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cressidagrey · 2 months ago

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White Horse - Chapter 24: June 2024 - Part 5

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

Meanwhile on Twitter:

@/F1TeaSpiller: GUYS. BELLE LECLERC JUST CHANGED HER INSTAGRAM USERNAME. SHE'S NOW @/belleverstappen. I REPEAT. @/belleverstappen.

🔗 (screenshot)

@/MonacoRoyalty: WAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT

@/RedBullTroll33: So you’re telling me… Isabelle. LECLERC. is now VERSTAPPEN?????

I need to lie down.

@/FerrariF1Pain: I THOUGHT I WAS HALLUCINATING WHEN I SAW THE NAME CHANGE. SHE REALLY MARRIED MAX. AND THEY DIDN’T TELL A SOUL. ICONIC BEHAVIOR TBH.

@/F1MemeLord: Charles: forgot Belle’s birthday Belle: changed her last name to Verstappen in front of the entire internet Me: poetic cinema.

@/gridgossip:

EVERYONE WAKE UP

BELLE LECLERC IS NOW BELLE VERSTAPPEN

MAX MARRIED CHARLES' SISTER AND DIDN'T TELL ANYONE

IM SHAKING

@/gridgossip:

This is the softest, coldest, most brutal reveal of all time.

No announcement.

No photo dump.

No grand post.

Just a silent name change.

And now the whole grid is screaming.

@/f1memequeen: MAX VERSTAPPEN SECRETLY MARRIED CHARLES LECLERC’S BABY SISTERAND THEY SOFT LAUNCHED WITH A HORSE AND A USERNAME UPDATE

THIS IS CINEMA.

@/F1ChaosClub: how it started: "whose hand gave max tea on stream??"

how it's going: "max verstappen is married to belle leclerc and nobody knew and now the internet is on fire"

@/TifosiTears: charles leclerc is about to log on and have the worst 24 hours of his life i fear 💀

@/MaxIsWinning: max verstappen winning on and off the track as per usual 😌

@/WifeGuyMax: max verstappen, known cat dad and now confirmed wife guy. we love character development 💍🐎🐈

@/GridChaosDaily: the grid when they realize belle verstappen = belle leclerc = max’s wife = charles’s sister = absolute chaos

(photo attached: stock photo of a man having a breakdown)

@/FerrariTears: Charles finding out his sister is now Belle Verstappen because of Instagram is the level of sibling drama we deserve in 2024.

@/TifosiMess: Prediction:

Charles: 🧍‍♂️😭

Arthur: 🧍‍♂️😵‍💫

Lorenzo: 🧍‍♂️😳

Pascale: 🧍‍♀️🫠 Meanwhile Belle and Max: 🏇🏡❤️

@/MonacoRoyalty: So let me get this straight:

Belle disappears for weeks

Drops a horse like it’s a handbag

Soft launches her new life

NOW SHE'S A VERSTAPPEN?? I NEED TO LIE DOWN.

@/LandoSimp44: some of you OWE the soft launch detectives an apology. they said it. they were RIGHT.

@/RedBullUpdates MAX. VERSTAPPEN. MARRIED. BELLE. LECLERC. AND THEY HID IT FROM US FOR HOW LONG???

@/FerrariPain: the way the Leclerc brothers are probably finding this out at the SAME TIME AS US 😭😭😭

***

Group Chat: HELP ME

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

Lando: HOLY SH*T

Lando: HOLD ON

Lando: SHUT UP EVERYONE

Lando: sends screenshot of @belleverstappen

Oscar: OH MY GOD

Daniel: I AM SCREAMING INTO A PILLOW

Lewis: I’m sorry. Am I hallucinating?? Because that says Verstappen. Not Leclerc.

George: BELLE. VERSTAPPEN. BELLE. FREAKING. VERSTAPPEN.

Carlos: Belle… changed her name…

Zhou: I THOUGHT I WAS READY BUT I WAS NOT READY

George: DID THAT JUST HAPPEN LIVE???

Carlos: I need a drink.

Alex: I AM SCREAMING.

Sebastian: Honestly? About time. Good for her.

Oscar: SHE CHANGED HER USERNAME TO BELLE VERSTAPPEN. THAT'S IT. THAT'S THE ANNOUNCEMENT.

Fernando: Max said "no press release, no statement, just pure chaos."

Daniel: Can we talk about the absolute audacity???

Zhou: Max dropping "I’m married" casually during a press conference and Belle changing her name quietly the night before Spain is PEAK Verstappen behavior.

Lando: I’m gonna cry. She’s not even dramatic about it. Just boop name change.

George: Meanwhile Charles is somewhere punching a wall.

Carlos: somewhere? Try several walls.

Lewis: No but seriously—Belle just silently won the whole internet.

Logan: It’s not even loud drama. It’s silent nuclear bomb energy.

Nico R.: Charles is probably Googling "how to politely kidnap your sister back."

Checo: Max playing 4D chess while Charles plays Candy Crush.

Fernando: And still losing at Candy Crush.

Kimi: Wake me up when someone crashes a press conference about it.

Oscar: Okay but real talk. I’m SO proud of her.

Lando: Same.

Lewis: She chose her happiness over their comfort. Respect.

Esteban: Someone check on Charles.

Fernando: No, no, let him suffer a bit longer. Character development.

Lance: Wait does this mean Max is Charles’ BROTHER-IN-LAW now???

Oscar: i just had a full body shiver

David: I would pay so much money for footage of Fred Vasseur reading this right now.

Mark: I would pay more to see Christian Horner's face.

George: NO ONE TELL PIERRE. Let’s just see what happens.

Logan: What if Belle walks into the paddock tomorrow wearing Verstappen merch. I would pass away.

Lewis: Max really married the one girl Charles forgot to look at properly. Poetic.

Nico R.: This is better than any soap opera I’ve ever seen.

Sebastian: Not Max breaking Ferrari and Leclerc family morale in one move. That’s championship material.

Oscar: Belle really said "forget my birthday? Watch this."

Carlos: Reminder: Max said he’s bringing her to the paddock tomorrow.

George: THEY’RE GOING PUBLIC IN PERSON TOO???

Oscar: CHAOS. COMPLETE CHAOS.

Alex: I have popcorn ready.

Lando: I'm not ready.

Daniel: None of us are.

***

Charles didn’t mean to open Instagram.

It had become a form of self-torture lately—every scroll a reminder of the silence on the other end of his unanswered texts, of the messages left on read, of the birthday that no one in the family had remembered except Belle herself.

But his thumb moved on autopilot during breakfast, and there it was.

Not a post. Not a story.

A name.

@belleverstappen

Charles blinked. Froze. Then blinked again.

No. That couldn’t be right.

He opened her profile.

Same photos. His sister’s profile.

Charles stared at the screen.

Then he read the handle again.

@belleverstappen.

Verstappen.

A cold sweat started to gather at the back of his neck.

“Non… non non non…” Charles muttered, sitting bolt upright in his chair.

Across the hotel room, Alexandra looked up from her hair straightener. “What now?”

“Arthur,” he said, too sharp, holding his phone up like it was infected. “Look at this.”

Arthur, still halfway through a bowl of cereal, leaned over and squinted. He choked immediately.

“No. No, no, no. She didn’t.”

“She did!” Charles said, nearly tripping over his chair. “She changed her name!”

Arthur shoved his cereal away like it had personally betrayed him. “Wait—what does that mean? Did she get married? Wait, is this real?”

“What does it mean?” Charles asked, genuinely baffled. “Why would she—what—Why Verstappen?”

And then, like a bolt of catastrophic lightning:

“Oh my god. Is Jos Verstappen her sugar daddy??”

A sound of pure horror came from behind him.

“CHARLES!” Alexandra snapped. “What the hell?!”

Arthur looked like he had been personally insulted by the sentence. “Are you out of your mind?”

“I’m just saying—Verstappen! She’s going by Verstappen!”

Charles was already pacing. “She was always weirdly polite to Jos. Maybe he—maybe it’s him.He’s always lurking around the paddock! And she moved out a year ago and never told us. She quit her job. Someone’s clearly supporting her!”

Arthur looked horrified. “Charles. Please. That’s insane.”

Alexandra looked at Charles like he’d grown a second head. “You do realize Jos Verstappen is married, right? Like, currently. Publicly. Has been for years.”

“I saw her smile at Jos in Monaco!” Charles snapped. “And she said he was polite to her at the garage and she’s been so—so secretive and she quit her job and she got a horse—”

“CHARLES,” Alexandra interrupted, hands in the air. “Jos Verstappen is married.”

Charles blinked. “What?”

Arthur groaned and threw a pillow across the room. “Oh my god. This is actually the stupidest conclusion you’ve reached this month, and I was the one that thought Belle was being kept by a sugar daddy with a skincare routine.”

“IT MAKES SENSE AT THE TIME,” Charles insisted.

There was a knock, and Nicholas Todt stepped into the room, holding his tablet with the solemn expression of a man walking into a fire.

“Tell me this is not real,” Nicholas said, holding up a screenshot of Belle’s Instagram page.

“Oh, it’s real,” Arthur said, grimacing.

“Charles, please tell me this is not the first time you’re hearing about this.”

Charles opened and closed his mouth.

Nicholas pinched the bridge of his nose and sat down heavily. “This is a PR disaster. If the media connects her to Max—”

“Wait,” Charles said slowly. “Why would the media connect her to Max?”

Everyone turned.

“You’re joking,” Alexandra said.

“What?” Charles asked, defensive.

“She changed her name to Verstappen,” Nicolas deadpanned. “What do you think it is?”

“She can’t be married to Max!” Charles blurted. “Someone would’ve told me!”

Joris, who had been quiet until now, finally looked up from his coffee with the most satisfied look on his face.

Joris shrugged. “Good for her.”

Charles stared. “Good for—what?”

“She’s been invisible to all of you for years,” Joris said bluntly. “And now she’s making herself seen. About damn time.”

Charles looked between them all, suddenly feeling like he was at the center of a soap opera everyone else had watched already.

“No,” he whispered. “It can’t be Max.”

Arthur looked vaguely nauseous. Joris looked like he had several things to say and none of them were polite.

Charles could feel the room closing in. “This is not happening.”

“I actually thought it might be Zhou,” Alexandra said mildly. “Or Lewis. They’re both polite. Hot. Emotionally intelligent.”

“Okay, please stop talking,” Charles groaned.

Arthur sat down beside him. “Do you think she’ll be at the paddock tomorrow?”

“If she shows up wearing Verstappen gear, I’m gonna throw myself in the gravel,” Charles muttered.

Alexandra raised an eyebrow. “No, you’re going to smile, and wave, and act like a supportive brother who didn’t forget she existed.”

"Max," he repeated dumbly. "Max Verstappen. My biggest rival. The guy who stole my karting trophies when we were twelve."

Arthur shrugged. "Apparently, he didn’t just steal your trophies."

Alexandra smirked behind her hand.

Nicolas rubbed his temples like he had a migraine.

Charles sat down heavily in the nearest chair, completely and utterly defeated.

Belle was married. To Max Verstappen. And the whole world knew.

Everyone except him.

She hadn’t said a word.

She’d just changed her name.

And somehow, that said everything.

****

Text Messages: Arthur Leclerc & Lorenzo Leclerc

Arthur: hey you up?

Lorenzo: I am now. What’s going on?

Arthur: don’t freak out but we need to tell maman something before she finds out from the internet

Lorenzo: Arthur. Tell me now.

Arthur: Isabelle changed her Instagram username. It’s belleverstappen now.

Lorenzo: … what.

Arthur: like not “dating” Verstappen not “soft launch” Verstappen I mean she married him she’s married like legally. emotionally. spiritually. all of it.

Lorenzo: What do you MEAN she’s married to Max Verstappen?! When?! How?! WHY didn’t we KNOW?!

Arthur: because we were all too busy forgetting her birthday and ignoring her for years? just a theory. 🙃

Lorenzo: Jesus Christ. Does Charles know?

Arthur: not until like five minutes ago. he thought she was dating JOS I’m not kidding.

Lorenzo: … of course he did.

Arthur: look can you please talk to maman like right now because the whole paddock is going to know soon and if she sees this online first she’s going to cry and then go full French Catholic guilt spiral and none of us are emotionally prepared for that

Lorenzo: On it.

Arthur: thank you.

Good luck

***

Group Chat: GRID 2024

Members: Max Verstappen, Charles Leclerc, Carlos Sainz Jr., Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Lewis Hamilton, George Russell, Alex Albon, Logan Sergeant, Daniel Ricciardo, Nico Hülkenberg, Lance Stroll, Fernando Alonso, Sergio Pérez, Esteban Ocon, Zhou Guanyu, Logan Sargeant, Pierre Gasly, Yuki Tsunoda, and Valtteri Bottas

Charles: MAX. ANSWER YOUR PHONE.

Charles: TELL ME THIS ISN’T TRUE. TELL ME THIS IS SOME STUPID INTERNET RUMOUR. MAX. DID YOU MARRY MY SISTER?

Max: Yes.

Charles: AND YOU LET ME WALK AROUND THE PADDOCK FOR WEEKS LIKE AN IDIOT.

Max: We got married in Monaco. She wanted to keep it private.

Charles: YOU GOT MARRIED AND YOU DIDN’T TELL ME??

Charles: YOU DIDN’T THINK I DESERVED TO KNOW THAT MY BABY SISTER WAS MARRYING MY BIGGEST RIVAL??

Pierre: wait wait wait what do you mean married Isabelle???

Yuki: SOMEONE EXPLAIN WHAT IS HAPPENING

Carlos: Charles—

Charles: HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN TOGETHER? HOW LONG HAS THIS BEEN A THING??

Carlos: Over a year.

Charles: I’M GOING TO SCREAM.

Charles: I’m going to absolutely LOSE MY MIND. You’ve all been lying to me. For MONTHS.

Charles: WHO KNEW?? I WANT A FULL LIST. RIGHT NOW. I SWEAR I WILL GO THROUGH PHONE RECORDS.

Lewis: It wasn’t our secret to tell.

George: They weren’t hiding it to hurt you. They were protecting each other.

Lando: Also, you literally forgot her birthday. You don’t exactly have the moral high ground here.

Charles: SHE’S MY SISTER.

Max: She’s my wife. Stop yelling like you own her.

Charles: SHE’S FAMILY.

Max: This isn’t about you, Charles.

Charles: SHE IS MY SISTER. MY FAMILY. AND NONE OF YOU THOUGHT I MIGHT WANT TO KNOW SHE MARRIED SOMEONE WHO’S BEEN TRYING TO BEAT ME SINCE KARTING.

Oscar: She didn’t forget to tell you. She chose not to.

Charles: SHUT UP, OSCAR.

Carlos: Hey.

Charles: NO. YOU TOO. YOU REMEMBERED HER BIRTHDAY. AND YOU SAID NOTHING.

Carlos: Because she asked me to. Because she knew you’d react exactly like this.

Charles: SO MY SISTER MARRIES MAX VERSTAPPEN AND I’M THE VILLAIN??

Max: You remember that now?

Charles: You think this is funny?

Max: No. I think it’s sad. That it took a ring on her finger and a horse on Instagram for you to realize she was gone.

Charles: You went behind my back. You should have told me.

Max: She didn’t want to. And I respect her choices. Which is more than I can say for you.

Charles: I’M HER BROTHER.

Max: Then maybe act like it. Because right now? You’re just noise.

George: Charles, this isn’t about you anymore.

Alex: It’s about Belle. And how she had to build a new life because her old one didn’t see her.

Oscar: And Max did.

Max:If you're done shouting, maybe try asking yourself why she trusted me with her future and not you.

Charles: …

Yuki: can someone please give me a recap. i feel like i skipped six seasons.

Pierre: I JUST FOUND OUT HE MARRIED HER AND NOW HE’S DRAGGING CHARLES INTO THE VOID I NEED TO LIE DOWN

Daniel: someone get Pierre a fan, he’s hyperventilating.

Charles: EVERYONE SHUT UP. EVERYONE JUST STOP.

Charles: I’M FINDING HER. SHE’S AT THE TRACK, RIGHT? I’M FINDING HER RIGHT NOW.

Lewis: Charles.

Charles: WHAT.

Lewis: Do not ambush her. You don’t get to demand explanations from someone you forgot how to see.

Charles: I DIDN’T—

George: You forgot her birthday, Charles.

Oscar: You didn’t notice when she moved. You didn’t notice when she quit her job. You didn’t notice when she stopped showing up to family events.

