#it's just my personal view on the whole thing

[deathofacupid]

gojo's relationship with sleep was… complicated. he seemed to view it as an optional activity, like flossing or paying taxes. you, on the other hand, considered sleep a sacred ritual, and dragging him to bed felt like trying to convince a hyperactive hummingbird to take a nap.

"psst," he whispered, loud enough to be heard in the next apartment. "hey."

you groaned, pretending to be a particularly heavy sleeper.

"hey," he repeated, poking your shoulder. you swatted his hand away, a silent leave me alone conveyed through the power of sleepy aggression.

"sweetheart. darling. my bestest friend. my favorite person in the entire universe. sugar-plum. chickadee. kitten-kins. schnukapussy."

"what?" you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep.

"do you want to play a game? like, a card game or something?"

"what?" you repeated, your brain still trying to process the concept of coherent sentences. "it's the middle of the night. why are you awake?"

"i'm bored. my brain won't shut up. it's like a radio stuck between stations."

"and you thought waking me up would fix that? now we're both going to be miserable," you grumbled, turning over.

"…so, about that game?" he asked, sounding genuinely hopeful.

you stared at him, resisting the urge to express your frustration with a well-placed pillow. "this is what happens when you eat a whole bag of candy before bed. you turn into a nocturnal gremlin."

he shrugged. "oops."

"don't 'oops' me. i'm trying to sleep."

"but you're awake now," he pointed out, with infuriating logic.

"that's not the point!" you sighed, pulling the covers over your head.

he gave you a look that said, "please? with a cherry on top?" and, against your better judgment, you caved. you sighed, pulling him closer. "fine. no games. but i'll do the hair thing. the one that makes you sleepy."

he settled against you, all warm and impossibly comfortable. "until i'm asleep?"

"yes," you said, keeping you eyes trained on him. "until you're asleep."

as you ran your hands through his white locks, he was out in minutes, snoring softly. you smiled, finally feeling yourself drift off.

then, just as you were about to fall asleep, your brain decided to stage a revolt. wide awake. you stared at the ceiling, wondering if you could convince gojo to share his ability to function on zero sleep. to say the least, this would be a long night.

[drgnsfly]

✶ 15 YEARS IN THE MAKING

summary: oscar's home race is a big deal. however, what's even bigger is the realization that he has been in love with the childhood friend waiting for him at the finish line since the day he met her. it only took him 15 years, a thousand missed opportunities and a so-called mistake to realize it.

F1 MASTERLIST | OP81 MASTERLIST

pairing: oscar piastri x childhood bff!f!reader

wc: 11.3k

cw: aus gp 2025, unaccurate aus gp 2024 for plot purpose, use of y/n, slightly inaccurate timeline, kinda bittersweet/angsty at some point, otherwise fluff + hea

note: need to cradle that man in my arms and kiss him on the forehead, special mention to @cntappen who wanted yearning oscar, hope ur satisfied 🙏 i lowkey hate this but we carry on

soundtrack: ♫ something, somehow, someday - role model

OSCAR ALMOST DROPS his mug when Hattie tells him the news. “She’s coming to the race?”

His sister nodded, shifting from one foot to the other like she didn’t quite know where to put herself ─ which was uncharacteristic of her ─ and the first things going through Oscar’s mind were Did she know? How would she know? Did she tell her? “I texted her about it ‘cause she always comes to Melbourne. I was just curious. She said she’d be coming if she was welcome with us.”

His head was spinning. Gripping the edge of the kitchen counter, Oscar chose his next words with calculated precision. “And you said…?”

“I mean, Mom said yes, obviously,” Hattie shrugged. “She loves Y/N. And she said it’s been a while since you two saw each other, might do you some good with stress and all that.”

Of course, his mom would say that. You had always been a second daughter for her, welcoming you in her home as if your place had always been next to Oscar on the living room couch. Hattie had been as enthusiastic as her, if a little confused at first, about who had developed such an attachment to her quiet, nonchalant brother. Ever since you and Oscar were children, as soon as he told his mother about the new girl next door who cut short his remote-controlled truck training on the playground, you had been included in every Piastri family dinner.

Because you were Oscar's whole world, his personal sun, the second you stepped into view ─ it would have taken someone mute, blind, and deaf not to notice it. He was just a planet, a satellite, orbiting around you in search of meaning.

Had been. Until almost a year ago.

And nobody knew except for him.

So Oscar swallowed down the lump in his throat.  “Okay, sure, that's cool,” he let out a breath. “I missed her.” The words pained him, as veracious as they were. He didn’t simply miss you like you’d miss someone you hadn’t seen in a while ─ Oscar missed you like an amputee would miss a ghost limb. The kind of pull that tears someone from the inside out, and he only had himself to blame for the ache.

If Hattie suspected something was off, she didn't say it. She chose to scrutinize him instead, eyebrows scrunched in a silent question he answered with a vague smile, as always. She spoke about how you hadn’t come to visit in quite some time, how he rarely updated them on how you were anymore, how you blossomed in your life, but the words went in one ear and out through the other.

Because you were going to the Melbourne Grand Prix, the start of the 2025 season. He didn’t know if he could handle seeing you again, not after the fiasco of the same Grand Prix, a year ago.

Guess he didn’t have much choice.

Oscar Piastri is eight when he meets you for the first time.

He was given his first remote-controlled truck for Christmas and ever since then, rare were the times he spent his full days at home. The playground, with a lot more ground than playthings for children, was a five-minute walk from his house ─ perfect for practicing, he thought. His newfound gadget made him develop a fervency he hadn’t known before, an obsession for speed. He knew Australia had championships for remote-controlled racing, his dad told him so. He wanted a part in it like he never wanted anything in the world before. Except maybe the truck.

