honestly couldn't stop writing about these two because I love them so much. So...here's a little something more! Also, at the end there is a special announcement!

(3 years after Chapter 10, 7 years before the epilogue)

The morning of your wedding was strangely quiet. No assistants shouting for backup thread, no stylists checking the time every thirty seconds. No press crowding the front step for a quote or a photo. Just the light drifting through the curtains and the rhythmic hum of your sewing machine. You added one last invisible stitch to the hem of your dress. Not because it needed it, but because your hands needed something to do.

You let the machine sit beneath your fingertips and sat back slowly. The silence around you wasn’t empty. It was full in the way that only comes right before something important. It felt like standing on the edge of a cliff, barefoot, wind curling around your ankles. Not fear. Not even nervousness. Just the weight of knowing this moment would change everything.

You reached for your phone, more out of habit than purpose, and blinked at the flood of unread messages.

Congratulations! from a Paris-based editor who once made you cry in a fitting but called you “visionary” in his last review.

A dress and a husband? You’re greedy. An idol you worked with texted, followed by a flurry of champagne emojis.

A soulmate in gold thread. Knew it from the start. From a model that was in your most recent show.

There were dozens, past designers, stylists, and even celebrities you’d worked with who couldn’t make it in person. Some sent short videos. Some voice notes. And still, none of it felt quite real. You were loved, you knew that now. You earned that. 

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

Across town, Felix was pacing in a room filled with too many mirrors. Chan and Hyunjin were fussing over his lapels, and Jeongin kept stealing tissues every time his eyes became glossy.

“Felix,” Chan said firmly, “if you touch your hair again, I’m tying your hands behind your back. This isn’t a comeback stage. You’re not styling it yourself.”

Hyunjin, crouched in front of him, smoothed the hem of Felix’s tailored trousers and glanced up. “Honestly, you’re lucky. If it were me getting married today, I’d be sobbing all over the silk.”

Felix let out a breathy laugh, his throat tight. “I’m trying not to.”

“I give you ten more minutes,” Changbin said, sitting on the windowsill with a smirk on his face, “You’ll cry before she even walks in.”

“I won’t,” Felix replied, but his voice cracked halfway through the sentence. “I… okay, I might.”

Han walked in with eight coffee cups and handed one to Felix. “We all placed bets. Lee Know thinks you’ll cry as soon as you hear the first note of the song.”

“What song?” Felix asked, suspicious.

“The one she picked for the walk down the aisle,” Seungmin chimed in from the corner, adjusting his tie in the mirror. “We weren’t supposed to know, but I overheard Bora humming it.”

“Is it one of ours?” Felix asked, suddenly breathless.

“You’ll see,” Chan said with a grin that somehow managed to be both proud and protective. He stepped back and studied Felix like a final check before a stage performance. “You look good, Lix. Really good.”

Felix took a deep breath and nodded, eyes scanning the suit he was wearing, midnight black with a subtle embroidery of stars across the lapel. Your touch was all over it.. He could feel it in the gold thread sewn into the inner cuff, where you had written, for the one who made me brave.

“I still can’t believe I get to marry her,” Felix murmured, voice barely audible.

“Why not?” Lee Know said, standing to brush invisible dust off his shoulder. “She’s your person. You’ve always known that.”

“I know,” Felix replied, fingers brushing over his pinky, where the golden string shimmered faintly. “It’s just… sometimes life feels too good. Like I’m afraid I’ll blink and wake up.”

“You’re not dreaming,” Chan said softly. “You just built something real. And today? Today’s just the part where you get to stand in front of everyone and say it out loud.”

“Jeez, Chan, I can’t wait for your wedding.” Jeongin teased his way with words.

Chan’s flushed, “Guys…I met her a year ago. Be patient.”

Felix smiled, something steady anchoring in his chest. He looked around at his members, his brothers, and felt their support wrap around him like armor.

“You ready?” Hyunjin asked.

Felix looked toward the door, then back at his reflection.

“I’ve been ready since the day I met her.”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

Bora was finishing up your hair. Her fingers were precise, but gentle, tucking a final pin into the soft bun at the base of your neck before stepping back to admire her handiwork. “There,” she said with a satisfied sigh, hands on her hips. “You look like the closing scene of a fairy tale.”