Carlos: You didn’t notice her.

Charles: I just want to talk to her.

Max: Then wait until she’s ready. You’ve taken a lot of things from her, Charles. You don’t get to take this, too.

Charles: You don’t get to talk to me about what I’ve taken.

Max: No? Then let me talk to you about what you didn’t give her.

Max: Time. Attention. Respect. Support.

Max: All the things she gave you without question. All the things you never gave back.

Yuki: i’m so uncomfortable but also very invested

Pierre: i feel like we should log off

Charles: ...is anyone going to back me up here?

Esteban: You kind of lost the moral high ground at “is she dating Jos.”

Logan: ngl we all knew but we also knew you’d react like this.

Lewis: This isn’t about us. It’s about her. You need to let her decide if and when she wants to let you back in.

Charles: She’s my sister.

Max: She’s my wife.

Max: And if you ever want a place in her life again, maybe start by realizing you don’t get to gatekeep her happiness.

Carlos: Max. Enough.

Max: I’m done.

The rest is up to her.

Not me.

And sure as hell not you.

***

Pascale Leclerc had always prided herself on knowing her children.

She had lived through the chaos of karting and exam seasons, through Arthur’s scraped knees and Charles’ broken hearts, through Lorenzo’s silent strength and Isabelle’s quiet brilliance.

She had watched them grow up like a garden — each one different, wild in their own way, but hers.

And yet now, as she stood in her kitchen — untouched tea cooling in her hands — she felt like she was staring at a house that had quietly caught fire.

And she hadn’t even smelled the smoke.

Lorenzo stood by the doorway, tense but calm in that way only he could be.

He had always been the family’s voice of reason, the one who didn’t panic, who showed up with logistics when the others brought emotions.

But tonight, there was something sharp beneath his composure. A tightness around the mouth. A shadow in his voice.

“Something happened,” Pascale had said, the moment he arrived.

Lorenzo didn’t answer right away.

He looked at her — really looked at her — like he wasn’t sure how to begin. Like he was about to hand her a truth that couldn’t be unspoken.

“Isabelle got married,” he said quietly.

The words didn’t register at first. Not fully.

They sat in the air, strange and unfamiliar, like hearing a sentence in a language she hadn’t spoken in years.

“What?” Pascale asked, blinking.

“Isabelle,” Lorenzo said again, slowly. “She got married. A few weeks ago. In Monaco.”

Her breath caught.

“To who?”

Lorenzo hesitated. “Max Verstappen.”

The name hit harder than the sentence.

Pascale lowered herself into the nearest chair like her legs no longer trusted her.

“She’s… married,” she said, tasting the word. “To Max. And we didn’t even know?”

Lorenzo sat across from her. “We didn’t even know she was in a relationship, Maman. We didn’t know she moved. That she quit her job. We didn’t know anything.”

Pascale stared at the table, at her own hands folded around a now-cold mug.

It was her fault.

Hers.

Because she had believed silence meant peace. She had assumed that just because Isabelle didn’t complain, she was content.

And in doing so, she had let her daughter disappear. Slowly. Quietly. Without fanfare.

“She didn’t want us to know?” Pascale asked, voice small.

“No,” Lorenzo said gently. “Because we’ve given her every reason to believe we only care when it’s convenient. When it’s public. When it’s about Charles.”

Pascale felt her eyes sting. “I thought… I thought she would come to me, if it was serious.”

“She did,” Lorenzo said, not unkindly. “She just stopped waiting for us to see her.”

Pascale pressed a hand over her mouth.

“I didn’t even know she still believed in love,” she whispered. “After everything we asked her to give up. After everything we never gave back.”

“She did,” Lorenzo said. “And he gives it to her.”

Silence stretched between them — thick with guilt and revelation.

“I missed her wedding,” Pascale said softly.

“We all did,” Lorenzo replied. “But we don’t have to miss everything else.”

Pascale’s hand trembled as she set the tea aside. It sloshed slightly over the rim — unnoticed.

“I missed her wedding,” she repeated, more to herself than to Lorenzo.

He didn’t speak. He knew better than to offer hollow comfort.

“I missed her,” Pascale whispered. “I missed everything.”

The silence sat heavy between them, stretching until it felt like a second skin. Pascale reached for her phone on the table — out of habit, out of desperation — and stared at the screen like it might offer her redemption.

A single name burned in her memory.

Isabelle.

Her thumb hovered, hesitating over old messages, until finally, she opened the thread.

It was all still there. Every breadcrumb of her failure.

Ma chérie… I didn’t realise. I thought I messaged you, but I sent it to Charles by mistake. That’s not an excuse. You deserved more. Always. Please let me come see you. I miss you.

Even reading it now, Pascale felt the shame wash through her like floodwater.

It was a lie. She had forgotten.

Not just the day. Not just the message.

She had forgotten her daughter — in the way that mattered most.

“I lied to her,” Pascale said aloud, her voice cracking.

Lorenzo closed his eyes like he was bracing for a storm. “Maman…”

“When I messaged her,” Pascale said, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. “After I forgot her birthday. I didn’t want her to think I forgot. I told her I meant to text her — that I accidentally sent it to Charles instead. But that wasn’t true. I did. I forgot. I forgot the day she was born. And then I lied because I couldn’t bear the thought of her knowing that. I didn’t remember until Charles reminded us. I lied to make it seem like I hadn’t failed her. But I did. I have. Over and over again.”

Lorenzo’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t interrupt.

“I told myself she was strong. That she didn’t need as much,” Pascale continued, tears now slipping freely down her cheeks. “She didn’t fight for attention. She didn’t make noise. She just… quietly endured. I thought that meant she was fine.”

“She wasn’t,” Lorenzo said softly.

“I know that now,” Pascale whispered. “But it’s too late to be there for the little girl who cried when we sold her horse. Or the young woman who spent her graduation alone because we were all watching a race.”

Pascale looked up, eyes brimming.

“But maybe it’s not too late for the woman she’s become. The one who found someone who sees her. Who loves her enough to ask for her forever, even when she felt invisible.”

Lorenzo nodded slowly. “You’ll have to show her. Not just say it.”

“I don’t even know if she’ll want to hear from me,” Pascale said.

“You’ll try anyway,” he replied. “Because that’s what she deserved all along. Someone who didn’t need a reminder to show up.”

The air shifted slightly — still heavy, still painful, but no longer suffocating.

Pascale exhaled shakily and picked up her phone again.

“I want to fix it,” Pascale said eventually. “I don’t know how, but I want to try. I don’t want her to think we only care now because she married someone famous.”

“Then don’t start with an apology for missing the wedding,” Lorenzo said, voice low but steady. “Start with an apology for everything before it.”

***

Group Chat: HELP ME

Lando: (sends screenshots)

Lando: okay so we all agree that was… A Lot™?

George: “Then maybe act like it.” Cold. Accurate. Deserved.

Lewis: I was hoping Charles would reflect Not double down on the yelling and gaslighting

Carlos: He kept yelling “SHE’S MY SISTER” like it was a spell It’s not. It’s just a fact. And not one he treated with care.

Zhou: I’m honestly mad at him. Belle deserved better than that meltdown.

Daniel: She’s been waving white flags for YEARS. The fact that she had to marry Max Verstappen for him to finally notice is… tragic.

Logan: He tried to make it all about himself. Again.

Esteban: And he really told Max “you went behind my back” like Belle is property

Sebastian: Disrespectful. Self-centered. Deflecting guilt into rage. I like Charles. But this? This was ugly.

Lance: You could see the second-hand shame through the screen

Valtteri: Honestly, I don’t blame Max for losing patience.

Nico R.: He gave Charles every opportunity to calm down. Charles chose violence.

Oscar: “Which is more than I can say for you.” Yeah. That line still lives in my head.

Fernando: Max protected her. Period. Charles tried to make it about rivalry. One of them is married. The other is playing victim.

Mark: I love when people forget that Max is scary when he loves someone Not just when he races

David: Charles thought the betrayal was the secret The real betrayal is that she stopped counting on him, and he never noticed

George: And now he’s blaming everyone except himself.

Lando: What exactly did he expect? That she’d send a save-the-date and beg for attention?

Lewis: She already did. Every time she showed up and got ignored.

Sebastian: She didn’t disappear. She just stopped asking to be seen.

Alex: And I’m done coddling Charles about that.

Carlos: Same.

Oscar: She chose happiness. He called it betrayal. That says everything.

Zhou: Should we be worried about today?

Daniel: We should be prepared. Max said he’s bringing her to the paddock. And Charles? He’ll implode.

Fernando: Let him. Maybe he’ll finally listen if it’s in public.

Lewis: He doesn’t deserve answers. He deserves the silence he gave her.

George: And if she does say anything to him, it’s her choice.

***

Belle had never liked the paddock.

Not because it wasn’t impressive — it was. Efficient, loud, organized chaos. But because it had never really felt like hers. Not even when Charles had brought her around as a teenager, wide-eyed and silent, watching her brothers shake hands and pose for cameras while she trailed two steps behind.

She knew how invisible you could be in a place like this.

But not today.

Not now.

She stepped through the gates with Max beside her — her fingers laced in his, steady and certain — and the hush that fell over the paddock was immediate.

Belle could feel it.

The weight of eyes. The slow, sharp recognition rippling outward from person to person like a silent explosion. Some turned to look, others tried not to, but they all felt it. The shift. The fact that something had changed.

That she had changed.

Max didn’t break stride. Neither did she.

The sun was warm on her shoulders, but the Red Bull jacket she wore — his, oversized and soft — felt like armor. Familiar. Safe. She’d tugged it from his closet that morning while he was brushing his teeth, said nothing as she slipped it on, and Max had only smiled at her like she was everything in the world worth looking at.

He hadn’t let go of her hand since.

Belle didn’t smile, but she didn’t flinch either.

She looked ahead, chin high, expression calm. If they wanted something loud — a statement, a spectacle — they weren’t going to get it.

They’d get this.

Her wedding band catching the light. Her hand in Max’s. Her name — Belle Verstappen — already echoing through the internet.

Let them talk.

She heard someone near the McLaren garage whisper, “Oh my god, it’s really her.” Heard another murmur, “She’s wearing his jacket.”

Belle didn’t look. She didn’t have to.

She could feel the stares. Could feel the quiet scramble of the media trying to decide whether or not to speak. To ask. To breathe.

She kept walking.

Max leaned in slightly, barely tilting his head toward her, and said under his breath, “Still with me?”

Belle’s lips curved — just slightly. “Always.”

His thumb brushed along the side of her hand in response. The smallest touch. But enough.

They moved through the paddock like a weather system — calm on the surface, but electric underneath. Some drivers straightened up when they passed. Some looked away. One engineer dropped their tablet. Someone near the Ferrari garage gasped.

Belle didn’t look toward it.

She didn’t need to see Charles to know he was watching.

She could feel it — that specific burn of a sibling’s shock, of betrayal, of too-late recognition. And it hurt, somewhere deep in her chest. But it didn’t undo her.

Not this time.

Max gave her fingers a gentle squeeze.

She kept walking.

Every step felt like reclaiming something. Every heartbeat steadier than the last.

Let them stare. Let them wonder.

They hadn’t seen her before. They hadn’t heard her.

Now they would.

Quietly. Unapologetically.

This was her life.

And Belle Verstappen wasn’t hiding anymore.

***

@/GridGossip: 🚨BREAKING: BELLE VERSTAPPEN JUST WALKED INTO THE PADDOCK HOLDING MAX’S HAND She’s wearing his jacket An emerald engagement ring And a gold wedding band I’m shaking. I’m actually shaking. 📸 (zoomed photo)

@/F1TeaSpiller: Forget soft launches. Belle Verstappen just HARD LAUNCHED HER ENTIRE MARRIAGE That’s a wedding ring, babes. A wedding ring.

@/RedBullTroll33: Max Verstappen didn’t post a wedding photo. Didn’t do an announcement. Just walked into the paddock with his wife wearing a rock the size of my student debt. Power move.

@/FerrariF1Pain: The Leclerc family watching Belle walk in like: 👁👄👁 With a RING With MAX In his jacket Wearing the smirk of a woman who’s been underrated for too long

@/f1memequeen: That emerald engagement ring is screaming “I don’t need your approval, I already have his last name” And honestly?? Obsessed.

@/WifeGuyMax: Everyone: when will Max post Belle? Max: I’ll bring Belle. Max: To the paddock. Max: With a gold band on her finger. Max: Say hello to my wife.

@/GridChaosDaily: Belle is wearing a gold wedding band and an engagement ring the size of a walnut and hasn’t blinked once Meanwhile Charles looks like he’s on the verge of spontaneously combusting

@/MonacoRoyalty: THE RING THE JACKET THE HAND-HOLDING THE WALK SHE’S THE MAIN CHARACTER

@/MaxIsWinning: Max Verstappen said:

Emerald ring ✔️

Gold band ✔️

My jacket ✔️

My hand ✔️

My wife ✔️ Legend.

@/f1memequeen: Belle: walks in calmly Internet: 💍😱🔥👗👀💀💍👑 The power of SILENCE

@/LandoSimp44: me: I’m over the Verstappen-Leclerc marriage drama also me: zooming in on the ring like it’s the Mona Lisa

@/FerrariTears: Charles is looking at that gold band like it personally betrayed him Arthur’s gone full ghost mode Pascale is probably praying in a dark room Meanwhile Belle’s just casually wearing a 5-figure emerald like it’s nothing

@/F1MemeLord: Belle: marries Max Verstappen in secret Charles: forgets her birthday Belle: walks into the paddock with a ring and a husband The plot arc is insane. The payoff? Cinematic.

@/gridgossip: MAX WALKING IN WITH HIS WIFE AND ZERO APOLOGY IS THE MOST VERSTAPPEN THING TO EVER HAPPEN

@/TifosiTears: Belle really said: you forgot me? let me introduce you to my husband and this giant green rock

***

The moment they stepped inside the Red Bull garage, Belle felt the shift.

It wasn’t like entering a room. It was like crossing a threshold — one she could never go back from.

There were voices, radio chatter, tire warmers humming. Mechanics moved with sharp efficiency. But as Max walked in with her hand still folded in his, everything… slowed.

Heads turned. Not in shock — they all knew by now. But in curiosity.

She was part of it now.

Max dropped his bag with practiced ease, nodded at one of the engineers, and then looked back at her like she was the only thing that mattered in the room.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low, just for her.

Belle nodded, though her heart was fluttering too fast. “Yeah. Just—this is a lot.”

“You don’t have to talk to anyone if you don’t want to.”

“I want to,” she said quietly. “I want to meet the people who know the version of you I don’t get at home.”

Max smiled like that meant more than she realized — like she’d just handed him something no one else ever had.

“Alright,” he murmured. “Time to meet the chaos.”

Belle only had a second to steel herself before she heard the gruff voice.

“About time you brought her here.”

Jos.

He was already standing near the back wall of the garage, arms folded, mouth tugged up in something that resembled a smile. As he looked at her properly, something softened in his expression. Something almost proud.

“See you survived the vultures,” he said drily, and she couldn’t help but laugh.

She blinked — caught off guard — and then smiled. “I’m told it’s a survival skill.”

Jos chuckled — actually chuckled — and nodded. “Good. You’ll need it.”

“Papa,” Max greeted casually, unbothered by the tension humming in the air. “Thanks for being here. You’ll keep an eye on her while I’m in the car.”

Belle blinked, surprised. “You didn’t tell me that.”

Max smiled slightly. “Didn’t want to stress you out.”

Jos’s lips twitched. Just barely.

“Sit where you want,” he said to her. “It’s quieter at the back. And if anyone annoys you, tell them you married a Verstappen. That’ll scare them off.”

Max gave him a look. Jos ignored him entirely.

Before Belle could respond, a familiar voice called out from just inside the garage.

“Well, well. You’re finally in the right garage.”

She turned — and smiled fully for the first time that day.

Gianpiero Lambiase stood near his station, headset already slung around his neck, amusement lighting his usually serious expression.

“Hi, GP,” Belle said warmly.

He approached, offering a half-hug, half-handshake that was somehow the perfect balance of affection and professionalism. “Max said you’d be here, but I figured he was bluffing.”

“I almost backed out,” Belle admitted. “Then he bribed me with his jacket and pancakes.”

“Classic Verstappen tactics,” GP deadpanned. “Food, flattery, and limited emotional vocabulary.”

Max, passing behind them, muttered, “I can still hear you.”