But before he could hope of entering, he needed to get to a certain level and that meant practice. So to the playground (or park, park was a cooler word) he went.

Today wasn’t an exception. Vacations had started not so long ago, the sun was high in the sky and Oscar’s knees were raw from being dug in the gravel for so long. His thumbs were branded by the print of the remote in his hand, sweat beaded on his forehead, hair sticking to it, and maybe his vision was blurring a little. But Oscar was nothing if not determined, so he kept going as his truck narrowly avoided obstacles he put in place.

Until a water bottle replaced the self-made circuit in his visual field.

Oscar's eyes slowly trailed up in exasperation, expecting one of his younger sisters or his mother dotting on him, telling him to come back home. Instead, his breath caught a little.

You stood there, the afternoon sun casting a golden glow around you, turning the loose strands of your hair into something almost otherworldly. Oscar had never believed in angels ─ never really thought about them at all, actually ─ but at that moment he wondered if maybe, just maybe they existed. Your sundress, once pristine, was rusted with dirt, the hem brushing against your scraped knees, blood dried in uneven patches. But you didn’t seem to mind. Instead, you smiled ─ as if scuffed knees and torn dresses were just a natural part of being you.

His wide, brown eyes glided from the lukewarm bottle to you, in wonder and shock alike. Your palm was smudged in playground dust, but Oscar barely noticed ─ his gaze caught instead on the way light tangled in your hair, your eyes sparkling with something bright, untamed, unstoppable. You spoke up. “You look like you’re gonna faint. Take it. Drivers need water, right?”

Your voice, soft, shook him out of his trance: he hesitantly took the bottle from your hand, and your fingers brushed against his. Red colored the tip of his ears. He swallowed, hard, bringing the bottle to his chest. You offered him another smile in return, and Oscar felt his heart flutter.

“My name is Y/N.” Before he could even think about protesting ─ about telling you that, actually, he hadn’t asked ─ you plopped down beside him, legs folding underneath you like it was the most natural thing in the world. Your shoulder bumped against his, a casual, thoughtless kind of closeness that sent a foreign heat to the back of his neck.

Then just as he was processing that, you turned to face him- too close. Way too close.

Noses. Your noses nearly touched.

Oscar went rigid. Did you know nothing about personal space?!

You pointed behind him, at the house right next to his, visible from the park. “I live right here!”

“...No, you can’t.” Oscar finally said, frowning. He was trying to be as polite as he could muster to be in those conditions. His mom would kill him if he wasn't.

“Why?”

“Nobody lives here.”

The aggressive neutrality of his voice, a timbre unique to him, didn’t deter you in the slightest. On the contrary, it seemed like his reticence to your presence made you beam brighter at him. “That’s because we just moved here, duh. See that car? It’s my mom’s.”

The indifference in Oscar slowly turned to confusion, or as close as it could get to curiosity. There was indeed a baby blue car parked in the driveway he never saw before. For as long as he could remember, which was not a lot, it was always vacant. Until today, apparently. “Oh. We’re neighbors, then.”

Your smile widened, eyes practically shining in excitement. “That’s so cool! I was scared I was gonna be the only kid here.”

Oscar barely heard you, too busy staring at where your arm pressed against his. Was it normal? Were other kids just… this close of each other? Because he wasn’t used to it, not at all. “... How old are you?”

“Eight!” You practically bounced as you said it.

“Me too.”

Your face lit up. Oh no.

“That’s even better! We can be friends! Best friends, even!”

Wait, what.

Oscar blinked, his mind screeching to a halt. That escalated fast. Weren’t there supposed to be multiple steps before deciding to be lifelong friends? Had he missed something? “Uh─”

“What’s your name?” You asked with renewed enthusiasm if it was even possible to add to that.

“... Oscar. Oscar Piastri.”

“Nice to meet you Oscar Piastri from next door!” You held out your hand and, much to his surprise, Oscar took it. Hesitantly, awkwardly, yes, but he still did. The strange, unfamiliar feeling tugging at his stomach wouldn’t let him do otherwise. “I like your truck,” you continued, fingers still wrapped around his like you didn’t even notice. “Can I try it?”

Oscar was way too focused on your palm still sitting in his to process your words. Was he supposed to pull away first? “I… I don’t─”

“Or I could watch you! I don’t mind. I was watching you in the tree back there anyways.”

Oscar blinked. It explained the stains and the scratches, he thought. He still couldn’t believe that there was a whole girl like her in a tree, spying on him, and he had been so caught up by his remote-controlled truck to even notice it. Just as if you could read his thoughts, a sheepish look made its way to your face, lips pursuing as you finally ─ finally ─ let go of his hand. “Mom doesn’t like when I do that,” you admitted as if it were a secret. “But it’s fine. I can wash the dress.”

He stared. There was… something about you, Something about the way you sparkled even when you sat still, the way your presence felt bigger than your little body. He swallowed, nudging the controller toward you before he could regret his decision. “Try.” His voice came out weird. “It’s boring to watch.” 

The twinkling in your eyes was worth every crash that came after this. You were struggling, and hitting every obstacle he skillfully steered away from. Each and every hit was accompanied by a giggle or an exaggerated groan but even though you were terrible, as Oscar tactfully noticed, it still looked like you were having the most fun you had in years.

When he had to go home, you walked him to the door with a spring in your step, occupying the conversational space with random facts about the world. Something about how octopuses had three hearts, how clouds weren’t actually as soft as they looked, and how the color yellow made people happy. Oscar didn’t say much, he never really did, but he contentedly listened.