You laughed quietly, too full to say much. “I feel… like I’m floating.”

“You are,” said another voice from behind, and you turned slightly to see Chan’s girlfriend enter the room, a soft box tucked under one arm and a peaceful look on her face. “It’s adrenaline. And love. And probably not enough breakfast.”

You smiled gratefully. She crossed the room with a kind of calm that settled the air, setting the box gently on the vanity before giving Bora a warm nod.

“I brought the veil,” she said softly. “You left it at the hotel.”

“God, I knew I was forgetting something,” you muttered, pressing a hand to your chest. “Thank you.”

Bora raised a brow. “Good thing Chan’s girl is more organized than either of us.”

“Soulmate,” she corrected, though there was no arrogance in it. Just a glow. “And it’s my honor to be here. You made me a gown for my first award show. The least I can do is make sure your veil makes it to your wedding.”

As she carefully unwrapped the fabric, Bora turned to study your expression. “You okay?”

You nodded, but your eyes felt misty.

“I used to think this day would terrify me,” you admitted quietly. “That being seen like this, being loved like this, would feel… too vulnerable. Like standing in front of a firing squad.”

“But?” Bora prompted.

You swallowed, fingertips brushing the skirt of your dress where the embroidery shimmered in the soft light. “But today, I feel like… I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.”

Bora’s eyes glittered. “That’s because you are.”

She gently handed you the veil, but it was Chan’s girlfriend who came behind you to help pin it in place. Her hands moved with practiced elegance, but her voice was soft. “You don’t have to be anything other than yourself today,” she whispered. “He already chose you. The thread chose you both long before you even knew what it meant.”

You looked at her reflection in the mirror, her eyes steady, warm. She wasn’t just speaking from kindness. She was speaking from knowing.

“And you’re not alone,” she added, glancing at Bora with a smile. “You’ve got your team. Your family. Your soulmate.”

You dabbed at the corner of your eye. “You two are trying to ruin my eyeliner before I even leave the room.”

“Please,” Bora said, waving a hand. “I used waterproof. I knew you’d cry.”

There was a knock at the door. “Ten minutes,” a voice called.

You looked at yourself one last time in the mirror. Not just at the dress. But at your eyes. The person you’d become. The person you chose to be, even when it was hard. Even when people tried to take your future away.

“All right,” you said, turning to face your two closest friends. “Let’s go get married.”

Bora gave a low whistle. “God help Felix when he sees you.”

“Let’s hope someone brought tissues,” Chan’s girlfriend added with a wink.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

The ceremony had started, and Felix was already at the altar. He looked at his seven Best Men (he couldn’t pick just one of his members, so he chose all of them) for support.

He hadn’t even heard the music yet, and already, his heart felt like it was about to burst.

Chan, standing closest to him, gave a subtle nod. You’re okay, it said. You’re doing great. You’re here.

Seungmin was already blinking too much, like he was trying to keep his eyeliner from running. Jeongin had that tilted smile, one hand discreetly offering a tissue, which Felix took even as he tried to laugh it off.

“I told you,” Changbin murmured beside him. “Tears in the pre-ceremony window. Technically, I win the bet.”

“Shh,” Hyunjin muttered. “She’s coming.”

And then, the first note played. The same one Felix had looped on replay years ago, the one you had hummed without realizing, the one he’d buried deep into the bridge of the song he wrote for you. It was yours. A stripped-down, orchestral version of the melody from “Threadbare Hearts.” The one you finished together.

Felix's chest tightened. He swore he felt the thread around his pinky tug. Everyone turned toward the end of the aisle. He saw his mom, dad, and sisters all smiling at him.

And then you appeared. Veil trailing like morning mist, dress glowing like something conjured from sunlight and whispered promises. Bora walked beside you, keeping the trail of your dress smooth and making sure you didn’t trip.

But Felix only saw you. He didn’t cry immediately. Not until your eyes met his.

Then it was like the rest of the world blurred into a watercolor wash. Like he was standing at the center of a storm made of joy and history, and every quiet moment that led here.