GP grinned, unfazed. “Welcome, Belle. We’ve all been betting on when you'd show up.”

She arched a brow. “And who won?”

“Helmut,” GP said, disgusted. “Which is horrifying.”

Max returned, tugging lightly on her sleeve. “Come on. Christian wants to meet you.”

Belle exhaled, nerves fluttering again, but she followed Max past rows of screens and engineers until they stopped in front of Christian Horner, who turned to greet them with the ease of a man who’d already been briefed but was pretending he hadn’t.

“Well, you’ve caused quite the storm.”

Christian Horner.

He approached with that signature half-smile of his, hands in his pockets, a subtle look of curiosity behind the polite charm.

“So this is the mysterious Mrs. Verstappen,” he said warmly. “Finally. The woman who managed to tame our reigning champion. Or so the rumors say.”

“I don’t think anyone tames Max,” Belle said dryly.

Christian laughed. “You might be right. But clearly, you’re the exception.”

She extended a hand, and he shook it firmly.

“Christian Horner,” he added, even though she obviously knew.

“Belle Verstappen,” she said quietly — testing the name again. Feeling it settle.

Christian’s gaze flicked to her left hand, where the emerald caught the overhead lights. “Well, it’s official now. Welcome to the madness.”

Belle took a slow breath as they stepped deeper into the garage, Max’s hand briefly grazing her lower back before he peeled off toward his car.

She watched him go, then looked around at the controlled chaos of Red Bull’s world — the data streams, the techs, the noise, the anticipation.

And for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel like she was standing on the outside of someone else’s life.

She was here.

She was his.

And the garage was exactly where she was supposed to be.

***

Arthur wasn’t sure what he expected.

Maybe denial. Maybe chaos. Maybe the internet was wrong — maybe Belle hadn’t really married Max Verstappen. Maybe someone had faked the name change. Maybe it was a fever dream.

But then he saw them.

Isabelle. Walking into the paddock like she belonged there. Wearing Max’s jacket. Wearing a wedding band. Holding his hand.

Arthur froze mid-step outside the Ferrari hospitality unit. His coffee trembled in his grip. For a second, he genuinely forgot how to breathe.

Because it wasn’t just that Isabelle was there.

It was the way Max glanced at her every few steps, the way she leaned in slightly when the crowd pressed too close. The way their fingers didn’t untangle, not once. Not even when flashes went off or someone whispered her name like it was blasphemy.

She looked calm. Not smug. Not afraid. Just… calm.

And that was what undid Arthur most.

Because she’d never looked like that before — not at races, not around the family, not anywhere she’d ever been expected to play the silent sibling to Charles’ glory.

She looked like herself. Like someone who had finally been given permission to take up space.

And beside him, Charles looked like he was about to snap.

“Unbelievable,” Charles muttered, voice too low and too bitter. “He couldn’t even tell me. He had to parade her in front of everyone like this?”

Arthur tore his eyes away from Isabelle — reluctantly — and turned toward his older brother.

“Are you serious right now?” he asked.

Charles flinched. “What?”

“She’s walking in with her husband, Charles. Not doing a press tour. What did you think was going to happen?”

“I thought maybe—” Charles stopped, jaw tight. “Maybe she’d have the decency to talk to me first.”

Arthur stared at him. “Decency? Are you hearing yourself?”

Charles ran a hand through his hair, agitated. “She’s my sister—”

“And you’re acting like she’s your possession.”

Charles turned on him. “I’m not—”

“Yes, you are!” Arthur snapped, stepping closer, voice sharp. “You’re acting like she owed you something when all she ever wanted was to be treated like she mattered!”

“Don’t twist this, Arthur,” Charles said, low and warning.

Arthur laughed — harsh, disbelieving. “You forgot her birthday. We forgot her birthday!”

“That was a mistake—”

“We forgot her birthday, and then when she finally chooses herself, finally chooses someone who sees her, you make it about you?”

“She married Max—”

“She married someone who shows up for her,” Arthur interrupted. “Which is more than we’ve done in years.”

Charles’ face tightened.

Arthur kept going. “You don’t get to be the victim here. Not when she’s spent years watching you get cheered while she was ignored. Not when she begged for scraps of attention and we gave her nothing.”

Charles looked like he wanted to argue. He didn’t.

“She stopped trying to be seen by us,” Arthur said quietly. “Because she found someone who already sees her.”

Charles swallowed hard, eyes flicking toward the Red Bull garage where Belle had disappeared with Max minutes ago. “I just… I didn’t think she’d leave us like that.”

“She didn’t leave,” Arthur said. “We just never noticed when she stopped waiting.”

Silence.

Thick. Tense. Regretful.

Charles looked down, jaw clenched. He didn’t say sorry. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

Arthur sighed and set his coffee down on the table beside him.

“If you want to be part of her life now, Charles,” he said. “You’re going to have to show her that you’re finally willing to see her. Not as your sister. As herself.”

Then he walked away, leaving Charles in the middle of the paddock — alone, surrounded by people, and for the first time, not the main character.

***

Belle had just sat down with a cup of tea in the quiet corner of Red Bull hospitality when she heard it.

A voice. Sharp. French-accented. Not loud, but unmistakably firm.

She looked up instinctively — and wasn’t surprised.

Arthur.

Standing just outside the entrance, shoulders tense, hands stuffed into his hoodie pockets like he was trying to shrink into himself. He’d clearly made it through the first layer of staff with that Leclerc charm that used to get him everywhere.

Unfortunately for him, Jos Verstappen was standing by the doorway.

And Jos did not do charm.

“What exactly do you think you’re doing here?” Jos asked, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

Arthur hesitated. “I just—I wanted to talk to her.”

“This isn’t Ferrari,” Jos said, voice calm but cutting. “You don’t get to stroll in here after throwing a tantrum across half the paddock and acting like your sister’s marriage is some kind of betrayal.”

Arthur flushed. “I didn’t throw a tantrum—”

“You don’t belong here,” Jos said. “Not after this morning. Not after the way your brother behaved.”

Arthur’s face flushed. “I came her to…”

“To what?” Jos stepped closer. “Apologize on behalf of Charles? Defend him? Make excuses for how you treated her?”

“No!” Arthur said quickly, hands up. “No. I’m not here for Charles. I’m here for her.”

Belle stood before she even realized she’d moved.

“Jos,” she said, voice soft but clear. “It’s fine.”

He turned toward her, frowning. “Belle—”

“I want to talk to him,” she said.

And for the first time in a very long time, she saw someone else hesitate when talking to her.

Jos studied her face for a beat. Whatever he saw must have been enough, because he gave a terse nod and stepped back. Not far. But far enough to say I’m still watching.

Arthur looked like he was bracing for impact as she walked toward him.

Belle stopped a few steps away, arms crossed loosely. She didn’t hug him. Didn’t cry.

He stopped a little too far away, hands in his pockets, guilt etched into every line of his face.

“You weren’t really trying to sneak past Jos Verstappen, were you?” she finally asked dryly.

Arthur groaned. “I thought maybe if I moved fast enough, he wouldn’t see me.”

A faint smile tugged at Belle’s mouth. “He used to spot Max sneaking out after curfew with a hoodie pulled over his head. You never had a chance.”

Arthur groaned. “I thought maybe if I moved fast enough, he’d blink.”

“He never blinks,” she said.

He cracked a smile, brief and sheepish. “You look good.”

Her expression softened, barely. “You look like you haven’t slept.”

“I haven’t,” he admitted. “Charles is sulking like it’s a championship sport. Maman’s crying into a croissant. Lorenzo’s trying to schedule a family meeting like it’s a UN crisis summit.”

Belle sighed, gaze drifting past him for a moment. “I figured.”

He hesitated. “I didn’t come to defend anyone. Not Charles. Not Maman. I just… I needed to see you. For myself.”

She studied him in silence. Arthur had always been a little caught in the middle — younger than Charles, louder than Lorenzo, trying to carve space where there was none. He wasn’t blameless. But he hadn’t been cruel. Just… complicit.

But he was trying now.

The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable — just full. Full of all the things left unsaid for too long. All the messages never sent. All the birthday calls missed, the family dinners where she was present but not seen.

“You used to hide in my bed during thunderstorms,” Belle said quietly. “You’d ask me to read the same chapter of Le Petit Prince three times until you fell asleep.”

Arthur blinked, surprised. “You remember that?”

“I remember everything,” Belle said. “I remember the good things. I always tried to.”

His throat worked around the lump there. “Why didn’t you tell me? About Max. About the wedding. About… any of it?”

Belle looked down at the rings on her finger — the green of the emerald glinting faintly under the hospitality lighting, the simple gold band beneath it warm against her skin.

“Because you weren’t really looking,” she said. “None of you were. And I was tired of asking to be seen.”

Arthur didn’t flinch. Didn’t argue.

“I know,” he said instead, voice low and thick. “I think… I’ve known it for a while. I just didn’t know how to face it. But seeing you with Max — the way he looks at you, the way you look at you — I get it now. And I hate that it took this for me to see it.”

“It’s not about hating yourself,” Belle said, gentler this time. “It’s about doing better now. If you want to.”

Arthur looked at her like she was someone new. Someone stronger. Someone who had stopped waiting for the world to recognize her and built a place where she didn’t need permission.

“Are you happy?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

She didn’t hesitate.

“Yes.”

He exhaled sharply, like he’d been holding that breath all morning.

“Good,” he said. “That’s all I wanted to know.”

Belle stepped forward then, arms uncrossed, and opened them. The offer was quiet. Soft.

Arthur didn’t hesitate.

He pulled her into a hug like he was afraid she might vanish again. His arms wound around her, shoulders trembling just slightly. Belle hugged him back — firm and steady.

And it felt like something beginning again.

Not perfectly. Not fixed.

But trying.

When they finally stepped apart, Belle offered a quiet, teasing smile. “Next time, use the front entrance. Jos might not be so forgiving twice.”

Arthur groaned. “I’m still recovering. I think he aged me ten years with one sentence.”

She laughed — really laughed, for the first time that day.

Behind them, Jos gave a small grunt from where he stood — arms crossed, unimpressed — but Belle didn’t miss the way one corner of his mouth almost curved.

***

Max didn’t usually seek people out for conversations. Not personal ones, anyway.

He’d spent most of his life guarding things that mattered — like they were fragile, like they’d break if anyone else got too close. But this was different. She was different. And what they had now — what was growing quietly inside her — felt too big to carry on his own.

So he found GP.

It was a lull in the afternoon, the last briefing before the sim work, engineers rotating through data stations like gears in a perfect machine. But GP was by himself, leaning against the telemetry table, one brow raised as Max approached with the kind of expression that said, you better not be about to request a new steering wheel setting.

Max didn’t say anything right away.

GP waited.

“I need to tell you something,” Max said finally. His voice was lower than usual. Not tense — just held close.

GP straightened a little. “What happened?”

“She’s pregnant,” Max said.

The words came out smoother than he expected. Maybe because they’d been sitting on his tongue all day.

GP stared at him. Blinked once. Then again.

And then — grinned.

“Seriously?” he asked, already smiling. “Belle’s pregnant?”

Max nodded once, his throat tight. “Yeah. She told me a few weeks ago.”

GP exhaled a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Bloody hell. I should’ve seen that coming.”

Max raised a brow. “You didn’t?”

“I figured it was either that or you bought her a horse farm.”

Max laughed — properly, finally, the weight of the day cracking just a little. “I might still do that.”

GP was still smiling, but there was something else in his face now — something softer. Warmer.

“Kids are great,” he said, voice lower, more personal now. “I mean, chaotic and exhausting, but… they’re the best thing I’ve ever done.”

Max blinked. “You’ve never said that.”

GP shrugged. “Didn’t seem relevant when you were nineteen and trying to beat Lewis Hamilton into turn one.”

Max huffed a laugh. “Fair.”

There was a pause. A weight in the air — not heavy, but full.

“She’ll be a brilliant mum,” GP added, quieter now. “She’s got that calm strength to her. The kind you don’t notice until it’s the only thing holding you together.”

Max nodded slowly. “I know.”

“And you,” GP said, tapping a finger to Max’s chest, “are going to be fine. More than fine.”

Max hesitated. “Even with…”

“Even with your past? Your dad?” GP finished for him. “You’re not him. You never were.”

Max looked down for a moment, jaw tight. Then, after a long breath, he met GP’s eyes again. “I just want to give that kid something different. Something better.”

“You already are,” GP said simply. “You chose Belle. That’s your first good decision. Choosing that baby every day — that’s your next.”

“I’m scared,” Max admitted.

“Good,” GP said. “That means you give a damn.”

Max nodded once.

“I’m happy for you, mate,” GP added, reaching out and clasping his shoulder. “Really.”

Max nodded again, grateful in a way he didn’t know how to say.

“And just for the record,” GP added dryly, “I had a bet with my wife that you two would get pregnant before Charles figured out you were married.”

Max burst out laughing. “Did she win?”

“She always wins.”

Max was still grinning when he turned to leave, lighter than he’d been all day.

There was so much left to do — more secrets to tell, more people to face — but for now, it was enough that someone knew.

Someone who didn’t just understand racing.

Someone who understood him.

***

From the hospitality suite above the Red Bull garage, Belle had a near-perfect view of the final laps.

The Spanish heat shimmered off the track, waves of it rising like ghosts in the air, but Belle barely noticed. Her fingers gripped the arm of her seat, headset slightly askew, Max’s voice crackling faintly through the speakers — clipped, calm, focused.

She had never liked watching him race before she knew him.

Now, she knew better.

Now, she could hear it in the way he spoke to GP. The way he adjusted. Reacted. Fought, not like a man trying to prove something — but like someone who knew exactly who he was, and who he had waiting for him at the end.

You’ve got three laps left, mate, GP said calmly in her ear.

Copy. Leave it with me.

Belle swallowed hard. Her hand settled instinctively over the front of her stomach, hidden by the loose navy blouse she wore. She hadn’t told many people yet — just Victoria, Sophie, Jos, and Emilie, and now GP, thanks to Max.

But this felt like a secret the whole world would eventually know.

The final sector flew past in a blur. Tyres screamed. Crowds surged.

And then, the chequered flag.

“YES! That’s P1, Max. Well done.”

Belle exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Her hand flew to her mouth, and then, just as quickly, to her chest — right over her heart.

He’d done it.

Again.

The team erupted around her — mechanics cheering, hugging, high-fiving, lifting cans of Red Bull like champagne flutes. Christian was already halfway out the door, and even Jos, who’d been watching beside her with arms crossed, allowed himself a rare smile.

But Belle?

Belle didn’t move.

Not until someone nudged her gently — a team assistant with wide eyes and an even wider grin. “He’s asking for you,” the girl said. “Go. Go!”

Belle blinked. “What?”

“Parc Fermé. He’s already out of the car. Go!”

She didn’t hesitate after that.

The hallways blurred past her — wide corridors filled with team personnel and security and overheated energy. Her flats slapped against the concrete. Her pass flashed in the light. People parted without even realizing it — as if they could feel she belonged to this moment.

She reached the barrier just as Max pulled off his helmet, hair damp with sweat, fire suit unzipped halfway down his chest.

And then he saw her.

His eyes lit up in a way Belle didn’t think he realized he saved for her. He started toward her before the cameras could swarm, before the journalists could shout, before anyone else could get between them.

He crossed to her like he knew she’d be there. Like he’d been driving toward her the whole time.

And Belle didn’t think. Didn’t care about the cameras or the crowd or the fact that Charles was likely still in his car wondering where it all went wrong.

She stepped past the barrier and met him halfway.

And then she kissed him.

There was no hesitation. No coy look at the cameras. No soft-launch subtlety.

Just her hands on his face, his arms wrapping tight around her waist, and the kind of kiss that felt like a homecoming.

The paddock erupted.

Somewhere behind them, a Sky Sports presenter squeaked. David Croft nearly dropped his mic.

Belle pulled back only when Max laughed against her mouth.

“You kissed me in Parc Fermé,” he murmured.

“You won,” she said simply, brushing sweat-mussed hair off his forehead. “You deserve to be kissed.”

Max looked at her for a long moment, then down — briefly, instinctively — at her stomach, where no one else had noticed her hand lingering.

And then he whispered, just for her: “Both of you.”

Belle smiled. “You came home to us safe.”

Max kissed her one more time, softer now, and then turned back toward the swarm of cameras and celebration.

And Belle?