And then, just as the door swung open, before he could even process the way he wanted to stay a little bit longer, you turned to his mom with all the confidence of someone who had already decided the outcome. “Can Oscar come back tomorrow?” His mom barely had time to blink, but Oscar already knew─ it was over.

Because the moment she said yes, the second the fierce little girl beside him claimed more time with him like it was hers to take, it was sealed. After that, it came as naturally as breathing. Oscar and Y/N. Y/N and Oscar. Never one without the other. You led, he followed. And, somewhere along the way, the rest of the world stopped mattering.

You were a constant in Oscar’s life, a lifeline he clung to without realizing he had reached for it in the first place. He got into karting at ten and nothing─ not his dad's last-minute pep talks, not the hours of practice ─ could calm the way his hands trembled on the steering wheel before his first race. His fingers curled on it, hands trembling and grip tight, knuckles aching from the pressure. What if he wasn’t actually good? What if he messed it all up? What if─?

And then, there you were. Signature grin, messy ponytail, a tiny hand sign scribbled in clashy, colorful letters: GO, OSCAR GO!! The words were surrounded by questionable doodles ─ stick-figure cars with lopsided wheels, a few stray hearts in the margins like an afterthought. “I came to watch you win,” you said, like there was no other possibility. After that, the race was just a race.

The moment you dropped a chaste kiss on his helmet, all nerves settled. When he passed by you, you brandished your sign high in the air, a beacon, the only thing he really needed to see. He won that race with his head held high and in the middle of celebration ─ his mom hugging him tight, cheers echoing all around ─ he silently dedicated his victory to you.

Because when he scanned the crowd, your eyes were the easiest to find. Because nothing ever felt better than the feeling of you running in his arms right after.

And just like that─ childhood blurred into early adolescence in a flurry of incandescent polaroids: late afternoon on track, whooping as Oscar made his laps, stolen moments on the swings at the playground between school and training, a thousand shared snacks, juice boxes, whispers, a million inside jokes and secrets. Summers spent side by side, laughter tangled in the air like something meant to last forever.

Years of Oscar and Y/N. Y/N and Oscar. No space between. No questions about what you were to each other. Not yet. 

But Oscar Piastri is fifteen when he leaves you behind.

He had been offered a seat in Formula 4. The words came in a rush, tumbling from an ecstatic Chris Piastri and an equally thrilled Nicole Piastri, their voices nearly overlapping in excitement. Oscar heard them, he knew what they were saying and yet his mind refused to catch up. He sat there, cereal spoon dangling in the air, milk dripping back in his bowl.

The world around him blurred─ static in his ears, something like disbelief flooding his veins. He had wanted this. Trained for this. But now that it was real, it was as if his body had forgotten how to move. So you did it first.

Your arms wrapped around his neck without a second thought, squeezing tight. A hug that made it impossible to do anything but exist in the moment. He unfroze: the weight of your warmth, how you clung to him without any reservation, it yanked him back. His hands had found your back, gripping instinctively. It hit him all at once: Formula 4. His dream was real. And you were here, like always.

Until you wouldn’t be anymore.

Everything slipped past Oscar in a blur: he applied to a boarding school and got accepted in the same week, his parents were already looking for a house nearby, and his mom searching for job opportunities ─ in Brighton, England, closer to where he would be practicing. A thousand kilometers away from Australia, a thousand memories away from you.

One thing you learned in your years of friendship with Oscar was that he wasn’t much of a talker. He wasn’t big on the expression of feelings either ─ he showed affection softly, when he thought people wouldn’t notice. But you did, and you never planned on doing anything about it because that was just how Oscar was: reserved, hesitant in his tenderness. So the conversation about his departure never came ─ it was just a weight, hanging in the air of your every interaction, untouched. He didn’t want to venture there, to face how he wouldn’t wake up next to you anymore after another sleepover, how he would have to learn how to exist without you at arm’s reach. The lack of you was already digging a hole in his chest, and it was one of the main reasons he said no to your proposition of a send-off party.

But Oscar knew you too, too well, so he was only half-surprised when he turned on the light of his house after training and discovered the crowd of your shared friends amidst colorful balloons and cakes. You stood out in all of them when you offered him the smile that was uniquely his, and Oscar’s chest almost collapsed.

The party was fun. He got goodbye gifts ─ trinkets, plushies and books he knew he’ll lose sleep over. He didn’t dance to the music, but enjoyed watching people lose themselves in the soft light of his kitchen from the sidelines. Some friends cried and some friends didn’t ─ he side-hugged them all, never letting them too close except for a select few, and he accepted the heartfelt speeches with reassurances that he will come back during the summer, without a doubt.

The night slowed, party leftovers forgotten on the counters, and the house was quieter now that most of the guests had filtered out. Only a few stragglers remained inside, their voices dimmed to an unobtrusive murmur. But Oscar, the supposed star of the show, was hesitating in the threshold of his front door ─ because you were outside. And wherever you went, he followed.

You were sitting on the front door steps, arms wrapped around your knees, bathed in the dim glow of the porch light. The soft hum of cicadas filled the space as Oscar sat beside you. He knew he should say something, anything. Thank you for the party, even though he swore he didn’t want one. You were right, because of course, you were. Or finally address what was begging to be talked about ─ he just didn’t know how. Because sitting right here, with you just a few inches away, he realizes this is it. 

This is the last night before everything changes, and he can’t do anything about it. So he stays silent.

“You’re freaking out,” you say. Not a question. Your observant eyes flickered to his face, gaze soft in the way that makes his breath catch.