Lee Know reached over, pressed a folded tissue into his hand without looking. “Knew it,” he whispered.

You smiled as you walked, just a little. Not the runway smile, not the press smile. The one you saved for quiet mornings and post-rehearsal ramen and whispered love notes on hotel balconies.

Felix wiped at his cheek. You were still moving toward him and he was already falling.

By the time you reached him, he could barely breathe. But when your hand slipped into his, when the thread between your pinkies glowed just a little brighter, Felix whispered the only thing he could manage. “Hi….”

You smiled, eyes glassy, hands steady. “Hi, Lix.”

The officiant said something. Probably lovely. Neither of you really heard it.

Because when Felix recited his vows, his voice trembled like sunlight on water.

“I didn’t know what love could do until I met you. I didn’t know that a thread could tether someone back to life. That a voice could make the storm quiet. You made me whole. And I’ll spend every breath I have trying to return even a fraction of what you’ve given me, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part.”

And then it was your turn, voice steady but thick with emotion, your fingers laced tight with his, you. “You gave me a future I thought I’d lost. You didn’t just believe in me, you helped me believe in myself. And I promise, for the rest of our lives, I’ll build that future with you, sunrise by sunrise. I take Lee Felix to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part.”

The crowd sniffled. Lee Know pretended not to be wiping his eyes.

Felix grinned through his tears, barely able to hold still long enough for the official “you may kiss” before his hands cupped your cheeks and he kissed you like you were the very first spark in the sky.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

The wedding reception was buzzing. Not chaotic, not loud, but warm. The kind of buzz that came from clinking glasses, from hushed laughter shared between tables. The kind of buzz that felt like family, even among strangers.

Candles flickered down the length of each table, casting a soft glow over white linens and arrangements of cream roses and moonflowers. The golden thread motif was woven through everything. Literally. You had stitched it into napkins, menus, and even the hem of Felix’s mother’s dress when she cried over how beautiful it made her feel.

Up near the microphone, Jeongin was trying to give a speech. “Marriage,” he said dramatically into the mic, “is like being in a group chat with one person forever, except the only emojis you can use are love, support, and passive-aggressive cleaning reminders.”

The room burst into laughter, and Felix rested his forehead against your shoulder, trying not to lose it again.

You smiled, threading your fingers with his beneath the table. “Do we regret making them all Best Men?”

“No,” Felix whispered. “This is chaos, I love.”

Jeongin smirked as the laughter died down. “Seriously, though,” he said, glancing toward the two of you, “watching you both grow into this kind of love… It’s like seeing stars align. Or at least watching two very stylish planets collide and create a supernova.” He raised his glass. “To the kind of love that makes all of us believe in fate, and to the newlyweds, may your house be loud, your coffee strong, and your laundry fights short.”

A chorus of cheers echoed as he stepped away from the mic with an exaggerated bow. Han was next, practically bouncing toward the front.

“Hi, I’m Han, but I go by many names,” he began, dramatically. “J.One, Hannie, but today, Best Man number… who knows.” A ripple of laughter.

He turned serious, just slightly. “Felix is one of the kindest, most sincere people I know. And when he met you,” he looked at you, smile softening, “something in him got even brighter. Which is annoying, honestly, because he was already glowing. I didn’t think it was possible.”

Everyone laughed again, and he continued, “You ground him. And he lifts you. You two are like… a harmony that was always meant to be written. I love you both. And if you ever need a babysitter, or someone to write your anniversary song, you know who to call.”

Hyunjin dramatically walked up next, brushing imaginary dust off his shoulders. “I have notes,” he announced. “This wedding is too beautiful. The lighting? Flawless. The embroidery? Sentimental. The couple? Ridiculously attractive. Honestly, we get it. You win.”

The crowd cracked up, and he continued, eyes twinkling. “But real talk, Felix is my brother. I’ve seen him at his best and worst. And the first time I saw him look at you, I knew… this wasn’t just some crush or whirlwind romance. This was forever. And he’s not the only one who gets lucky, because you’re incredible, too. You make him better. You make him softer. And weirdly, more organized.”

You laughed as Felix groaned playfully beside you.