Belle stood at the edge of it all — her lips still tingling, her heart full — knowing the headlines tomorrow would be chaos.

But for now?

She had kissed her husband in front of the entire world.

And she didn’t regret a single second.

***

Meanwhile on Twitter:

@/RedBullTroll33: i thought the name change was chaos BUT THIS??? BELLE JUST WALKED IN AND KISSED HIM LIKE THEY WEREN’T HIDING FOR A YEAR I’M LOSING IT

@/FerrariTears: charles leclerc being forced to watch max verstappen win the race and then watch his baby sister kiss him like it’s a romcom finale is actually greek tragedy level storytelling

@/f1memequeen: Belle: soft-launched a horse and an emerald ring Belle: quietly changed her last name to Verstappen Belle: walks into parc fermé and kisses her world champion husband Me: sobbing okay queen I GET IT

@/WifeGuyMax: MAX VERSTAPPEN KISSED HIS WIFE IN FRONT OF EVERYONE AND LOOKED LIKE HE’D JUST WON SOMETHING MORE IMPORTANT THAN A RACE i’m unwell

@/f1memehub: sky sports: mid-sentence belle: kisses max crofty: glitches karun: gasping social media admin: pressing post like their life depends on it

@/LandoSimp44: the paddock was like “max has a secret wife” max said “here she is. in my arms. deal with it.”

@/MonacoRoyalty: SHE KISSED HIM IN PARC FERMÉ AFTER THE WIN AND HE LOOKED AT HER LIKE SHE PUT THE SUN IN THE SKY i’m crying this is cinema

@/MaxIsWinning: max verstappen doesn’t do drama he does declarations first her name now the kiss next stop: world domination

@/FerrariF1Pain: charles watching belle kiss max in parc fermé after forgetting her birthday is the most older brother consequences i’ve ever seen

@/GridChaosDaily: “Belle kissed Max after the Spanish GP” is now officially my favorite F1 moment no context. just vibes. just love

***

Instagram Post: @/belleverstappen

@/maxverstappen1: Every lifetime, every circuit. Every time. 💍❤️

@/redbullracing: Belle Verstappen supremacy. (also congrats Max 👀)

@/emilie_abadie: this is my new phone background. and lock screen. and wallpaper. and religion. thanks.

@/pierregasly: i need everyone to stop posting this before i start believing in soulmates again

@/landonorris: i was THERE. i SAW IT. i’m never recovering.

@/f1: most liked paddock kiss of all time? confirmed.

@tifositimes: I didn’t expect to cry over a Verstappen kiss post today but here we are.

@/chaoticgridgirl: SHE POSTED IT. THE KISS. THE LEGENDARY KISS. I NEED A MINUTE. ACTUALLY I NEED A WEEK.

@/f1softlaunchdetective: this is what soft-launch girlies do when they hit their final form. she dropped ONE photo and burned the paddock to the ground.

@/maxielflamequeen: the ring. the kiss. the caption.

@paddockwhispers: arthur liked it. charles didn’t.

@softverstappen: i will never emotionally recover from this post. ever. she wins. every time.

@maxsvillainera: look at the way he’s holding her look at the way she’s smiling into the kiss no notes. pure poetry.

***

FIA Press Conference — Post-Race | Spanish Grand Prix 2024

Drivers: P1 - Max Verstappen (Red Bull Racing), P2 - Lewis Hamilton (Mercedes), P3 - Lando Norris (McLaren)

Moderator: Congratulations, Max. A win today. How are you feeling?

Max: Good. Yeah, car felt great, team executed perfectly. Always nice to win in Barcelona.

Moderator: We’ll open the floor for questions.

Journalist #1: Max, first of all, congratulations. But obviously everyone’s talking about the moment in Parc Fermé. Can you confirm — was that your wife? And are the rumors true that you and Isabelle Leclerc got married in secret?

Max: Yes. That was my wife. And yes — we got married in Monaco a few weeks ago. We’re very happy.

Lando: (muttering into his mic) Understatement of the century.

Lewis: (grinning) Congrats, man.

Journalist #2: Max, there’s been a lot of talk online about Belle’s birthday being forgotten by her family and this being the reason she pulled away from them. Any comment on that?

Max: No.

Journalist #2: Nothing at all?

Max: (calmly) No.

Journalist #3: There’s a narrative online that Belle’s been overlooked for years. Some say this entire paddock entrance and Parc Fermé kiss was a statement. Was that intentional?

Max: (dryly) We walked in holding hands. We kissed. We’re married. If that counts as a statement, I don’t know what to tell you.

Journalist #4: Do you think this will affect your dynamic with Charles Leclerc?

Max: (expression flat) We’ll see. That’s between him and his sister. I’m just here to race cars and go home to my wife.

Lando: (quietly, to Lewis) He’s in his “husband first, world champion second” era.

Lewis: (laughing into his mic) He really is.

Journalist #6: Do you plan on making any public statement about the family fallout?

Max: No. That’s her story to tell, not mine. And frankly, it’s not gossip. It’s real life. So maybe let’s show a little respect.

Journalist #7: What was going through your mind when she kissed you in Parc Fermé?

Max: (finally smiling) That I’m the luckiest guy in the world.

Journalist #8: Will your wife be traveling with you to more races now?

Max (still polite, still done): We‘ll decide what works best for us as a family. That’s between us.

Reporter #9: Was Belle’s presence in the paddock today a signal? Especially given what happened with Charles—

Max: (cuts in, voice calm but firmer) Belle doesn’t need to signal anything. She’s not a statement. She’s a person. And she came today to support her husband. That’s all.

Moderator: Alright, I think we’ll wrap it there before anyone pushes their luck. Congratulations to all three drivers. Max, Lando, Lewis — thank you.

Lando (leaning into mic): Congrats again, mate. On the win and the wife.

***

Fred Vasseur closed the door harder than necessary.

The sound echoed through the otherwise silent room like a gunshot.

Charles looked up from where he was sitting on the small couch, still in his fireproofs, helmet discarded beside him. He was sweaty, tired, irritated — and entirely unprepared.

“Qu’est-ce que tu fais, Charles?” Fred said sharply. What are you doing?

Charles blinked. “What—?”

“You want to explain to me,” Fred continued, voice calm in the most dangerous way possible, “how your sister kissing Max Verstappen became the story of our weekend?”

Charles sat up straighter. “That’s not fair—”

“No?” Fred crossed the room, standing over him now. “Because I think it’s very fair. You let your personal drama become a paddock sideshow, and now everyone’s talking about the Leclerc family meltdown while we limp home with a P5 and a ruined PR day.”

“I didn’t ask for that to happen!”

“But you made sure it did,” Fred snapped. “You didn’t know Belle got married. Fine. You didn’t approve of who she married. Fine. You could’ve said nothing. But instead, you threw a tantrum. In the paddock. In group chats. Loud enough that half the drivers are mocking you and the other half are wondering if you even see your sister as a person.”

Charles flushed. “That’s not—”

“You forgot her birthday, Charles.”

The silence that followed was absolute.

Fred didn’t yell. He didn’t need to.

“You forgot her birthday. You forgot her job. You forgot she moved. And when she stopped chasing your attention, you acted like she betrayed you.” His voice didn’t rise, but it sharpened with every word. “And now you’re shocked that the only person she trusted to hold her hand through it all was the man who sees her every single day?”

Charles looked away, jaw tight. “It wasn’t supposed to be public.”

Fred laughed — once, bitter and short. “And yet you’re the one who made it public. Max didn’t. Belle didn’t. You did. And now you’ve made us look like amateurs — not because of strategy, but because you couldn’t handle the fact that your sister’s life isn’t orbiting around you anymore.”

Charles opened his mouth. Closed it. No words came.

Fred sighed — not in exasperation, but in disappointment. And that hurt more.

“I expected more from you,” he said quietly. “As a driver, yes. But more than that — as a man. As a brother.”

Charles flinched like he’d been hit.

“You want to fix this?” Fred said, stepping back. “Then stop sulking. Start listening. And for the love of God, don’t let Max Verstappen be the better man in every single room you enter.”

He turned and walked to the door.

“Because right now?” he added, hand on the handle. “He’s not just beating you on track. He’s beating you in every other way that matters.”

And then he left.

Charles stayed seated, eyes burning, the silence pressing heavier than any helmet ever had.

***

Dinner had started out exactly the way Belle expected.

Loud. Warm. Slightly unhinged.

They were tucked into a quiet corner of a restaurant just off the Barcelona marina — the kind of place Max loved because no one there cared about racing unless it blocked traffic. The table was round, the lighting dim and golden, and the laughter had already started before the appetizers arrived.

Lando had barely let Max sit down before declaring, “You’re disgusting. You win a race and then get kissed like it’s a Netflix finale. Get out.”

“Jealousy doesn’t suit you,” Max had said, completely unbothered.

Oscar, seated beside Lily, just smirked. “It was kind of romantic.”

Lily looked between the two of them with a soft smile. “Kind of? It broke the Internet.”

Daniel had toasted “to hard launches, soft kisses, and Verstappen chaos,” and Belle had nearly snorted water through her nose.

But now dinner had mellowed. Plates cleared. Dessert on the way. The kind of soft lull that usually came right before someone said something life-changing.

Max glanced at Belle. That look — gentle, checking, asking without words.

She nodded once.

He cleared his throat lightly. “We actually… wanted to tell you guys something.”

Four pairs of eyes snapped to attention.

“Tell me you’re moving to the countryside and buying a farm,” Lando said immediately. “Please. I need this arc.”

“Better,” Max said, eyes flicking toward Belle.

Belle rested her hands on the edge of the table. Her heart was fluttering, not with nerves exactly — more like awe. Like the moment was finally catching up to her.

“I’m pregnant,” she said.

There was a pause.

A moment of stunned silence.

And then—

“NO YOU’RE NOT,” Daniel half-shouted, nearly knocking over his wine glass.

Lily gasped, hands flying to her mouth. “Are you serious?!”

Oscar just stared, mouth slightly open like his brain had hit the brakes.

Lando blinked twice, then pointed between them. “Like… with a baby baby?”

Belle burst into laughter — the tension cracking wide open. Max was already grinning like he’d been waiting for this chaos all night.

“Yes, Lando,” Belle said, wiping at her eyes. “A baby baby.”

Oscar finally found his voice. “How long have you known?”

“A few weeks,” Max said. “We’re keeping it quiet for now. But we wanted you to know first.”

Lily leaned across the table, eyes wide and shining. “You’re going to be parents. Oh my god. That baby is going to have cheekbones and a death stare.”

“And probably a kart by age two,” Daniel added, now fully beaming. “Holy shit. Max Verstappen’s going to be a dad. I need to sit down.”

“You are sitting down,” Oscar said, still blinking like he hadn’t caught up.

“I need to sit down harder,” Daniel muttered.

Lando reached for Belle’s hand across the table, squeezing it. “You’re going to be amazing.”

Belle swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. “I’m scared,” she admitted. “But… I’m also happy. Really happy.”

Max’s hand found her thigh under the table, grounding and steady. She didn’t have to look to know he was watching her with that same soft, almost reverent expression he’d had ever since she told him.

Oscar was smiling now too, the initial shock melting into something warm. “Congratulations,” he said. “Both of you. Really.”

“And selfishly,” Lily added, “I’m just glad we get to love this baby too.”

Daniel raised his glass. “To the official grid baby.”

“We’re not calling them that,” Belle said immediately.

“To Max spiraling when the baby kicks for the first time,” Oscar added, grinning.

“To all of it,” Lando finished. “To them.”

They clinked glasses — softly, gently.

And as Belle looked around at the people who had chosen her — not because she was someone’s sister, not because she was attached to a name — but because they loved her, her heart felt impossibly full.

The world could stay outside tonight.

This was theirs.

***

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starmocha · 3 months ago

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Keep It Icy [Zayne + Son ★ 3428 words ★ Masterlist ★ Snowdrop Masterlist ★ Series Index ★ AO3] 5 times Zayne’s son used him like a personal portable A/C + 1 time his son helps relieve his stress. A/N: I promise I love Zaynie. He’s my snookums. 🥹 Tag list: @lavlynyan @alfredosaws @solifloris @nezuswritingdesk @valkyyriia @natimiles @yourlocalcatscammer @callilypso @likewhyareyousoobsessedwithme @qyuin @asiaticapple @rainbowsnowflake @jasmines-greentea 【 request to be added 】

one month old.

The weather forecast had predicted this July Linkon City was going to experience the hottest heat wave in decades. Citizens were advised to stay indoors and keep cool whenever possible, and as much as Zayne wanted to adhere to such warnings, his home air conditioner had decided just the other day to break down.

“There’s no available repairman at this moment,” he said, walking into the kitchen to see you struggling to comfort your newborn son who had been crying nonstop for hours now. The baby had just celebrated his first month since being born, but there was little joy in the household right now with everyone feeling miserable because of the unbearable heat. Zayne continued, speaking a little louder over the baby’s cries, “They’re all booked and the earliest appointment I could make would be for next Wednesday.”

“Next Wednesday?” you questioned, shocked, “That’s still over a week away and it’s just gonna get hotter…”

He nodded in agreement. He looked worried when he noticed the exhaustion on your face. Immediately, he stepped closer with his arms outstretched. “Give him to me,” he said, reaching for the baby. Before you could protest, the baby was out of your arms and into Zayne’s. He rubbed his son’s back soothingly. “Go take a cold shower. You’ll feel more refreshed afterwards.”

“But the baby…”

“I can take care of him,” he said.

You looked at him unsure and Zayne answered with his own pointed look.

“What? Have I done anything in the past month to prove I wasn’t capable of caring for my son?”

You immediately shook your head. “Quite the opposite actually,” you said with a small smile. You eventually relented. “Alright, sorry, it’s just… new mother’s instinct, you know?”

He nodded and leaned over to kiss your cheek. “I know. Now, go. Take as long as you need to, my love.”

You kissed him back in thanks before making your way to the bathroom.

Meanwhile, Zayne looked down at his crying son and sighed sympathetically. He paced around the kitchen with the newborn resting over his shoulder, rubbing his back and bouncing him gently. “I know, I know, it’s so hot, isn’t it?”

The baby rubbed his face into Zayne’s shoulder in frustration before crying louder. He started to hiccup and Zayne instantly patted his back gently as he calmly shushed his son. “Easy, easy now…”

He found himself walking to his bedroom. He could hear in the adjacent bathroom the shower running.

He settled down into bed, letting his son rest on top of his chest. He thought for a moment and then he used his ice Evol, regulating the temperature around him. It felt much nicer than before. The sudden cool temperature calmed the crying baby, his cries slowly easing before he relaxed on top of his father. As Zayne rubbed his back gently, his soft, soothing voice lulled the exhausted baby to sleep.

His own eyes drifted close, but only for a few minutes. Distantly, he heard the shower turning off and a few minutes later, he opened his eyes when he sensed your presence nearby.

You settled into bed next to him with wet hair still dripping water droplets down your top. You sighed happily. “It feels so much cooler now.”

“Indeed,” he answered.

“Maybe we don’t need that repairman then,” you teased, leaning in to wrap your arms around Zayne’s waist.

He peered down at the top of your head, quipping with mild annoyance, “I’m not an A/C that runs 24/7 you know.”

“I know,” you said breezily, not appeasing his sudden mood change. “But for now, I prefer this over our home air conditioner.”

“Oh, really…”

You giggled and nodded. You reached over and gently caressed your newborn son’s cheek, careful not to wake him. “And it looks like I’m not the only one who prefers your Evol.”

“Why do I feel like you two will be troublemakers for me to handle in the future?”

You grinned, completely delighted. “Yeah? You think he will take after me?”

You both glanced at the sleeping baby boy on Zayne’s chest with so much adoration. You sighed wistfully. “He’s still so tiny… I can’t imagine him getting bigger.”

“I know,” Zayne whispered back fondly. “Is it wrong that I almost want him to stay just like this?”

You shook your head, understanding your husband’s sentiments completely. “I can’t believe it’s already been a month since he was born,” you said softly, adding with a laugh, “I still can’t believe we’re both parents now…”

Zayne hummed back in agreement. “I can’t believe he’s really ours…”

“What if we mess up?”

“Hmm?”

“What if we make mistakes with him…”

“Are you spiraling again?”

“Zayne, I’m serious!” You pouted at him. “What if…”

“No more ‘what if’s’,” Zayne interrupted firmly. “We will probably make mistakes. It’s only natural. We’re new at this and also… we’re just humans.”