Oscar exhales sharply, tipping his head back against the wooden railing. “Am not.”

You give him a look. The look that always calls his bullshit. “Alright, I am.” He swallows, voice quieter. “A little.”

A pause. And then─ a nudge. Your knee bumping into his. A small, familiar thing, but somehow it unravels him. His eyes are burning, and he can’t pinpoint why. “You’ll be fine, Osc’’,” you affirmed, as certain as the sun rising tomorrow. “As long as you don’t forget about me.” A quiet laugh escaped you.

And Oscar could feel it, the thick air between you, pressing against his throat and sitting on his tongue. How could he ever forget about you? You were sitting so close, staring at him as if tucking him in some secret place inside of you. Oscar hated it, so much that it finally slipped─ “I don’t want to go.”

It came out quieter than he expected. Your lips parted slightly, brows furrowed, and Oscar felt like he said too much and not enough at the same time. Because he did want to go, but what he meant was, I don’t want to go if it means leaving you, I don’t know how to exist without you in my orbit. What he really meant, he couldn’t understand what it was no matter how hard he tried.

He forced out a chuckle, shaking his head. “I mean─” Oscar cleared his throat. “I do. Obviously. It’s just─ It’s gonna be weird.”

“Yeah, it is,” you murmured, flushing against his shoulder. “But we’ll make it work.”

Oscar looked at you, really did. The way the light caught the edges of your face, the night breeze playing with your hair, how you existed so beautifully and effortlessly, as you belonged in all the places he had ever loved. The words almost slipped out: You could come with me.

It was right there, clawing its way up his throat.

Yet, something stopped him. Because it wasn’t fair. Because he didn’t know what it meant. Because he didn’t know if he was asking like a best friend or something else, and he didn’t know what to do with the way you were constricting his chest, how you pressed against his ribcage, demanding more. You looked at Oscar and he looked at you ─ he swallowed it down, staring at the playground far in front of you. 

And the moment passed.

Oscar left the day after, and the empty house was now the one next to yours.

Your hotel room was eerily quiet.

You were never known for silence ─ all your life, people had repeatedly told you about the overwhelming space you occupied, how loud your laugh echoed, how you never quite knew how to fold and pocket yourself to be less. Growing up, adults meant it in an endearing way. Now, you realized just how much the words stung, even if you never took them as insults. But here, in the uncomfortable coldness of the room you rented for the week-end, everything was quiet: no music, no you talking to yourself. Nothing.

It felt unnatural ─ like something was missing. The one thing that always reassured you about the room you took up.

It left you restless, and your hands trembled a little as you finished applying the last layer of mascara on your lashes. Maybe it was just nerves ─ after all, it’s been a while since you’ve been on a race and hung out with Hattie, Edie, Mae, Nicole, and Chris. Ever since you moved out for university, the city of Melbourne and all of the memories it held always managed to make you a bit anxious.

However, deep down, you knew. It’s the fact that for the first time in over a year, you were going to see Oscar.

Your reflection stared back at you in the mirror as you dropped your makeup next to the sink. You couldn’t decipher your own expression.

Hattie texted you out of nowhere, and even though it wasn’t unusual for you two to talk from time to time, it surprised you a bit when she asked you if you were going to the Grand Prix. It shouldn’t have, she didn’t know ─ or maybe she suspected something, but you still said you’d be coming. So Nicole was on her way to pick you up and take you to the same spot you’ve been occupying since 2023, and you’ll have to sit and act as if everything was alright, as if her son was the best friend you grew up with and didn’t become an acquaintance overnight that you occasionally exchanged “good morning”, “good night”, “happy birthday” and “how are you doing?” texts with.

Because ever since that fateful night after the Melbourne Grand Prix of 2024, something shifted between you and Oscar. Something that had been weighing on you both for years, waiting, waiting, waiting- until it finally cracked, only to narrowly miss you. And now? You didn’t know his weekly schedule, and you couldn’t remember the last time you complained about your teachers to him. You and Oscar weren’t quite strangers, but you weren’t you anymore either. 

Because whatever had been waiting that night never had a chance to be resolved. And maybe it never would.

You shut your eyes, your breathing quickening dangerously. No. You weren’t going to think about that right now. It’s fine ─ you’re just here to watch a race like you always did. Just another race. It didn't have to mean anything more than that, did it? You’ll cheer, you’ll congratulate him, and you’ll leave. Even if it was his home race. Even if it was in the same city you laughed in his backyard, held hands running in the streets, stayed awake at ungodly hours of the night tangled together, the city you had both known and lost each other.

Frankly, you weren’t sure what you were expecting─ what you even wanted this weekend to be. All you knew was that you desperately wanted to grasp at the last semblance of normalcy that used to be between Oscar and you, and if that meant showing up at the Melbourne race and praying for his car to see the checkered flag in pole position like the deepest parts of your heart weren’t screaming for him, so be it.

When Nicole called you to tell you she parked her car, you took a deep breath and walked to the elevator, carefully ignoring the sickening feeling of your stomach reminding you that, in Melbourne, there was no simply ignoring the past anymore.

Oscar Piastri is twenty when he tells you the news.

Five years have passed ever since he moved out of Australia, but no matter how the years stretched between then and now, racetracks and podium dreams, Oscar always made sure of one thing: that he’d come back. Back to his neighborhood, these streets, the quiet buzz of familiarity.

And back to you.

Time had tried its best to pull you apart with different schedules, different time zones, and places, but you two were still an unstoppable force. Y/N and Oscar. Oscar and Y/N. No matter how late the flights, how long the race weekends, how exhausting the training, he always called ─ even if it was past midnight, or he had to wake up in three hours, or he could barely keep his eyes open. Because your voice, distant and barely audible through the crackling of a bad signal, was home. And you always picked up.