“So here’s my wish,” Hyunjin said, raising his glass. “May your love always be this golden. This honest. And may your future be filled with magic, and just enough chaos to keep things interesting.”

Next came Changbin, who looked intimidating until he cleared his throat and promptly got choked up.

“I told myself I wouldn’t cry,” he muttered, pulling out a crumpled tissue from his pocket. “But… watching Felix find someone who sees him the way we do, and who still chooses him every day, it means everything.”

He looked over at you. “You’re strong, kind, insanely talented, and the only person I trust to keep this guy in check. Thank you for loving him. For making space in your world for all of us, too.”

Then it was Seungmin’s turn. “Marriage is hard,” he said flatly. “But so is being in an eight-member group for exactly a decade now, and we haven’t killed each other. So I think you two will be fine.” His eyes were warm as he looked at you both. “Jokes aside… You two are what love looks like when it grows up. Still playful, still full of light, but grounded. Real. Thank you for letting us be a part of this day.”

Lee Know was next, adjusting his jacket like he didn’t even want the attention. “I’m not really good at speeches,” he started. “But I’m good at watching. And I’ve watched Felix change in the best ways since he met you.” He paused, glancing between you both. “You fit. Not in a fairy-tale way. In a real way. In a ‘built this brick by brick’ kind of way. And honestly? That’s way more powerful.” He raised his glass, quiet but steady. “To the strongest thread I’ve ever seen.”

And finally, Chan walked up. The room settled before he even opened his mouth. “I’ve seen Felix grow up,” he said, voice calm and full of weight. “From a bright-eyed teenager with a heart bigger than his chest, to a man who leads with that heart in everything he does.”

He looked at you then, his expression soft. “And when he found you, it was like something clicked. Like all the quiet hopes he used to whisper between rehearsals, it finally took shape. You saw him. All of him. And you didn’t just love him, you chose him.”

Chan swallowed hard. “Thank you. For choosing each other. For showing all of us what real love looks like. For reminding us that soulmates aren’t just fantasy, they’re forged in small moments, in gentle touches, in everyday decisions to stay.”

He lifted his glass high. “To Felix and his forever. To you both, may the thread between you never fray, only strengthen.”

The applause was thunderous. You squeezed Felix’s hand beneath the table, eyes glimmering, heart impossibly full.

Bora stepped up to the mic, heels quiet against the wooden floor, but her presence, like always, commanded the room. She didn’t need a dramatic opening or a rehearsed joke. Just a smile. 

“Hi,” she began simply, looking out over the crowd before turning her gaze to you. “I’ve watched her fight for everything she’s built. Every seam, every thread, every dream—she didn’t wait for the world to make room. She carved out space with her bare hands. And Felix…” She looked over at him, her smile curving gently, “You never tried to take any of that from her. You just reached for her hand and stood beside her.”

“I’ve watched a lot of things in my life,” Bora continued, “but nothing quite like watching two people meet exactly where the other is. Not to fix. Not to save. But to say, ‘You don’t have to be alone anymore.’ That’s what love is. That’s what the thread was always leading toward.”

She raised her glass then, not dramatically, but like she meant it with every part of her. “To soulmates who chose each other not just once, but every single day. May you always keep choosing. Even when it's messy. Especially when it's quiet. And may you both always know the strength in your own hearts, and the gentleness in each other’s.”

A few sniffles echoed as she stepped down. You reached across and squeezed her hand as she passed your table, and she gave you a wink.

Felix turned to you slowly, as if afraid to blink and miss it all. “Is it too early to ask for another kiss?” he whispered, hand brushing the small of your back.

You leaned in just slightly, smiling against his ear. “It’s our wedding. You can ask for anything.”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

The lights dimmed. A soft instrumental melody began to float through the room. The DJ announced it gently, “Now, for their first dance as husband and wife…”

Felix stood and held out his hand, and you rose with him.

The two of you stepped into the middle of the floor. And danced. Not like a performance. Not like a spotlight moment. But like this was something you did in your kitchen on a Tuesday night. Barefoot. Laughing. In love.

Your head came to rest against his chest, and Felix's arms wrapped gently around your waist. His hand pressed lightly between your shoulder blades, grounding. You could feel his heartbeat, fast, then steady.