“You’re right…”

“But we’ll do our best in raising him,” Zayne continued, “He will turn out fine.”

He leaned over and kissed your forehead, his arm snaking around your waist and pulling you closer to him. You rested your head in the crook of his arm, feeling his hand patting your side soothingly. You smiled as you watched your son sleep on top of your husband’s chest.

“We’ll all be fine,” Zayne whispered, and you relaxed in his arms, his protective presence always seeming to chase away your fears and anxieties.

“Yeah… we’ll be fine.”

twelve months old.

Zayne couldn’t believe a whole year had passed since his son was born. He paced around the nursery with the newly-turned one-year-old resting over his shoulder. The boy was quietly sucking his thumb, showing no sign of sleepiness despite it almost being midnight.

Each time Zayne had tried to put the boy down to bed, his son would start to fuss and cry until he was picked up again. Zayne sighed, knowing the exact reason for his son’s fussiness.

It was going to be another blistering hot June, matching the previous year when his son was born. Even though it was nighttime, the temperature had only cooled down to being tolerable, but to a one-year-old, it still felt unbearable.

“You’re just like your mother,” Zayne said, pretending to be upset, “You only see me as a personal portable air conditioner, don’t you?”

Not quite understanding his father, the boy giggled and pressed a wet kiss to Zayne’s cheek before dropping his head back down on his shoulder and sucking his thumb again. He idly swung his feet and clung to his father tighter.

“Okay, okay,” he laughed, “I won’t mind if this is the type of payment I will receive for my service.”

Zayne resigned to his fate of pacing the nursery for a while longer, but he didn’t want to complain too much as he was quite honestly thoroughly enjoying this quiet moment of bonding with his son.

eighteen months old.

“And down,” Zayne said, carefully setting his toddler son down on a beach blanket.

Immediately, the boy turned around and scrambled to his father’s legs, his arms held up as he hopped in place, upset. “No, no, no, no!”

“Hm?”

“Up, up!”

“I’ve already carried you all the way down here,” he calmly remarked to the upset child. “Don’t you want to try walking on your own now?”

The boy furrowed his brows in frustration, not understanding why his father refused to listen to him.

You walked over and laughed, settling down next to the young toddler. You pulled your son into your lap. “Oh, Zaynie, don’t pretend like you don’t know what he wants.”

Zayne sighed. “This is your fault.”

“My fault?” you pretended to glare at him. “What did I do?”

“He takes after you.”

“Excuse me, the only thing he decided to take after me was my hair color,” you said, gesturing to your son’s full head of hair. “Nine months I carried him only for him to be a near perfect clone of you.”

Zayne sat down next to you both and immediately the toddler crawled out of your lap and over to his father’s instead. You pretended to look betrayed.

“See that? No loyalty to his mother at all.”

Resigned, Zayne picked up his son and let him settled comfortably in his lap. The boy leaned against his father’s stomach and his eyes started to close before he just as quickly drifted off to sleep.

“So much for his first dip in the ocean water,” Zayne quipped with a fond smile. “We’ve wasted those plane tickets for nothing.”

You reached over and rubbed your son’s cheek affectionately, giggling. “I don’t blame him. Your Evol comes in quite handy on hot days like this.”

“See? He takes after you.”

“You’re right,” you agreed, “He is smart, just like me, knowing how to use his father.”

“That’s not—fine.”

You giggled at your husband’s scowl. You leaned over and gasped when Zayne pulled you down to lay with him and your son on the beach blanket. With your toddler on Zayne’s chest, you wrapped your arm around your husband’s waist and settled comfortably against him.

“This is nice,” you remarked.

“Mmhmm,” Zayne hummed back in agreement, his arm pulling you in closer.

“Nothing can beat having a hot husband with delicious abs and his ice Evol to keep me cool.”

“You really are something.”

“I’m not wrong.”

“I—fine.”

two years old.

“Do you see the koala bears?” Zayne asked as he knelt down next to his two-year-old son, who had insisted he could walk through the zoo by himself. Laughing, you and him allowed the toddler his freedom, staying closely to the little boy who toddled his way through the crowd, unaware of all the people who paused and smiled at the cute child who was the spitting image of his father.

You and Zayne had nodded politely at the compliments and sped along after the toddler who seemed determined to get away from you both.

“Hold still,” Zayne said lightheartedly with one arm wrapped gently around the little boy’s middle.

“B-bear!” the boy repeated, giggling as he pointed at the sleepy marsupial while his other free hand was excitedly patting his father’s forearm.

“Mmhmm,” Zayne hummed. “A koala bear. They’re not the same as your teddy bears at home, though.”

Suddenly, Zayne heard the sound of a shutter clicking and a very familiar giggle. He looked behind him, seeing you were crouched low to the ground with your phone aimed at him and your son. Instantly his eyes met your own mischievous gaze, and when he raised a brow in question, you giggled again at his perplexed look.

“Sorry,” you said, completely unapologetic, “My two boys just looked so cute. I had to take a photo.”

Zayne sighed and shook his head. “That was also what you said when we were looking at the seals earlier.”

“And I meant it then, too,” you insisted with a pout, holding your phone up again, “Now smile, Zaynie.”

Zayne laughed and pulled his son closer. He knelt on one knee and with the other leg bent, he settled his two-year-old atop, holding him steady as he pointed a finger toward your phone camera. “Now smile for Mommy, son.”

The boy smiled brightly and clapped his hands just as you took the shot.

“Perfect,” you chirped, “These will be great new photos for my desk at work.”

“Alright, son, now off you go,” Zayne said and picked his son up. He paused, frowning when he noticed the toddler seemed to resist. “What’s wrong?”

“Too hot, Daddy,” the boy whined and looked at him pleadingly. He suddenly held his arms up.

Zayne sighed. “Who was it who said he could walk through the whole zoo by himself?”

The boy shook his head furiously. “Not me! Not me!”

You and Zayne laughed. You approached the two and knelt down next to the boy. “Do you want Mommy to carry you then, darling?”

The boy immediately shook his head again, his brows furrowing as he frowned at you with a look almost akin to annoyance. You feigned hurt and pretended to be shocked, asking him, “You don’t want Mommy anymore?”

As if he could sense your feigned hurt tone, the boy looked guilty, but only for a second before he held his arms out to his father again, completely ignoring you. “Daddy, Daddy, up, up!”

“I can’t believe I lost my only son’s love to a portable A/C,” you quipped dramatically, earning an instant glare from your husband. “Oh, Zaynie, take care of our son while I use your credit card to buy some ice cream to help me in the healing process.”

“Ha ha, very funny,” he remarked, already reaching for his wallet and grabbing the credit card to hand off to you.

You leaned over and kissed his cheek, consoling him instantly. “Be right back. I’ll make sure to get you something extra sweet for today.”

Once you were out of sight, Zayne turned back to the toddler on his knee. “Mommy’s gone, aren’t you sad?”

The boy thought for a moment and then nodded quietly.

“Do you want to go after her then?”

The boy nodded excitedly and raised his arms again.

“You’re going to walk to her, right?” Zayne teased.

The boy shook his head furiously. “No, no, Daddy carry!”

“But you’re a big boy now,” Zayne reminded him solemnly, “This morning you said you could walk all by yourself.”

“But… but…”

“But?”

“…too hot, Daddy…”

Zayne laughed again at the sight of the boy’s pitiful pout. He gave him a quick hug before lifting him up into his arms, smiling at his son’s instant giggles. “Alright, alright,” Zayne said, acquiescing, “Your personal portable A/C is in service now.”

“Yay!”

He laughed helplessly at his son’s enthusiastic cheer. “Sometimes I wonder if you see me as your father or just a portable A/C…”

“Mm… both!” the boy answered, not understanding his father’s sarcasm.

Zayne laughed again and leaned down to nuzzle his cheek against his son. “Thank you for your honesty,” he said, “Now, let’s go find Mommy and those ice cream she had promised us.”

“Ice cream!” the boy cheered and hugged his father tighter.

Along the way, Zayne couldn’t help but noticed numerous passersby pointing at them both, hearing the occasional delighted remarks about their physical similarities or the boy’s bright personality. He knew he should be a little more discreet, but his expression was one full of pride. It seemed ever since his son was born, Zayne was always finding each new day with his child a rewarding joy, this happiness so indescribable and infinite, he wanted to hold onto the feeling for as long as he could.

three years old.

Zayne wondered if he ever had as much energy as his three-year-old son when he was the same age. He found it doubtful. An afternoon in the park had somehow lasted for hours well past the boy’s usual naptime, and now suddenly there was the twilight glow quietly ushering in nightfall.

“Daddy!” the boy called out to his father as he slid down a slide and into his father’s waiting arms. He laughed and clung to his father tightly as little beads of sweat glistened down the side of his head. It had been a long, hot afternoon of running, climbing, and jumping from one playground equipment to the next. He hummed happily and buried his face into his father’s shoulder.

Zayne chuckled and lifted him up, carrying him easily in one arm. “What’s this? Are you doing what I think you are doing?”

The boy smiled cheekily at him in response. “Daddy feels so cool.”

He smiled helplessly at his son’s honest response. “I’m still nothing but a portable A/C to you, aren’t I?”

He tickled his son and the boy laughed and wriggled in his arms, though Zayne just tightened his hold. “N-no, no, Daddy!” he cried out amid his giggles.

As he held his son, still tickling him mercilessly, Zayne couldn’t help but noticed how much time had passed already and how big the little boy in his arms was getting. Each day, he seemed to take on more of Zayne’s appearance, the same shade of green in his eyes always looking at his father with such happiness and admiration.

Normally more rational, Zayne couldn’t help the silly thought that came suddenly. It wouldn’t be that silly of him—or even selfish of him–if he wished time could just slow down a bit, wanting his little boy to stay little for a while longer.

Unwittingly, he held the boy tighter that evening as the sun began to set, missing the toddler’s confused look under the darkening sky. Slowly, one by one, the lamps in the park lit up along all of the pathways. Zayne remained quiet, lost in his bittersweet thoughts, unaware of his son’s worried look.

Quietly, the little boy leaned in and kissed his father’s cheek, surprising him and breaking him out of his sudden trance, with that little assurance in spite of not understanding why his father seemed sadder now when just a few moments ago he was smiling and laughing.

His small arms wrapped around his father’s neck. “I love you, daddy.”

Zayne breathed in sharply, almost surprised, before he laughed softly and hugged his son back, his cheek nuzzling against his son’s hair. “I love you, too, my sweet little boy.”

+ one

He was finally done.

Zayne sighed as he closed an email he had just finished responding to. It was the last one out of the numerous emails he had spent the past two hours reading and responding. On top of that, he still had some medical reports to review and an important phone conference to attend to at one in the afternoon. The day was far from over, but even he could feel the beginning of a migraine settling in.

He leaned back in his chair, his eye peeking behind to the door of his home office, noticing it was opened ajar. He swiveled his chair enough to glance at the door, catching sight of the small shadow disappearing with a surprised gasp.

He swiveled his chair around again, pretending to sigh dramatically. “I’m so tired all of a sudden… If only I have my little doctor here to treat me…”

“Here I am, Daddy!”

Zayne turned his chair fully around this time, laughing when he saw his three-year-old son pushing the door open and rushing into his office while carrying a small plastic briefcase.

“What’s this? A personal house call?”

He picked his son up, settling him comfortably on his lap. “And you’ve brought your briefcase?”

The boy nodded happily.

“What do you have in your briefcase, doctor?” he asked, “Will it cure me of my current ailment?”

“Uh huh.”

“Well, then, let’s check together, won’t we?” Zayne set the briefcase on his desk next to his laptop. He opened it and pretended to gasp. “Now, what do you have to treat my exhaustion, doctor?”

The boy hummed and peered into his toy briefcase before grabbing a plastic snack bowl. “Teddies!”

Zayne took the snack bowl from his son, opening the plastic lid on top and stared at the little teddy bear-shaped graham crackers. He laughed. “I see, and how many should I take, doctor?”

The boy furrowed his brows thoughtfully before holding up two chubby fingers.

“Two? Alright,” Zayne answered and grabbed two crackers, popping them both into his mouth to eat. He set the snack bowl aside. “Okay, is there anything else, doctor?”

“Uh… this…!” The boy pulled out a small cloth and proceeded to wipe his father’s brows, making Zayne laughed.

“Okay, okay, I think I’m good now.”

The boy smiled proudly and dropped the cloth, letting it fall to the floor. “One more, Daddy!”

“One more? One more what?”

Suddenly, his son leaned in and kissed his cheek, surprising Zayne.

He smiled at his son, touched by the little boy’s thoughtfulness and concern. He hugged him a little tighter. “Doctor… I still don’t feel well. Perhaps, I need a few more kisses to cure me of my ailment?”

Without any hesitation, his son started to kiss his cheek repeatedly in quick successions, making Zayne laughed after each peck. After a minute, he stopped the toddler with a smile and his own kisses, overjoyed at the sound of his son’s sweet little giggles.

“Thank you,” he whispered, kissing his son’s temple, “for being my stress relief.”

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace zayne #lnds series — sweet little snowdrop #love and deepspace x reader #zayne x reader #zayne x you #zayne x mc #zayne fluff #love and deepspace fanfiction #lnds fanfics #x — fanfics #i mess with him because i care #🥹

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mostlysignssomeportents · 4 months ago

Text

The future of Amazon coders is the present of Amazon warehouse workers

I'm on a 20+ city book tour for my new novel PICKS AND SHOVELS. Catch me in BURBANK with WIL WHEATON TONIGHT (Mar 13), and in SAN DIEGO at MYSTERIOUS GALAXY on Mar 24. More tour dates here.

My theory of the "shitty technology adoption curve" holds that you can predict the future impact of abusive technologies on you by observing the way these are deployed against people who have less social power than you:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/11/the-shitty-tech-adoption-curve-has-a-business-model/

When you have a new, abusive technology, you can't just aim it at rich, powerful people, because when they complain, they get results. To successfully deploy that abusive tech, you need to work your way up the privilege gradient, starting with people with no power, like prisoners, refugees, and mental patients. This starts the process of normalization, even as it sands down some of the technology's rough edges against their tender bodies. Once that's done, you can move on to people with more social power – immigrants, blue collar workers, school children. Step by step, you normalize and smooth out the abusive tech, until you can apply it to everyone – even rich and powerful people. Think of the deployment of CCTV, facial recognition, location tracking, and web surveillance.

All this means that blue collar workers are the pioneering early adopters of the bossware that will shortly be tormenting their white-collar colleagues elsewhere in the business. It's as William Gibson prophesied: "The future is here, it's just not evenly distributed" (it's pooled up thick and noxious around the ankles of blue-collar workers, refugees, mental patients, etc).

Nowhere is this rule more salient than in Big Tech firms. Tech companies have thoroughly segregated workforces. Delivery drivers, customer service reps, data-labelers, warehouse workers and other "green badge," low-status workers are the testing ground for their employer's own disciplinary technology, which monitors them down to the keystroke, the eye-movement, and the pee break. Meanwhile, the "blue badge" white-collar coders get stock options, gourmet cafeterias, free massages, day care and complimentary egg-freezing so they can delay fertility. Companies like Google not only use separate entrance for their different classes of workers – they stagger their shifts so that the elite workers don't even see their lower-status counterparts.

Importantly, almost none of these workers – whether low-status or high – are unionized. Tech union density is so thin, it's almost nonexistent. It's easy to see why elite tech workers wouldn't bother with unionizing: with such fantastic wages and so many perks, why endure the tedium of meetings and memos? But then there's the rest of the workers, who are subjected to endless "electronic whipping" by bossware and who take home wages that look like pocket change when compared to the tech division's compensation. These workers have every reason to unionize, living as they do in the dystopian future of labor.

At Amazon warehouses, workers are injured at three times the rate of warehouse workers at competing firms. They are penalized for "time off task" (like taking a piss break). They are made to stand in long, humiliating body-search lines when they go on- and off-shift, hours every week, without compensation. Variations on this theme play out in other blue-collar sectors of the Amazon empire, like Amazon delivery drivers and Whole Food shelf-stockers.