Oscar missed it. He made friends in boarding school, a group of laid-back guys who filled the late hours with video games and terrible jokes, making his new world a little less foreign. He enjoyed their company, sure, but none of them were you. None of them could look at him and already know what he was thinking, like the syllables were etched in your bones, and they didn’t tilt their head up at the sky on a rusty swing set, taking him with them, and spun the world into something bigger. God, he missed that. He missed you.

Even though, sometimes, he wondered if you missed him just as much.

Obviously, since Oscar left, you had to build something for yourself in the space he left behind, and it only became more concrete when you enrolled in a university away from Melbourne. He tried to be happy for you when you did. But then you would tell him about a friend group he didn’t know the faces of, threading into the places he used to be and the places he’d never been, the ones he couldn’t visit with you like the café near your 10 a.m. lecture on Fridays. 

Sometimes, only sometimes, when he allowed himself to feel a bit more than he should, the scraps of emotions he usually denied himself ─ he was scared he didn’t belong in the new sphere you’ve constructed for yourself. That he was a dusty polaroid in a wooden box, waiting for the day you’d tuck him away.

But that had to be wrong. It had to be. Because the second your eyes found his as he stepped out of the airport, it was like nothing had changed. Like the months apart, the missed calls, the milestones he couldn’t be there for ─ none of it mattered.

The way you looked at him, like he was still your Oscar, the boy you always had known and always will, it made up for everything.

You had been there when Oscar graduated from Formula 4 to Formula 3. You had been right by his side when Formula 3 turned to Formula 2 the following year. Whether it be by phone or in person when the good news coincided with both of your trips to your childhood neighborhood. Your excited screech, your lips on his cheek twisting his stomach and painting his cheeks red, he figured it was just common sense for you to learn he’s been promoted a third time in person. He wanted to see your reaction.

Whenever you and Oscar came back, your mom would welcome you with open arms in your old home. There were only two bedrooms, one that was your mom’s, which used to be awkward for him before it became a common occurrence for you two to share a bed. Both your parents had forbidden it, but quickly gave up when you used to find a way to sneak into Oscar’s bedroom and keep him awake. Their resolve vanished entirely when they noticed quiet, untroubled Oscar started getting on it as well.

So there you were, twenty years old in your childhood bedroom, sharing a bed too small for your height. The window was half-opened, the air thick and unmoving, letting in the last shreds of sunset that danced across your skin in soft, golden streaks. You were facing each other, which allowed him to see your eyes flutter, heavy with exhaustion, your breathing slow and even as if the mere act of being near him was enough to let you rest.

Oscar flushed at that thought. You had spent hours driving just to come and get him, to fall in bed beside him, limbs tangled, words fading into the quiet comfort of home. Just to be here, with him.

He wanted to wait. Until your eyes were wide open and you were awake enough to react like you always did: in screams and hugs and plans of the future. But the warmth curling in his chest wasn’t allowing him to keep it from you any longer.

“I got a seat in Formula One,” Oscar announced in the silence of the room.

“What?” Your voice was hoarse from tiredness, but it didn’t stop your sharp gaze from snapping to his. Your lips parted, just barely, an inhale caught in your throat, and Oscar gets distracted.

He shouldn’t, not now, but─ he can’t help it.

How many times had he seen you like this? Sleep-heavy, warm with exhaustion, curled up beside him. Too many to count. Not once had it felt like this, like something heavier rested on his shoulders.

He repeats with a little difficulty, forcing himself back to the moment. “I got a seat in Formula One.” He swallows before precising, “Not Alpine. McLaren.”

You blinked. Once, twice, your brain catching up with the weight of his words. Then, before Oscar could brace himself, you were moving.

You crashed into him, as much as you could in the position you were, tucking yourself against his chest in the semblance of a hug. The pressure was nothing, still, the air was knocked out of his lungs. “You did it!” You whispered-yelled against his shoulder, voice trembling with emotion. “Oh my god, Osc’. You did it. I fucking knew you would.”

Of course, you knew. You always knew before Oscar did, before he even started believing in it himself. A scoff, wet with feelings, escaped him as his shaky fingers hovered over your ribs, processing the situation. You pulled back, just enough to look at him, pupils blown wide. The palm that wasn’t resting on his chest slipped up, featherlight, to cup his cheek. Oscar almost flinched. “I wanted to tell you earlier, but─”

“Don’t even start,” you interrupted him. “You’re going to be in Formula One! In McLaren! That’s huge, and─”

Realization hits you like a truck. “Oh my god, Daniel Ricciardo.”

Out of all the things that could have ruined the moment, Oscar wouldn’t have expected it to be Daniel Ricciardo. “Yeah,” he deadpanned. “Everyone loves Daniel. We get it. My mom said the same thing.”

A disbelieving laugh escaped you, and you shoved him a little. “Come on, it’s a shock for me!”

“It’s also pressure, but thank you so much for your consideration.”

“I congratulated you two seconds ago!”

“I’m sure Daniel would love your condolences even more.”

By that point, you were a giggling mess beneath Oscar’s hands, so much that the sound successfully got a few huffs out of him as well. The pressure of the news evaporated at each new chuckle out of your mouth, and the room was finally big enough to breathe.

Laughter died down, reduced to heavy intakes of air between half-sentences, and that’s when Oscar realized.