“I can’t believe I get to keep you,” he whispered against your hair, his voice barely audible over the music.

“You’ve always had me,” you whispered back.

Around you, people watched, but the two of you barely saw them. The world fell away. The golden thread glimmered faintly between your pinkies, as if even the universe was smiling.

A quiet cheer rose when the song ended, and Felix spun you once before pulling you into another soft kiss, short, but full of everything.

Then the dance floor flooded with people, members, family, friends, pulling each other into joyful motion. But the two of you stayed right there in the center, forehead to forehead.

“I think,” Felix said, his smile soft and eyes impossibly full, “this is my favorite day.”

You looked up at him, heart in your throat, hands in his.

“Mine too.”

(A/N: Woo! That is officially the end of Felix and his soulmate's story. But, this isn't the end of the universe! On Part 9 of this story, @wolfs-howling (yes, I'm giving you credit for this idea) commented, "And now I want all the boys to find their soulmates." That inspired me severely. I stayed up one night wondering the same thing. How would all the boys meet their soulmates? So, this is turning into a series! Soulmates Series, to be exact! My first series. This is a sneak peek at the next installment,

“Destiny” To save her struggling image after a scandal, (Y/N)’s company fakes a contract relationship between her and her brand-new producer, Bang Chan. Neither of them is thrilled.  Then the golden string appears the first time they meet. They’re not supposed to fall in love, it’s literally in the contract. But the more they pretend, the harder it gets to draw the line. The string seems to tighten when they’re honest… and starts to fray every time they lie to the press. If they want to keep their careers, they can’t love each other. But if they ignore the thread, they risk losing the one love they were destined for.

I know I had you guys vote on a genre of the next story, but I seriously couldn't get this idea out of my head! I swear, when I finish these stories, I'll start writing whatever you guys voted for.

So, if you want to be tagged in the next story, comment below!

Thank you all for the support!)

taglist (comment to be added): @shinygubbins @lizzygd @btch8008s @under--space @monniemons @chimmyn0chu @wickedbutlovely @sunanlix @beal-o @valkirymin @moonlitcelestial @wolfhallows4 @beppybeesnuggets @eridanuswave @lynastrawberry @multiifanbigbang @yxna-bliss @chasinghxran @velvetmoonlght @rylea08 @rjrjhfvrvdhdhrvvrrv @daisylove3 @rougegenshin @wolfs-howling @akindaflora @felixsonlyrealwife @chaosandcandies @ateez-atiny380 

[weirdcat1213]

Alright it's time for the moment maybe 2 of you were waiting for

It's time for my favorite kyrie moments in the dmc 4 novels because yes this poor girl is under developed as hell BUT there are still moments in the novels that make me go "kyrie :333" so here, take them.

I really really like kyrie reading nero like this. Of course she knows nero needs to feel helpful or he'll die and she notices how hard nero tries so yeah, really nice of her.

Kyrie taking children places is nice already, but kyrie being the kind of person who invites you places even if you say no most of the time just so you Know you're always included and welcome god this girl I love her

Ik we are all bothered by kyrie not being that active in the story but I do like this type of strength for her. The order does seem sexist as hell so of course she isn't as prepared as nero for a fight, but she still has enough courage to try and save others. Of course she doesn't want to die but from the books it seems like her body acts before she can think about it and that's neat as hell

Idc how many knights were injured I just know she insisted to do it herself because 1) she wanted to try and help nero directly, 2) she probably didn't want to bother other wounded/scared staff and 3) she wants to prove herself she's not that useless but more on this one later

Same thing as before but this only shows this girl has not learned shit lmao

She went through the rubble and the chaos to find the gift :3 just like nero wants to express he doesn't take her for granted, kyrie wants to show all the things he does for her, no matter how little, are appreciated it. Plus I like that she likes it even if it's not that sparda related. It's a normal necklace that anyone would like.