Those workers have every reason to unionize, and they have done their damndest, but Amazon has defeated worker union drives, again and again. How does Amazon win these battles? Simple: they cheat. They illegally fire union organizers:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/03/31/reality-endorses-sanders/#instacart-wholefoods-amazon

And then they smear unions to the press and to their own workers with lies (that subsequently leak):

https://pluralistic.net/2020/04/03/socially-useless-parasite/#christian-smalls

They spend millions on anti-union tech, spying on workers and creating "heatmaps" that let them direct their anti-union efforts to specific stores and facilities:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/04/21/all-in-it-together/#guard-labor-v-redistribution

They make workers use an official chat app, and then block any messages containing forbidden words, like "fairness," "grievance" and "diversity":

https://pluralistic.net/2022/04/05/doubleplusrelentless/#quackspeak

That's just the tip of the iceberg. A new investigation by Northwestern University's Teke Wiggin draws on worker interviews and FOIA requests to the NLRB to assemble a first-of-its-kind catalog of Amazon's labor-disciplining, union-busting tactics:

https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/10.1177/23780231251318389

Disciplining labor and busting unions go hand in hand. It's a simple equation: the harder it is for your workers to form a union, the worse you can treat them without facing labor reprisals, because individual workers' options are limited to a) quitting or b) sucking it up, while unionized workers can grieve, sue, and strike.

At the core of Amazon's labor discipline technology is "algorithmic management," which is exactly what it sounds like: replacing middle managers with software that counts your keystrokes, watches your eyeballs, or applies a virtual caliper to some other metric to decide whether you're a good worker or a rotten apple:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/11/26/hawtch-hawtch/#you-treasure-what-you-measure

Automation theory describes two poles of workplace automation: centaurs (in which workers are assisted by technology) and "reverse-centaurs" (in which workers provide assistance to technology):

https://pluralistic.net/2021/03/19/the-shakedown/#weird-flex

Amazon is a reverse-centaurism pioneer. Take the delivery drivers whose every maneuver, eyeball movement, and turn signal is analyzed and inevitably, found wanting, as workers seek to satisfy impossible quotas that can't even be met if you pee in a bottle instead of taking toilet breaks:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/20/release-energy/#the-bitterest-lemon

Then there's the warehouse workers who are also tormented with impossible, pisscall-annihilating quotas. Some of these workers are fitted with haptic wristbands that buzz to tell them they're being too slow at picking up an item and dropping it into a box, pushing them to faster, joint-destroying paces that account for Amazon's enduring position as the most worker-maiming warehouse employer in the nation:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/02/05/la-bookseller-royalty/#megacycle

In his paper, Wiggin does important work connecting these "electronic whips" to Amazon's arsenal of traditional union-busting weapons, like "captive audience" meetings where workers are forced to sit through hours of anti-union indoctrination. For Wiggin, bossware tools aren't just a stick to beat workers with – they're also a carrot that can be used to diffuse a worker's outrage ahead of a key union vote.

Algorithmic management isn't just software that wrings more work out of workers – it's software that replaces managers. By surveilling workers – both on the job and in social media spaces (like subreddits) where workers gather to talk, Amazon can tune the "electronic whip," reducing quotas and easing the pace of work so that workers view their jobs more favorably and are more receptive to anti-union propaganda.

This is "twiddling" – exploiting the digital flexibility of a system to "twiddle the knobs" governing its business logic, changing everything from prices to wages, search rankings to recommendations, in realtime, for every customer and worker:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/19/twiddler/

Twiddling combines surveillance data with flexible business logic to create an unbeatable house advantage. If you're an Amazon shopper, you get twiddled all the time, as Amazon replaces the best matches for your searches with paid results. If you buy that first product result, you'll pay an average of 29% more than the best match for your search:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/06/attention-rents/#consumer-welfare-queens

Worker-side twiddling is even more dystopian. When a nurse is assigned a shift by an "Uber for nurses" app, the app checks whether the worker has overdue credit card bills, which trigger lower wages (on the theory that an indebted worker is a desperate worker):

https://pluralistic.net/2024/12/18/loose-flapping-ends/#luigi-has-a-point

When it comes to union-busting, Amazon's found a new use for twiddling: lessening the pace of work, which Wiggin calls "algorithmic slack-cutting." The important thing about algorithmic slack-cutting is that it's only temporary. The algorithm that reduces your work-load in the runup to a union vote can then dial the pace of work up afterward, by small, random increments that are below the threshold at which they register on the human sensory apparatus. They're not so much boiling the frog as poaching it.

Meanwhile, Amazon gets to flood the zone with anti-union messages, including mandatory messages on the app that assigns your shifts – a captive audience meeting in every pocket.

Between social media surveillance and on-the-job surveillance, Amazon has built a powerful training set for algorithms designed to crush workplace democracy. That's how things go for Amazon's warehouse workers and delivery drivers, and the shelf-stockers at Whole Foods.

But of course, the picture is very different for Amazon's techies, who enjoy the industry standard of high wages and lavish perks.

For now.

The tech industry is in the midst of three years' worth of mass layoffs: 260K in 2023, 150k in 2024, tens of thousands this year. None of this is due to a shortfall in profits, mind: Google laid off 12,000 workers just weeks after staging a stock buyback that would have funded their salaries for 27 years. Meta just announced a 5% across-the-board headcount cut and that it was doubling its executive bonuses.

In other words, tech is firing workers not because it must, but because it can. When workers depend on scarcity – instead of unions – as a source of power, they dig their own graves. For well-paid, scarcity-based coders, every new computer science graduate is the enemy, eroding the scarcity that your wages depend on.

Amazon coders get to come to work with pink mohawks, facial piercings, and black t-shirts that say things their bosses don't understand. They get to pee whenever they want to. That's not because Jeff Bezos is sentimentally attached to techies and bears personal animus toward warehouse workers. Jeff Bezos wants to pay his workforce as little as he can. He treats his tech workers with respect because he's afraid of them, because if they quit, he can't replace them, and without their work, he can't make money.

Once there's an army of unemployed coders who'll take your job, Jeff Bezos doesn't have to fear you anymore. He can fire you and replace you the next day.

Bezos is obviously incredibly horny for this. Like most tech bosses, he dreams of a world in which entitled hackers can't call their bosses dumbshits and decline to frog when they shout "jump!" That's why Amazon PR puts so much energy into trumpeting the business's use of AI to replace coders:

https://www.hrgrapevine.com/us/content/article/2024-08-22-amazon-cloud-ceo-warns-software-engineers-ai-could-replace-your-coding-work-within-2-years

It's not just that they're excited about firing coders and saving money – they're even more excited about transforming the job of "Amazon coder," from someone who solves complex technical problems to someone who performs tedious code review on automatically generated code barfed up by a chatbot:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/01/human-in-the-loop/#monkey-in-the-middle

"Code reviewer" is a much less fulfilling job than "programmer." Code reviewers are also easier to replace than programmers. A code reviewer is a reverse-centaur, a servant to the machine. Every time you hear "AI-assisted programmer," you should substitute "programmer-assisted AI."

Programming is even more bossware-ready than working in a warehouse. The machines coders use are much easier to fit with surveillance technology that monitors their performance – and spies on their communications, looking for dissenting chatter – than a warehouse floor. The only thing that stopped Jeff Bezos from treating his programmers like his warehouse workers is their scarcity. That scarcity is now going away.

That's bad news for Amazon customers, too. Tech workers often feel a sense of duty to their users, a "vocational awe" that drives them to put in long hours to make things their users will enjoy. The labor power of tech workers has long served as a check on the impulse to enshittify those products:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/25/moral-injury/#enshittification

As tech workers' power wanes, they don't just lose the ability to protect themselves from their bosses' greediest, most sadistic urges – they also lose the power to defend all of us. Smart tech workers know this. That's why Amazon tech workers walked out in support of Amazon warehouse workers:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/01/19/deastroturfing/#real-power

Which led to their prompt dismissal:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/04/14/abolish-silicon-valley/#hang-together-hang-separately

Tech worker/gig worker solidarity is the only way workers can win against tech bosses and defeat the shitty technology adoption curve:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/13/solidarity-forever/#tech-unions

Wiggin's report isn't just a snapshot of Amazon warehouse workers' dystopian present – it's a promise of Amazon tech workers' future. The future is here, in Amazon warehouses, and every day, it's getting closer to Amazon's technical offices.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/03/13/electronic-whipping/#youre-next

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

#pluralistic #bossware #shitty technology adoption curve #amazon #electronic whipping #reverse centaurs #labor #unions #Teke Wiggin #disciplinary technology #scholarship

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thejakeformerlyknownasprince · 6 months ago

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So I'm putting together an In Defence of Cassie PowerPoint for a PowerPoint night with friends. Do you have any arguments for or against her? I trust your opinion and am curious.

Let's see.

"She's too powerful, too unique, too far-seeing, and not good enough for Jake! What a Mary Sue!"

Counterpoint: May I introduce you to the reigning champion fan favorite, Sad White Boy Tobias?

Only nothlit ever to regain the ability to morph

Only known human-andalite hybrid ever to exist

Regarded as savior by entire hork-bajir species

Entire existence is a time paradox the war hinges upon

Pulls the canonically "most beautiful girl in our grade", who turns down 6 or 7 other offers in favor of Bird Boy

Correctly predicted planetary ecology 65 million years in advance

Believed to be immune to 2-hour limit

In conclusion: y'all wouldn't be crying "Mary Sue" if Cassie was a sad white boy, and I can prove it.

"She's too weak and hand-wringing, and she never helps the war effort!"

Counterpoint: First of all, the fact that the same people say this in the same breath as "she's too powerful" is... telling. Secondly:

She saved the entire team's lives in #24, in #29, in #44, and in MM1, among others.

Specifically calling out #44 �� that ending shows she is willing and able to be ruthless when her friends are in need. She doesn't like slaughtering human-controllers, but if the alternative is everyone she loves dying, then she'll fucking well do it.

Much like Jake (see: Sad White Boy), she's more willing to risk herself than her friends, hence the end of MM1

Her medical knowledge saves Marco from rabies, Ax from brain!appendicitis, and Tobias from bird flu.

Her survivalist knowledge saves everyone in #25 (the Arctic), MM2 (Cretaceous Era), #11 (rainforest), and #14 (desert).

In conclusion: Cassie's only idealistic-looking by the standards of this extremely morally gray team.

"She's so unfair to Jake!"

Counterpoint: Jake? The Jake who refused to speak with her for weeks? Jake who proposes marriage while they're still broken up? Jake who announces he'll never trust Cassie again because she [checks notes] saved his brother's life? That Jake?

Also:

She gives him tons of emotional support in #16, #21, #47, and other times he's feeling low.

They have a healthy argument where they air differences and come to an understanding in #9.

Did I mention he doesn't just dump her but ghosts her in the middle of the war's endgame?

They're teenagers. Their relationship isn't perfect, but it is built on open communication and mutual respect which is more than Rachel and Tobias can say

She's fighting a war, and PTSD for that matter. No, she doesn't have infinite emotional bandwidth.

In conclusion: Their relationship is fine, their breakup is mutual, and her behavior only looks bad if, once again, you're holding Cassie to a different standard than you are Jake.

"She shouldn't have trusted Aftran!"

Counterpoint: friendly reminder that the alternative was killing a 6-year-old for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. If that's what you think Cassie should've done, that tells us more about you than about her.

"She spends too much time moralizing!"

Counterpoint: this is a book series about war, not a friggin' video game. If you want moral pornography, go play Call of Duty. If you want sci fi realism, then you're going to have to accept that a majority of humans prefer not to kill their fellow humans if at all possible.

"She's a ripoff of [insert character here]!"

Counterpoint: literally every single one of these says more about the commenter than about the source work. "Every dystopia is set in the U.S." is the kind of thing only people who only read books by American authors would think. "All epic fantasy is Eurocentric" => tell me you only read books by white people without telling me. I'm glad you think Cassie is too similar to Willow Rosenberg, but there are at least 6 other stories in the known world, and I hear some of them even feature sweet/dorky/caring characters who are secretly ultra-powerful.

In conclusion: You don't have to like Cassie as a (fictional) person, but 85% of criticisms directed at her are bad-faith attacks on one of the 1990s' only fat Black female gnc ultra-powerful superheroes.

#animorphs #cassie animorphs #misogynoir #tbh this was fun #and cathartic #now i kind of want to go to this powerpoint night #mama nature

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jimin-updates · 6 months ago

Text

Who has likely gone recurrent* in its 23rd week on the Hot 100

*dropped below the top 50 on the chart after its 20th charting week and thus left the Hot 100 entirely

Normally, this would be the end of Who’s storied run on the Hot 100, however…

There is a possibility it will be allowed to rechart again next week (its 24th week of release but its 23rd week on the chart):

Billboard has historically not played fair with Jimin’s music so we have to remember that there is no guarantee this “holiday exception” will apply to him.

But we hope it will, and we need to work incredibly hard to make sure the song is comfortably within the top 50 next week!

If you’re US/PR-based, remember you can buy four copies of the WHO cd every week. Purchase by EOD Monday to count for the following week’s charts ✅

#jimin #park jimin #bts jimin #billboard hot 100 #week 23 predictions #week 24 predictions #who by jimin #sales and streams

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leashybebes · 2 months ago

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♡: Accidentally falling asleep together for BuckTommy?

it's late, i know. but on the plus (?) side, it got away from me a bit so have 1k plus of mostly just...them being cute.

"I wanted to take you before," Buck says, casual, because they're trying to get better at talking about before, at not just pretending that Tommy kissed him and they got together and everything was fine. "But the viewing conditions were bad all last year."

"Yeah? There a reason for that, or just bad luck?"

It means keep talking, and Buck smiles. Tommy really - he makes Buck feel smart. Makes him feel interesting.

"Just luck, I think," Buck says, and frowns. "I don't know if there's some kinda…pattern to it, maybe? I bet Karen could build an algorithm. Did anyone at Harbor lose their minds over that treasure hunt a few years back or were you guys all too busy being cool?"

"I may have been roped into planning a search grid or two," Tommy says with a grin. "Are we taking food with us?"

"Just snacks," Buck says. "I figured we'd swing by a 24 hour diner on our way home."

"Burgers and milkshakes at 3a.m. honestly sounds perfect," Tommy says. He doesn't take his eyes off the road, but he reaches out for Buck, brings his hand up to kiss his knuckles. "We talking gas station snacks or Trader Joe's?"

"I could do some serious damage to an overpriced salad right now."

"Gotcha."

Once they're loaded up with Buck's overpriced salad and Tommy's over seasoned chips they're able to make the drive out towards Malibu a fairly leisurely one. Once they get to the beach, Buck decides it was worth the tradeoff to head out of the city rather than to one of the ticketed events - it's going to be cold, but it's fairly quiet, just a few clusters of other people dotted around.

Tommy spreads their blanket on the sand and Buck settles against him. The sound of the waves is a lovely background soundscape and Buck lets it wipe the long, long week away for a few moments.

"Hey," he says when Tommy hands him his salad. "Did you know this is one of my favorite beaches?"

"I don't think I did," Tommy says. "How come?"

"The tide pools," Buck says eagerly. "I brought Jee a few times and we saw so many good critters."

"Yeah? We'll have to come back in daylight and you can show me…all the gross water bugs your heart desires."

Buck snorts with laughter and presses his face into Tommy's shoulder. "You are under no obligation to look at fascinating water bugs with me, you big baby."

"Okay, but I would," Tommy says.

"I know you would. It's fine. I'll just carry on bringing the tiny children who won't have to feign interest through gritted teeth."

"I will happily wait in the car," Tommy says, kissing the top of Buck's head. "Fetch ice creams. Make interested sounds from a safe distance."

"Big baby," Buck says again, fonder than he can possibly express.

"Alright, alright. C'mon, tell me about this meteor shower."

"Okay," Buck says, and pulls Tommy down so they're side by side on the blanket. "We're looking…here," he says, tracing a circle in the sky above them.

"Gotcha," Tommy says, and inches a little closer, looking up along the line of Buck's arm.

"Did - " Buck breaks off to yawn. "DId you know the Geminids are really unusual?"

"How so?"

"So they come from an asteroid, not a comet. There's only one other shower like that, I think, and it's not as regular."

"Yeah?"

"Mm-hm. It's called 3200 Phaethon, and it gets closer to the sun than any other named asteroid."

"Huh."

"Did you know it's a PHA - potentially hazardous asteroid?"

"I did not know that."

Buck nods and turns his head to look at Tommy, his profile as eye catching as ever, even when it's in darkness.

"Just because of its size though. It actually has a really predictable orbit, so we're not in danger, or anything."

"I'll tell Bruce Willis and Ben Affleck to stand down."

"Huh?"