Your fingers, gently brushing over his cheekbones, nails grazing his skin. His palms capturing your sides as your thigh rested between his legs. He wasn’t pulling you in, clinging to you like he always did ─ instead, he froze. His heart was stuttering too fast, too loud, in a way that had nothing to do with the news he’d just shared and you simply stared at him, eyes sparkling, as if he handed you the World Driver’s Championship trophy right here and there. Waiting for something.

The heat of your body, your usual proximity, the soft cotton of the sheets did nothing to help the blood boiling in Oscar’s veins and thoughts spiraled in a blink, of what it would be like if he just let his hand roam a little lower, if your breath swept over his lips. 

Words lodged themselves in his throat, just like they did when he was fifteen, sitting on his porch. But this time, he knew. No pretense, no excuse. He was twenty years old, not a child anymore. He knew what these words were and what they wanted to be.

You could come with me. You could come to my races. You could stay. Stay with me.

His chest squeezed. His fingers twisted. His mouth stayed shut.

Because you had a life here. A life that, lately, felt like it had more and more spaces he didn’t fit into. What was he supposed to say? Drop everything? Follow me? Give up everything you built and choose me?

Oscar Piastri wasn’t a wishful thinker, he didn’t ask for things he wasn’t sure he could have ─ and he wasn’t sure he could have you. Not because he didn’t want to, he desperately wanted to, but because he still didn’t understand it. He didn’t get why you put that ache in his chest, the weight in his ribs. Why it was more painful to be away from you, to see you live without him, than his old friend group ─ he put the fault on nostalgia, but it wasn’t it. He had spent years trying to figure it out and still ─ still ─ didn’t have the answer.

So he did what he’d usually do when meaning escaped him. 

He buried it. He’ll take a look at it. He’ll figure it out later.

“Being in F1,” he cleared his throat. “It’s going to be harder, with the schedule and all that. But I promise─”

“You don’t need to,” you cut him off and Oscar noticed the light slightly dim in your eyes, then coming back like nothing happened. “We’ll make it work, we always do.”

You pulled back again, taking your hand with you and letting the cold air replace your touch. Somehow, Oscar knew he did something, but once more he didn’t know what. Instead, he let himself believe the moment was nothing more than what it had always been. Nothing more than you, his best friend, happy for him.

But as you fell asleep, the distance put by you larger than it ever was before, even by just a few millimeters, something inside of him whispered─ liar.

Oscar got in his car, and yet his mind was as far away from it as it could be. Walking out the garage, he had seen his entire family cheering for him, his mom dropping a good-luck kiss on his cheek, and he should be grounded in the moment. He should be basking in the cheers of his home crowd and the familiarity of Australian air opening his season, but he couldn't. Because there was no sign of you.

He had thrown a glance at Hattie, a silent question, and she simply shrugged. Oscar didn't know what that meant: if you excused yourself for a moment or didn't come at all. Which one he was hoping for, that was the question.

And so the formation lap started. The car was feeling good, great even ─ Oscar had done well during the testing rounds and free practices, even landing second place in qualifications right behind Lando. His chest had swelled with hope that maybe, just maybe, he could take on his home race. He brushed the podium last year, how far could he be from taking it with both hands this time?

He could hear his race engineer checking last minute details, the impatient buzzing of the crowd, the motor of his car warming up and flaring to life. It was a sound, a rhythm he could recognize eyes closed.

As the lap concluded, cars finally ready to live through 58 rounds, a streak of hair caught his eye.

If he could decipher the metre of a Grand Prix with his eyes closed, Oscar knew he could recognize the pattern of you before you even came into view. It was brief─ almost a blur, but it was more than enough.

Through the haze of rain-slicked asphalt and the relentless roar of the engine, he caught you. Standing with his family against the edge of the garage like you belonged there, which you did, hands clasped tight against your chest like you were the one in the car, navigating the turns for him. Your hair, wild from the wind, dampened by the drizzle, framing your face. God.

You came. 

After everything, you were really there.

For him.

Oscar pulled his car in P2, but the flickering red lights above him did nothing to calm his racing mind. You always watched his races like this: lived through them like they were your own. Somehow, that made it easier. The loneliness of battling against your own, the relentless push forward. You made it lighter, less suffocating. You always have been. And you were ready to watch him race again, after everything. His chest twisted, his grip on the steering wheel tightened.

And even in the current circumstances, Oscar wasn’t thinking about the race. Not at all.

For what he wished could have been the first time, but wasn’t, the car was filled with the thought of you.

Because it hits him. Like a crash, full speed, sparks flying. Why missing you hurt so much. Why, after a year of unnatural distance of swallowing down whatever had possessed him that night in Melbourne a year ago, he still felt like something lacked.

Oh.

And before he could process it all, it was lights out.

Oscar Piastri is twenty-two when he fucks it up.

The Melbourne Grand Prix didn’t go so badly, but it didn’t go well either. Oscar had been so close to getting a podium on his home race, and watching his colleague, his friend, receiving the applause of his home crowd left a bitter feeling in the back of his throat. He cheered and congratulated, because he was a good sport and genuinely happy for Lando, but the uneasiness didn’t leave him when the cameras turned off.

It was a sticky heaviness in his ribcage, glued to it like molten plastic, tightening with every half-smile and “good jobs” aimed at him. He should’ve been happy, ecstatic. But he just wasn’t.

So he forced himself to go out to celebrate anyway, even half-heartedly. He didn’t want to look like the asshole he really felt like, so he nodded at conversations he wasn’t listening to, let the bass drum against his skin in a club he didn’t even want to be into.

Oscar lasted maybe an hour.

The flashing lights felt too bright, the press of bodies too wrong for his current state of mind. The scent of alcohol curled in his nose, sharp and sour, and something in him was teetering to break the last agreeable bone in his body. As he got out of the club, he thought about how he wanted to be anywhere else but here, suffocating in his own unjustified frustration. 