THIS FUCKING HITS MAN. I know in the game she says "thank you" BUT THIS IS WAY MORE INTERESTING TO ME. She knows she can't fight, she knows that every time she tries to help she puts herself in danger and it's a reminder of how weak she is but it also put nero in danger. Nero is part of the 2 people she cherishes the most and seeing him in trouble because he tried to save her must have made her feel guilty af. It really shows kyrie being aware of her recklessness, so she apologizes for being useless. Also it's a nice way for her to let Nero know they're in good terms, like "yeah i though you were going to kill my brother so I got scared but of course you wouldn't, you are still you. You came to save me and now we're both trapped and I'm sorry" AND SHE TRIES TO PUT ON A BRAVE SMILE GIRL YOU NEED HELP. I NEED HELP-

I love kyrie putting all her trust in nero SPECIALLY considering the last time she took a good look at nero it did seem like he was going to kill credo. No words, all trust. She doesn't know the plan but she's looking forward to see the pope blow up. It's also faint enough so sanctus doesn't suspect anything. Nice

More of kyrie taking the initiativeeeeeee. She doesn't even know what's up with the arm or how/when nero became part demon but she really doesn't care. She also doesn't want to be lied to anymore. Now they can both be completely honest with each other.

She wants to encourage him to stop hiding his arm ahhhh. I'll be honest the next line is like "I thought you wanted to stop hiding your arm" but I love how casual she is about it. Also nero looking at his arm instead of saying anything is cute as hell like dude she's onto you, you can't hide

We love an unbothered queen.

Kyrie not only thinking of how nero was as a kid (and how far he has come) but also cheering him up with Abel as an example of other people accepting him (which has some weight considering that he got bullied by other kids in the past. She's kinda reminding him that the past won't repeat again. He is stronger, he isn't alone and people are accepting of him now)

[trickstertriangletest]

... hehe... alright, well, let's see... all the wet ingredients should be ready to be mixed now, and then we'll add some eggs, and then the dry ingredients, and then the chocolate. and then... we mess with stanley for no reason.

... ... ... hi, bill. yeah, you'd love anything he does, wouldn't you? ... fingers crossed erased any reassurance that might have offered. then again, you don't need to do that to lie... ... ... well, i can hunt you down if you do. i'm dedicated. nothing else left in my life that matters. ah, but... i'm sorry, i keep assuming you'll be terrible like most others- ... ... ... just... stop hurting him? please?

... ... ... oh, ford, you're back! he says he found it cute. so you're fine. uh, yes. i trusted him more than i ever trusted myself... and... i've always been fairly dedicated to the truth. science was my first special interest actually- but you wouldn't know what that means... ... ... nevermind. just... honesty is important to me. which is... probably a big part of why i've never fit in...

... i was told it was just normal orange juice. it was not just normal orange juice. a friend was trying to get me to "prove i'm like the others" and instead i ended up begging him to give up evil and telling him that i just have... ... ... uh, actually! i shouldn't tell you that diagnosis. your time period isn't exactly... welcoming... to that...

... i don't worry enough.

of course, ford! any time! ... please tell me he didn't get that one. please.

... ... ... hah, that's true. um... well... you'll manage, ford. you're a good person at heart. so is he. so are the majority of human beings. a lot of people are just too tired and worn down by the world they live in to show it, but... it's inherent, for you. that's what i love about humans... more than anything else... more than wisdom or creations over the ages you've existed, it's the pure kindness so many of you will show when given the chance... even just a kid sharing a pencil with a classmate who forgot one, or somebody pocketing trash when there isn't a can nearby to toss it later when somebody else didn't have the energy or it flew away from another can... ... ... ... ... ah, pardon me. i got... sidetracked, again. the point is, i'm sure you can do it.

... of course! ... just... you should know, he... i don't think his ford is alive anymore.

stanford and stanley pines,

i understand stanley has been staying in the house for a while! how has that been going? i hope well, i'd hate to have worsened things somehow.

ah, and stanford, i have contacted some friends recently, which has been nice! thank you for the advice. it feels... better. by a bit.

-tt

You haven't worsened anything!! It's ah, well.. truthfully, it's been rather nice.. [There's a laugh] he's still as irritating as ever but I... I missed him. I just hope things stay this way. I'm still mad but being alone again is a thought that keeps me up at night.

You have? Thank you for listening to me!! I'm so happy it helped you out even if just by a little. How have things been recently?