"Movie," Tommy says. "We'll watch it sometime. I'm sure the science would annoy you, but both Affleck and Liv Tyler are at their prettiest."

Buck laughs and turns onto his side to get closer to Tommy, wrapping an arm around his waist.

"Careful," Tommy says. "Don't wanna miss the show." But he cranes his neck to kiss Buck anyway.

"We're not gonna miss it," Buck promises, stealing another kiss. "It was named after the son of the Greek sun god," he says between kisses. "The asteroid."

"Yeah?"

"Uh-huh. Because it - it gets so close."

"The power of Wikipedia right at my fingertips," Tommy says, dancing his fingers up and down the back of Buck's neck for emphasis.

Buck laughs and shivers, shoves his hand inside Tommy's hoodie for warmth and revenge. Tommy half-swallows a yelp and kisses him again. Buck settles closer, craning his neck a little so he can keep an eye on the sky. It is cold, but he's so comfortable, always so comfortable when they settle together like this.

"The Greek sun god is called Helios, by the way," Tommy says.

"Yeah?"

"Mm-hm."

"How'd you know that?"

"Oh, I've got useless facts of my own, Buckley. Bit of a myths and legends phase as a kid. For a minute, anyway. Needless to say, the old man didn't approve."

"Asshole," Buck mumbles.

"Ancient Greeks were - " Tommy breaks off to yawn. "Were kinda fruity, you know?"

"I'll fight him."

"My hero," Tommy says. "My Heracles."

"Like the movie?"

Buck can feel Tommy's surprise.

"That's the Roman version, but yeah."

"Watched it w' Jee," he says.

"Evan. Don't fall asleep."

"'m not. Tell me - tell me about Hercules. Heracles. Keep me awake."

"Okay," Tommy says softly. "He was…hm. He was the son of Zeus and a mortal woman. I can't remember her name. Al-something, I think. He was strong, and brave, and clever…"

Buck can feel his eyes closing, can feel Tommy drifting too, but it's okay. A little power nap and they'll still have plenty of time before the moon rises.

"Baby," he hears, Tommy's voice rough with sleep, and he feels a gentle nudge. "Baby, wake up."

"Wha - " the moon is bright, and Buck is abruptly aware that every part of him that isn't touching Tommy is freezing cold. "Shit, we missed it? Oh my god. I can't believe we fell asleep!"

"I know," Tommy says. "I'm sorry. Long week, huh?"

"Yeah. Goddamnit. We could try again tomorrow? Tonight was the peak though, and I think there's gonna be cloud cover tomorrow. Shit."

"Hey, it's okay."

"No, but I really wanted to do this with you."

Tommy squeezes his hand and Buck manages not to shiver at the cold touch of his fingers. Shit, they really have to get out of here.

"There's always next year," Tommy says, and the casual way he says it makes Buck's disappointment fizzle and die in his stomach, replaced by that swooping feeling of love and want and ever so slightly disbelieving gratitude at how far they've come.

"Yeah," Buck agrees. "There's always next year."

#bucktommy #my writing

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valent1neg0d · 1 year ago

Text

"WHAT'S TAKING MY MANIFESTATIONS SO LONG"

pause. you know what?

the most 3D concept of them all IS TIME. the most unreal thing IS TIME. the most ridiculous thing TO SURRENDER YOUR POWER TO IS TIME.

do you know the reason why we have a "leap year"? because the humans before us wanted to have a predictable period to determine the seasons.

365 days in a year is only an estimated number. so is 28 to 30 days per month and 7 days per week. 24 hours in a day was only based on the average length of all the other days! we need to skip the leap years every once in a while because the 4-year leap year system gets inaccurate!

so don't be complaining about how "i've been manifesting for a month" or "i've been manifesting for 3 days" and not getting results.

what month? what day? NOT REAL.

einstein meant it when he said time was relative. that time depends on your frame of reference.

because look here: THE ONLY REASON WHY YOU FEEL LIKE YOUR DESIRES ARE TAKING TOO LONG TO MANIFEST IS BECAUSE YOUR ATTENTION IS SOLELY ON MOTION. your attention is on lack. your attention is on "oh, but it's not here. where is it?" you're dissatisfied because you're magnifying the materialization of your desires instead of knowing that you're the god of this reality and what you say goes INSTANTLY.

fix that. fix your focus.

no more "time will tell" or "it will happen when the time is right" or "my time will come" or "maybe it wasn't the right time" or "i've been giving it so much time"

TIME IS YOUR BITCH. grab it by the throat. control it. it works for you from here and out.

get it.

xo.

#law of assumption #loass #manifestation #manifesting #loa blog #loa tumblr #loassblog #loassumption #self concept #affirmations #neville goddard #spirituality

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ma1dita · 1 year ago

Text

said he likes crazy

a ‘partners in crime’ installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader prev -> anything you want | next -> play pretend words: 2.1k summary: (pre-established relationship) The one where only he can help you with a bad day, even if he's been avoiding you since your first kiss. Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader a/n: SAID HE LIKES CRAZY GIRLS, BUT HE HATES WHEN I ACT CRAZY guys i didnt sleep for this pls tell me its ok (posted 1/29/24, beta’d by the lovely ellie @lixzey )

—

He’s been avoiding you.

To be specific, Luke’s been running away from you. Typical son of Hermes, and a typical teenage boy at that. But if anyone’s asked you what’s up (which, they all have, after almost 4 years of seeing you two not go a day without bickering), it’s just easier to say you’ve been busy.

Okay, so perhaps you’ve been avoiding him too.

Annabeth clocked you as soon as you turned tail after almost bumping into him after archery practice. Damn children of Athena; it’d be nice if they weren’t so perceptive sometimes.

“What did he do this time?” she pipes up, filling the silence of the Big House. It’s late now, and the cabin counselors’ meeting just ended.

“Seeing as you’re the one helping me with the paperwork tonight and not him, you can take a good guess, Annie,” you sigh.

Honestly though, who the fuck kisses someone senseless and then runs away? (Luke Castellan, that’s who.) You weren’t sure what to make of it. You’re a daughter of chaos, after all, not love. But if there’s anyone who can read your emotions better than yourself, it’s him.

Annabeth stares at her idiot brother through the window as he wanders in the grass outside the Big House.

“That bad, huh?”

“He’s just…being Luke,” you say, blinking slowly as you shuffle through the last of the files you need to put on your dad’s desk before you mutter, “I’m just having a bad day.”

A noise of concern makes its way up Annabeth’s throat. You haven’t had a bad day in a while, in all honesty, not one that makes you act like this, admittedly not one that makes you act like you— the daughter of Dionysus, god of insanity, and not the daughter of Mr. D, camp director.

It was just a bad day until it turned into a bad week, and the voices in your head were starting to get loud without Luke distracting you. Because that’s what he ultimately is, a distraction from your camp duties.

There’s so much to do and so little time, however, that you hide away your microexpressions that seem to be clawing at you from the inside. The anger, the mania, the hurt. If you unleash it, only the gods can predict how much of camp would be affected by your ‘outbursts’, as your dad likes to call them. Not like you had a choice in the matter. Your days of wreaking havoc are behind you, now presenting yourself as the stellar star of the Camp Half-Blood show. It’s almost a one-woman production with you picking up after your father and trying to tame the traits he passed down.

Thanks for that, D.

So you give and you give and you give—all your attention and time and effort into keeping camp upright, into being the perfect daughter, that at the end of the day, you’ve drained yourself of who you are with who you try to be.

You look at your tired reflection in the window, before your eyebrow raises at the sight of Luke blending in with the shadows of the tree he’s leaning against. Idiot.

“Annie, would you mind…”

“Yeah, I’ll do cabin checks myself. Might drag your brother to do them with me,” she smiles, patting your arm before grabbing her bag.

“If he complains, let me know. Pollux has heard me bitch enough today.” The small girl raises an eyebrow at that, biting her tongue from responding. You chewed out a lot of people today, acting extra uptight and demanding of the counselors to “just do the right thing.” It was almost insufferable, but despite you trying to hold it in, your emotions bled into their own. Everyone was agitated by the end of the meeting, filing out quickly with biting words and hot tempers. You couldn’t help but notice Luke led them all out of there, and they also somehow got the feeling that he was to blame.

Smiling at Annabeth in thanks, you watch her walk out to Luke before punching him in the stomach as he grimaces, meeting your violet gaze through the window as he raises a hand. It’s hard to tell if it’s to signal a truce or his embarrassment, but he trudges the way up the path and the door creaks open.

“Heard you were having a bad day,” he mumbles, scratching the nape of his neck. You look at him from the corner of your eye as you continue to write down the weekly to-dos and organize papers for your dad to sign and send back to Zeus.

“Why are you still here, Castellan?”

“So we’re back to that? I thought…” his voice trails off at the sound of his last name, not Luke, not angelface, or anything in between, and both of you are unsure how to proceed. Neither of you have done this before, at least not with each other. You tilt your head to the side, daring him to speak, and it reminds him of a week ago, you bathed in sunlight when he leaned in and kissed you. Though if he did that right now, he’s not sure how you’d react.

“It’s just a bad day,” you whisper in defeat, lilac eyes wilting in front of him like an overwatered flower.

He realizes then that he cares for you more than he knows how to. And Luke knows what it means when you’re having a bad day.

There’s a deranged look in your eye, a subtle eye twitch and clench of your jaw that is almost insusceptible to the average demigod, but he knows you’re on edge, having taunted you mercilessly until you scream, cry, laugh, or all of the above. But most of all you look tired and in need of someone who knows how it feels to be underappreciated.

“D’s a great dad to the twins. But I just feel like… maybe he wasn’t meant to be mine,” you whisper, rolling your tongue against the front of your teeth to push back the sob a 14-year-old version of you would let out deep in the dark of cabin 11, having been there for months and knowing Dionysus was your father and waiting for him to see you. To know you.

“Giving me a hard time about all of this,” you say, hands gesturing to the things you have to prepare for him by morning. You’re overworked, underpaid, and definitely not appreciated— and Luke decides he hates your dad for what he puts you through, not just as a shitty camp director but as a shitty dad. He’s learned to live with the hurt—to use it to fuel his vengeance for how he plans to make the world better. But your ambition makes you change yourself constantly to try to be better. Both fatal flaws are fueled by the ignorance of your fathers. He knows the feeling all too well.

He knows you.

“What do you need?” he asks simply, stepping closer to your form hunched over the desk.

“I can do it, you know. D’s wrong about me,” you whisper, and the words come out sounding so desperate for him to believe the performance you always put on that you avert your eyes.

He doesn’t need to be convinced; instead, he holds his arms out waiting for you to let you make the next move. Luke is neither a fool nor a knave— there are no tricks here, no hidden agenda as he watches you try to compose yourself with a deep breath instead of showing him the real you. The one who’s beneath the mask of being head counselor, your father’s saving grace, and the one who carries her responsibilities like Atlas carries the weight of the sky.

“I know you can. You always have. You really think I’m here to help you file paperwork?”

“Will you let me?” Whether he meant sharing the workload or being there for you, you wouldn’t dare to ask. It’s all the same, anyway—laying yourself bare for someone to peek into your mind and have them not laugh at it.

Suddenly you speak, and the intensity of your tone makes him straighten his posture.

“Sometimes… Do you ever feel the need to just…”

“What?” He reaches out to tug your hair, and in the dim light, he can see the bloom of your cheeks. You’re shy, and Luke thinks you look soft like this, wary of how he perceives you.

“I shouldn’t.” Fuck the gods. He can see the thought form in your eyes, the heat of your stare tearing through his, and his lips pull into a smirk.

“What was that, Trouble?”

“Luke, don’t be an asshole…” You say warily, biting the inside of your cheek. There’s no way you’re going down in the history books for cursing the gods because Luke Castellan of all people made you.

“I thought you liked me like that,” he’s grinning now, and grabbing your chin lightly, mouthing the words to echo your thoughts.

Fuck the gods.

“Fuck.” you whisper, before your voice fails you, your eyes closing both from his touch and the genuine fear of the heavens falling down from the sacrilege falling from your lips.

“Louder,” he whispers, pulling your face up close to his, “come on, you used to be more fun, Trouble. I believe in you.”

“Fuck!” you say louder and he’s whispering in your ear, urging you to toe the line between perfect child and degenerate.

“Say it again.”

“FUCK! FUCK THE…” you yell before you sigh exasperatedly, eyes widening as you feel the breath release from your chest before your head lolls onto his shoulder.

“Gods, you’re fucking insane, Castellan.”

He laughs lowly, and it sounds as sweet as sin. Your smiling lips make an imprint on his collarbone, and he wishes they would sear themselves on there for the rest of eternity.

“Hey, I get it from you. Feel better?”

To be seen is a fickle thing. But to be known is something more intimate, and nothing will be able to erase the connection you both share—fatal flaws and all. There are things you can’t change about people, what they are at their core, and so he takes what you hate about yourself with both hands and pulls you towards his chest until you settle against him with a sniffle. Luke tilts your chin up again, a rough thumb wiping away evidence of your watery smile. He thinks he sees a glimpse of a past you—a younger one that dyed his socks purple to make him feel like he belongs here. And he knows now that he does belong with you, right here as he holds you in the quiet of the Big House.

“Ugh, I’ll kiss you later, I still have to finish up here. You’re not off the hook, angelface.” You sigh, pushing away from him before he tugs you back, your feet stumbling as you roll your eyes at his impish expression.

“Let me make it up to you then, Trouble.”

“What, so you run away again?” you scoff, snickering at the sight of his ego being taken down a notch.

“I’ve just….I don’t know how to do all of this with you. Guess I’m worried it won’t meet your expectations, Miss Head Counselor.” A boyish sort of bashfulness crosses his features, and he’s twirling a piece of your hair in his hands like spinning silk.

“I just hope you never stop surprising me. That’s all I ask.”

Your hand touches his wrist lightly, and he sighs like you’ve already taken his breath away.

“I keep my promises. Do you?”

“Who said a kiss was a promise? I meant it as a threat,” you laugh before he’s pressing your hips into the table, nose nudging against yours and suddenly work is off the table for the rest of the night.

You on the table, however, well... that could be negotiated.

“I knew something was wrong with me when your so-called threats got less scary and more sexy,” Luke teases, running a finger on the side of your cheek. His breath tickles your lips, and you can imagine the rage your father would feel if he caught the two of you in his office like this. Besides the blatant defiance, you briefly wonder if your rebellion would get him to respect you more. An interesting thought.

“You’re absolutely terrible. I need to get this done… The gods don’t wait for us.”

A weak sigh leaves your mouth as your brain is already riddled with thoughts of him and he closes the gap between your lips.

“They can wait until morning. For now, you’re mine.”

—

“You can’t love someone unless you love yourself first — bullshit.

I have never loved myself.

But you —

Oh god, I loved you so much I forgot what hating myself felt like. (via swxrn-in)”

ask to be added to general/luke taglists!

luke taglist (some won't let me tag, turn on my post notifs?): @kissingyourgrl @dorcas4meadowes @lorarri @andrewgarfldsgf @noodlesketchbook @10ava01 @poppysrin @ashisabitgay @timhalamet @liv1104 @leeknows-wife @mxtokko @bugcuti3 @luvvfromme @midmourn @2hiigh2cry @yuminako @niktwazny303 @lukecastellandefender @intergalactic-padawan @iliketopgun @annybah @dangelnleif @thegrinningghost @alyssajunelle @obxstiles @m00ng4z3r @visndcaitswhore @b0ok-lover @elegant-face-tree @this-barbie-is-having-breakdowns @amortencjja @idonevenknow1359 @maliaaaa @targaryenluvs @sakyira @dhdjdjjdhsjdiri @number-onekidqueen @nininehaaa @bradynoonswife @stevenknightmarc @hoodedhavok @happy-mushrooms @homebyeleven @anotherblackreader @too-deviant @liviessun @lilacspider @theadventuresofanartist @sucker4seresin @simpforsunwoo @zanzie @starrystormwritings

#luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x dionysus!reader #luke castellan fanfic #pjo x reader #pjo imagine #made by ma1dita ♥︎#trouble!verse #percy jackon and the olympians #luke castellan angst #thank you for reading my love ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

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sirius-blacks-eyeliner · 5 months ago

Text

Jasper, Jasper, Jasper.

Summary: (Y/N) Clearwater LOATHES the Cullens, especially the honey-blonde one, what happens when the wolves and vampires need to work together?