The only place he wanted to be was with you.

He barely had time to see you before he got whisked away by his team and interviewers. He wanted to tell you about the race, about what he thought, because you were the only one he enjoyed being listened to by, the only one it didn’t feel awkward. No matter how much he tried to shove things down, to ignore whatever it was that had been thrumming under his skin- you were still the first person he reached for. So before he could really think about it, he’d already dialed your number. “Hey, I’m sorry, I know─ Can you hear me? Yeah? Alright. I know it’s late but… can you pick me up?”

And of course you did. Because you were Oscar and Y/N. Y/N and Oscar. Because no matter where or when─ when Oscar called, you always came.

Your car was in front of the building not even ten minutes later, and he got in. His favorite music on the aux, he smiled at the attention, easy conversation started flowing between the two of you as you drove to the driveway of your house. You didn’t ask why he left. You knew he’d talk about it when he wanted to, if you pressed on the issue he would only close up more ─ get sarcastic, avoidant.

So you both sat on your front porch, the night silent around you, still warm from the heat of the day. “... don’t think he'll be able to walk home tomorrow,” Oscar commented.

“He got third and he's still getting shitfaced like that?” You asked with a disbelieving laugh. “Wonder what will happen for his first pole position.”

“I don't even want to think about it,” he sighed. “His PR team is gonna have a field day.”

“Wonder what will happen during yours, to be honest.” You bumped your shoulder with his, something so casual that still sent the familiar shivers down his spine. “What kind of celebration are you going to pull in Australia, huh?”

The simple sentence was cold rain on Oscar’s newfound relaxation. He knew you didn’t mean it like that, you never would, but his shoulders tensed up and his gaze drifted away from yours. “Yeah, well, at the rhythm it’s going, maybe we’ll have a party when I retire.”

You threw him a glance, the kind that knew what was lying behind all of his barriers, behind the sudden phone call. Oscar let out a heavy sigh, rubbing the material of his jeans. 

“Is that why you asked me to pick you up?” You ended up asking, voice soft. You weren’t trying to pry too much, and he silently thanked you for it. For everything, really.

“I didn’t want to be there,” he answered.

There was nothing more to say: Oscar was bitter and that was the end of it ─ or maybe not, but he didn’t want to get into it tonight when the feelings were still raw, painfully open to see. Yet, your hand found his, stilling the restless motion of his hand against his thigh. Slowly, deliberately, you wove them together. Your palms, warm and steady, rested above his knee. “Then why’d you go? We could have done something. Just the both of us, y’know.”

This time, Oscar looked at you.

And it was all too much. Worry laced in the edges of your expression, the subtle scrunch of your eyebrows he would have missed if he didn’t know you as well as he did, your hand in his ─ steady, grounding. It belonged there, he thought, it always did. You cared about him, that’s what scared him at first ─ because you were sunlight, not the kind that burned but the kind that warmed. The constant, unwavering glow of a beacon that guided him, never pulled him under.

And yet, there he was. Drowning in the mess he tried to push away for so long and was coming back full force, with a simple touch of the hand.

Oscar had two drinks earlier, and it made everything too sharp, his emotions too messy. His tongue a little too loose.

“I thought if I pretended hard enough, it would go away.” He didn’t know if he was talking about the race anymore.

You scooted closer, as if sharing a secret, but the closeness was too intimate for the situation. “What would?” You asked in a whisper.

Oscar’s breath hitched at the way the streetlamps caught in your hair, how your eyes searched his. There was a shift in the air, in the barely-there space between the two of you, in the way your fingers refused to let go of the grip it had on the other.

He should let go.

But your lips parted, ever so slightly, and Oscar allowed his gaze to dip to them. He kissed girls before, he even had a few short-lived relationships, but none of them ever felt right, like they belonged in a lasting manner in his life. They always felt like placeholders for something else, something more, less of a daunting feeling in his guts. He never really told you about it ─ it had always been an unspoken rule in your friendship, without knowing why. Now, he had a sneaky, unnerving suspicion.

Oscar kissed girls before, but he never kissed you.

He didn’t know if it was a mistake. He didn’t know if he should cross that line, but God he wanted to ─ he only knew that he wasn’t sure of what was waiting for him on the other side of it. His heart hammered in his chest, so hard he was afraid you’d hear it. You leaned in, imperceptibly, and your warm breath brushed against his lips. If he let himself, just for a second─ one tiny, irreversible second─ he would kiss you.

He was close. Too close. Feelings were too many. He needed to tell you before something could happen.

“Come with me,” Oscar blurted out, in a murmur along the shape of your lips, a plea in the leftover space.

And just like that, he felt the moment slip away from him. Your eyes, now sharp, snapped to him in a swift movement. And that’s when he knew. That wasn’t the right thing to say or do.

“What?” Your voice was quiet, laced with disbelief. Confusion swirled in your pupils, wondering if you misheard or if he misspoke.

Maybe he had. Maybe this wasn’t how it was supposed to come out- not here, not now, not like this.

“I- Uh…,” Oscar stammered. “Come with me. Stay. For the next races.” Please.

You pulled away, and the lack of you in his space caused his head to spin, his heart still beating violently against his chest, this time in panic. What did he do?

“What are you asking me exactly, Osc’?”

The question of the day. Because what was he asking, really? To be there for the few days in between flights and training and traveling and pretending his world wasn’t moving too fast for him to catch his breath? Sit in the stands, waiting for him to make up his mind about something he had been wondering about for the past fourteen years? Because what did he mean, and why couldn’t he understand?