Jasper Hale x wolf!Clearwater!fem!reader

Enemies to lovers

(Y/N) is described to have black hair

Based on this request:)) (no smut tho all explained to the person who requested it)

A/N: I hope you enjoy it lovely! (Not proofread I might later)

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"Does anyone know what this meeting's about? Sam seemed really worried over the phone." Jared asked as Leah and (Y/N) sat down at the table at the Uley residence.

Sam had called every single one of the pack members to come have an emergency pack-meeting to discuss some of the recent events surrounding the Cullens, vampires that lived close to the Quileute border.

Emily was already home, and by the smell of it she was making muffins. The green apron she wore fitted nicely with her tan skin as she flitted around the small, but comfortable kitchen that belonged to her and Sam.

At the small dining table were six shifters already squeezed around, Jacob, Paul, Jared, Embry, Quil and Seth. Their broad bodies barely fitting the round, wooden table.

Seth rose from his seat on the olive-colored chairs to run to the living room and grab two more chaurs for his sisters after having cheerily greeted them. He, like all the other boys, was shirtless and merely wearing shorts. Summertime was approaching and that combined with the already raised body temperature of the wolves they were like ovens 24/7.

"Didn't Sam say something about the vamps?" Asked Embry as Seth returned with two chairs.

"Thanks, Seth." mumbled (Y/N) with a small smile as she sat down on one of the chairs, Leah beside her.

"Maybe the redhead we've been chasing for weeks now!" Quil exclaimed, pumped as he always was.

"Maybe it's about Jacob's girlfriend," she then teased, narrowing her eyes playfully at the boy that sat across from her. The other wolves howled with laughter while slapping Jacob on the back and bouncing in their seats.

"Now, now, don't tease your brother, (Y/N), you know we don't choose who we love," Emily light-heartedly scolded, a smile clearly evident in her tone as she brought the steaming blueberry muffins over to the table.

(Y/N) just shrugged her shoulders with a grin while leaning back in her chair. "He's not even her imprint. He should wait it out for a better one."

Howling laughter erupted from the table again as Jared and Paul swiftly leaned forward to take a muffin from the bowl that held at least a fes dozen.

Emily reacred quickly to that, pulling a spatula out of her apron and smacking both the wolves on the hand with it. "Uh, uh, ladies first," she chastised while gesturing towards Leah and (Y/N) with her spatula, "your brother will be home any second now."

And, before the words left her mouth, as if she had predicted it, Sam entered the house through the back door, clad in only cargo shorts.

"Everyone present?" His deep voice sounded through the room after he had greeted Emily with a kiss on the cheek. The wolves replied with an affirmative chorus of 'yes'.

"Good. Now, I've called this meeting to discuss some pressing matters with you." Sam grabbed a chair and sat down with his pack.

"The redhead vamp we've been looking for-" Embry handed Quil five bucks, "-the Cullens claim they know when and where she'll be and have asked of us to come help them try and catch her."

"Where?" (Y/N) asked thoughtfully before biting in her delicious muffin.

"Near the treaty line around eleven in the evening. Tonight." Sam replied.

"Are we going to be there?" Jacob asked, but they all already knew the answer.

"Yes, any chance we get to catch that woman before she kills even more," Sam said affirmitave, "We leave at 09:30 and patrol the surrounding grounds until she's said to appear. Is that understood?" And the wolves all nodded.

"How can we trust the vampires are telling the truth?" Jared skeptically asked.

"And why did they not tell us before?" (Y/N) added, running a hand through her black hair.

"We have no reason not to trust them. They have not broken the Treaty once in the few years they've been here and we should appreciate that." Was Sam's reply.

"Now, eat up everyone, we need to be energized for tonight."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And so, there the wolves were, near the treaty line as discussed with the vampires. All had shifted into their wolves and were now just standing around, waiting for the signal of the redheaded vampire that had caused them such peril.

(Y/N) could hear all her pack-mates' thoughts cloud her mind. The connection could get frustrating at times, yes, but it came in handy when needed most. Like at that moment, Paul, who had the best nose, picked up on the stench that usually emitted from the vampire they had been searching for for so long.

"She's reaching the treaty line! Follow!" Sam thundered through their heads while taking a leap forwards. All the other wolves scrambled to get behind him, unable to disobey his direct command.

(Y/N) indeed then caught a whiff of the vampires, Cullens and redhead alike. They stunk like dead bodies and dust, but one scent like sandalwood stood out remarkably. Already hearing the teasing from her brothers in her mind, she quickly pushed the thought out and focused on the vampire that now crossed the treaty line into Quileute land. Jared leaped forward, attempting to sink his teeth into her porcelain skin, but she was quicker, and she grabbed him by the neck and flung him against a tree.

The wolves could all hear Jared's moan of pain enter through their minds and had to compose themselves not to turn around to help him up. Catching the vampire was too important.

"I'm almost there!" (Y/N) mentally shouted at herself as she neared the vampire, but she then jumped over in a whiff of red, crossing the treaty line cleverly and rejoining the Cullen side.

She played this game for a good while, jumping bacl and forth while the wolves and vampires took turns trying to catch her. Eventually, after having knocked out both Emery and Quil, she crossed the border towards Quileute land, being followed by one of the Cullens. The big burly one that was way too loud for the type of creature he was.

(Y/N) immediately jumped infront of the river, blocking the vampire from getting into their land, knocking him out of the way harshly with her snout. The Cullen merely panted heavily while staring at her, soaking wet from the river she had pushed him in.

"Emmett, come back up!" An interesting accent spoke. The blonde vampire, the burly one's brother. When the big guy barely reacted and kept intensely staring the wolves down, the honey-blonde one jumped down into the river, grabbing his brother by the arm.

(Y/N) snarled at them, revealing her pearly white, yet pointed and dangerous canines at them.

"I apologize for him, Emmett get back up-" but (Y/N) didn't hear anything more. When her eyes met his yellow ones, everything was over. She lost all composure as the only thing she saw was him, the Hale man that suddenly seemed as if he had a halo of light surrounding him even though it was in the middle of the night.

She saw him next to her, holding her hand, whispering in her ear. She saw a tree where they sat together, his head on her lap, a book in his. She saw herself, laughing as he smiled at her like she had hung the stafrs from the sky herself. There was only him. Only Jasper. Jasper, Jasper, Jasper.

The name rung in her head like a prayer and, without having even begun to comprehend it, she had shifted back, stark naked for she had left her clothes near the big oak tree to get back after having killed the redheaded vampire.

She couldn't even begin to consider covering herself as she sat there on the rock, staring at that man with her mouth agape. He was staring back, ever so confused as he tilted his head.

"What's... what's goin' on?" He asked his brother, who was still beside him. The other one shrugged, not knowing how to deal with the situation that he did not understand.

The wolves, who had all seen what happened in (Y/N)'s mind, quickly moved to gather her and return her to safety, far away from the treaty line.

Leah's wolf quickly stood before (Y/N), covering her from the eyes of the vampires while nudging her cheek with her nose. Jasper, Jasper, Jasper.

"Leah..." (Y/N) softly whispered while placing her hand on her sister's fur. "What just- did I-"

Sam returned then, back in his human form and cargo shorts, carrying a spare change of clothes that didn't even belong to (Y/N).

"Cover yourself, we need to get back to the house," Sam gently said while handing her the clothes, placing a calloused hand on her back.

(Y/N) took shaky breaths, her mind still swarming with that name and that vampire. A vampire! She, with trembling hands, started pulling the green shirt over her head with the help of Sam, who kept his eyes and hands respectable.

Meanwhile, without her noticing, Jared, Leah and Paul snarled and growled at the Cullens to force them away, not wanting them to witness such a vulnerable moment. It should've been a happy moment for (Y/N). Every spirit shifter dreamed of imprinting on someone. Finding the one you are supposed to be with. She imprinted on a vampire! Out of all the creatures she could have imprinted on, the ancestors had to have chosen the one she hated the most. It was even in her blood and culture to hate all vampires and want to kill them.

Her chest tightened at the thought, hoping that the ancestors had made a mistake and that she would imprint again on a lovely wolf of maybe just a human. Hell, she would take witches over vampires!

"Jared, she's too shocked to shift back. You guys go back, round up the elders. I've never heard of anything of this sort happening." Sam told the Beta, who nodded and jabbed at Paul's wolf-side before sprinting off.

"Sam?" (Y/N) softly croaked out. Her voice hoarse and barely above a whisper. "Did I just-"

But she didn't finish her sentence. She couldn't. Saying it out loud would just confirm her biggest fear.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Then it must have been a mistake!" (Y/N) shouted in desperation. The elders and shifters were all gathered in the Uley living room. (Y/N) was the only one standing, now pacing as her confusion turned to anger.

"Do not speak of your ancestors that way!" Sue Clearwater scolded her daughter sharply.

"Why would the ancestors have me imprint on a vampire! I loathe vampires! Like any normal wolf would!" (Y/N) desperately exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air while sinking down into a chair.

"I mean, what do I do now!? I can't be with a vampire! That's Jacob's thing and I don't wanna steal that from him!" She shouted, almost ss if she was begging the ancestors to pair her with someone else.

"We all saw the same thing you did when you imprinted. You're gonna love the vampire eventually. Maybe the ancestors did it for a reason?" Sam spoke up, although it seemed as if he did not either know how to handle the situation.

"I will never love a vampire, Sam. I can't." (Y/N) softly spoke before storming out of the council meeting. Jasper, Jasper, Jasper.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The choice (Y/N) had made to not interact with the man her ancestors had destined for her to be with forever, took an extreme toll on her health. Being so close yet so far from her imprint hurt her as mentally as it did physically. She was slouchy, distracted, her limbs hurt and she ahd severe headaches. And, worst of all (in her own opinion), was the fact that all her waking thoughts revolved around the yellow-eyed vampire. She avoided interaction with the pact as often as she could. Their relentless teasing combined with her self-hate did make up for an explosive combination.

Then, the wolves made a pact with the Cullens.

They would help defend Bella Swan's father and help search for the vampire so there would be a bigger chance of her being caught. (Y/N) loathed every moment she had to spend anywhere near the vampires, especially the one stuck on her mind. He seened to almost drift towards her, but she would push him further and further until he was as far as he possibly could be. Far away from trashing all things she believed in. Jasper, Jasper, Jasper.

Jasper, meanwhile, found out pretty quickly through his brother Edward that the spirit shifter had imprinted on him that night at the river. He had been so confused when the wolf unexpectedly transformed into a beautiful woman. Her curves all exposed to him, which he still would've blushed about if only he could.

When their duties would overlap, he would try to speak to her, but his throat was always filled to the brim with something that he could only describe as sharp knives that cut at him and prevented him from speaking.

Her constant rejection to his advances hurt him, wasn't she supposed to love him when he was her imprint? Was she not supposed to feel joy whenever she saw him? Not confusion and rock-hard hatred.

Eventually, he developped an agreement to how she felt about him. He stopped his advances, he refused to train one-on-one with her after they found out there was a whole army coming for them. He loathed her too, now. Yet his heart ached thinking too long about it.

Then, (Y/N) and Jacob had been summoned towards a clearing where the wolves and vampires would slaughter the newborns. She stood awkwardly behind her wolf-brother as her imprint stood just a mere few feet away from her, trying to explain the plan to the wolves.

"You're not fighting?" Jacob condesendingly asked as the vampires Edward and Jasper along with the human Bella entered the field on the other side at inhumane speed.

"What, did you pull a muscle or something?" He ridiculed with a slight eyeroll. "He's doing it for me, okay?" Bella told the wolf while grabbing her boyfriend's hand. Bella, Jacob and the vampire had some weird super-natural love-triangle going on. (Y/N) got tired merely hearing Jacob's thoughts when he shifted.

"Whatever." Jacob dismissed her comment while averting his eyes down to the ground.

"Just tell us the plan." Jacob urged impatiently.

"This field will give us an advantage in battle. We need to lure the newborns with Bella's scent but it needs to end here." The blonde vampire explained. (Y/N) almost collapsed at the mere sound of his voice. One that she heard close to never. God, how she hated it.

"Edward and I are going to go to a campsite," Bella elaborated while taking a step closer towards her boyfriend, "but even if he carries me, they'll still pick up on our scents."

"Your stench, however, is revolting." Edward said with a straight face as he glared at Jacob.

"Do not speak of my brother that way!" (Y/N) sharply shot back, taking a threatening step closer towards the vampires' side.

"What he means is that your scent will mask mine if you carry me." Bella quickly explained, sending (Y/N) a wary look.

"Done." Jacob immediately agreed, blinded by his idiotic love for the mortal girl and his need to one-up the vampire.

"This is not a good idea." The boyfriend then decided suddenly.

"Edward, they won't want to get anywhere near his... odor." The blonde one reassured while giving Jacob a look. He tried to put it nicely but failed. Jasper, Jasper, Jasper.

"No need to throw around insults." (Y/N) immediately warned while baring her teeth. One of the only things she had directly told the pretty, blonde vampire.

"Let's just try it, alright?" Bella walked over to Jacob.

He placed a hand on her waist before lifting her up bridal style. He cockily glanced at Edward as he said. "Eau de wolf, coming up."

Then he ran off, carrying the mortal girl securely in his arms.

"What did you want me here for?" (Y/N) asked when she was left alone with the vampires.

"You and Jasper are gonna make sure that our plan has worked by trying to sniff out your brother and Bella. We wanted a wolf-nose just so we could get a more precise answer." The gloomy vampire replied.

"Right, of course we are." (Y/N) sighed while starting to make depart from the clearing.

"What's wrong with it!?" Jasper exclaimed while catching up with her, angrily folding his arms over his... very muscled chest.

"I simply do not feel like interacting with a stinking vampire." She merely shrugged as they entered the edge of the woods.

"Says the one who imprinted on a so-called 'stinkin' vampire'. Hypocrit much?" He retorted, his accent getting thicker as he was angered.

"My ancestors made a mistake! I could never be forced to love someone like you!" She shouted angrily. Stopping in her tracks to face him. The second time ever she stared into his eyes, yet she had them memorised perfectly.

"Your ancestors don't make mistakes! I know enough about Quileute legend to know that!" Jasper frustratedly flung his arms around.

"I loathe the idea of ever being forced to love a creature like you!" (Y/N) yelled harshly.

"What in the name of all that is good and bad have I ever done to you to make you hate me so much!?" Jasper's voice rose now, and there was no way Edward and Jacob hadn't heard it.

"You're a vampire! I'm a wolf! It could never ever work!" She took a step closer towards him, overwhelmed by all her emotions and barely registering what she was doing.

"You feel hate when you are around me. I don't believe I have ever felt hate so fierce. I admire you, (Y/N), and frankly I do not give a damn about what you are or I am. Why do you hate me?" He firmly asked, also taking a step forward.

"I don't hate you. I hate myself for rejecting every thought of you. I can't handle not being close to you for you are my imprint, yet I feel as if my being a wolf and you being a vampire would never even begin to work-"

And then he cut her off. His lips firmly placed om hers in one smooth, surprising motion.

(Y/N) grunted while pushing him away by the chest. "What did you just..." but when she stared into his eyes. Those yellow eyes she could draw blindfolded and with her non-dominant hand. All logic and thought was tossed out the window and fell like a brick on pavement as she suddnly grabbed the back of his neck and roughly kissed him.

His hands hurried to splay along her lower back, diggin in his pale, cold fingers. Meanwhile, hers rose up to grab at his face, tugging him almost impossibly closer to her before starting to back him up.

"You are like a human fucking furnace." He mumbled against her lips as his back was pressed hard into the nearest tree she could blindly find.

"Sh... there's no need to talk." She whispered while grabbing the front of his jacket.

"God, you're so damn hot," he breathed out while reconnecting their lips.

Almost tentatively, nothing like how he had been kissing her before, he slid his cold tongue over her warm mouth, silently asking her for entrance.

She granted it with eagerness that had never been seen before. Burying her left hand in his hair and lightly tugging.

He groaned as the sharp sensation while pulling her hips flush to his, his teeth grazing over her lips while starting to push her-

"I thought I told you to sniff out Bella and Jacob." The gloomy Cullen's voice broke the groans and moans and sounds of kissing that filles the woods.

"We found a better pastime."

Jasper, Jasper, Jasper.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

#jasper hale x reader #jasper hale #twilight #werewolf #spirit shifter #twilight wolfpack #sam uley #leah clearwater #seth clearwater #emmett cullen #bella swan #edward cullen #fanfic #x reader

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