It wasn’t fair. Not to you.

He swallowed, throat tight with something he couldn’t name and suddenly the night was too cold to stay outside anymore. Oscar forced out a weak chuckle, like it was just some stupid joke as if the word hadn’t crawled out of his chest on their own. “I meant─” He ran a quick hand through his hair. “Ha. Never mind. Forget it.”

And this time, when the light dimmed in your eyes, it didn’t come back. You won’t forget it. Because you saw right through him. Still, you didn’t push ─ every time you did, disappointment crawled over you like insects. After a beat of silence, one that felt like a lifetime, you exhaled, something fragile flashing across your features before you masked it with a tight-lipped smile. He hated it.

You nodded. “Sure.” Just that. Oscar didn’t know what he was expecting. No questions, accusations.

But that was almost worse, you let him get away with it, with the almost, with all of it.

When you both went to sleep that night, it was the first time in forever you didn’t sleep in the same bed. You pretended to have a headache, said you’d join him once it settled down. Oscar fell into slumber alone. 

For some reason, it felt like losing.

Saying to have known love at eight years old would have to be a lie, but Oscar knew you jump-started his heart the minute your laugh echoed in his ear at that playground, fifteen years ago.

He had been pathetically doomed from the start.

From the first glance, to the first laugh, to when your fingers grazed his when you took the controller to his truck ─ a touch so small that had burned itself into his memory like a brand. He was too young to understand what it meant at fifteen when he sat beside you on his porch. Too blind to recognize it at twenty, lying in your childhood bedroom and hands fisting the sheets to stop them from reaching for you. Too scared to act on it last year, close enough to touch and closer than you had been in years and he still let the moment pass him.

The truth was simply this: no matter what, Oscar had always known. Maybe not at eight, maybe not at fifteen. But deep inside, he had always, always known. And he had spent every year since then trying to ignore it.

Not anymore. He couldn’t ─ not when he messed it up last time. Not when he was on the verge of losing you for good.

Oscar Piastri loves you, like a madman, and he needed to tell you like someone drowning needed air.

But to do that, he’d have to get out of the patch of grass he got himself into first.

The track was slippery due to the rain, and a simple mistake could lead to tragic circumstances: this was one of them. Oscar was stuck in the grass of the circuit after a turn he took too narrowly. He lost his P2, the one of his home race he had been searching for since last year. The scream of frustration he let out had earned a pained groan from his race engineer, and to make it worse, he was apparently already written as Out.

But that wouldn’t happen. Because Oscar didn’t go after things he knew he couldn’t have ─but he knew he could have this race. He could finish it. He wouldn’t DNF.

And after he’d be done with it, he’d go after you.

So he dragged himself out under the cheers of his home crowd, an ecstatic buzz in his ears. The last of the laps passed in an angry blur: Oscar was driven by sheer determination, rage even, he could barely remember overtaking Hamilton, fighting his way to P9, and grabbing as many points as he could have in his situation. He could do it.

The race ended in a flurry of applause, some of them surprisingly directed at him. Oscar tried to get out of his car as fast as he could but under the special circumstances of his race, he knew getting past the journalists and commentators was going to be almost impossible. And it was, because as soon as he put a foot on paddock ground, he was swarmed by microphones, cameras, and flashing lights, waiting for every tear to turn into a headline that people would twist and shape.

A few hours passed by the time he was finally able to reach his family. After the regular hugs and reassurances, one of the first things his mom said was: “That’s too bad you just missed Y/N, she had to go back. I wish she could have stayed, she always knows what to say to you,” with motherly little taps on the cheek.

Oscar felt a hole opening in his chest. “She left?” He asked, trying to muster as much nonchalance as he could. 

It wasn’t very efficient, as Nicole gave him the kind of look you’d give to a kicked puppy. “Yeah, she did.” Quickly, she added, “She didn’t go back to her hotel, though. I asked to drop her off and she refused, saying she had somewhere to be.”

It was as vague as it could possibly get, maybe because you didn’t want Oscar to seek you out. But he needed to, he had to get it off his chest before your relationship could worsen ─ and he couldn’t do that by text or calls, for the little you exchanged over the past year. He had to know if the little gap you almost crossed on that front porch meant something and could have been something if he hadn’t fucked it up. If it was too late for it to become something now. And knowing you, you’d be gone by tomorrow morning.

Oscar dashed. 

He got into his car, drove too fast under the intensifying rain. There was no time to waste for him. What he was thinking about was a long shot, an extremely long one for a non-wishful thinker, but if today put you in the same state as him ─ there was a chance, a small one, that you’d be there. 

When he pulled into your childhood neighborhood, his drenched windshield made the road and its surroundings almost indiscernible. But right before the little street leading to both of your houses, he passed by that old, worn-down playground that somehow stood against the test of time, with its rusted swing set and old dirt roads. But his breath didn’t catch on that, no.

It caught on you, sitting on the lower branches of the tree you spied him on at eight.

Oscar had never parked so hastily. He never ran so fast, soaking the McLaren hoodie he put on in a rush before going out. His hair stuck to his forehead and when he reached the dry soil underneath the tree you were hiding on. Arms around yourself, staring in the empty, like you were holding yourself together.

He hesitated momentarily, and all the fears plaguing his mind the past years came rushing back. What if it was too late? What if all he’d get was a final goodbye?

Then you turned, and your gaze found his in the settling dark. All doubts vanished at the same moment ─ he’d rather regret saying too much and grasp at the chance of something than live the rest of his life in silence, drowning in the regrets of saying nothing at all.

“Y/N,” he called, a little strangled, arms dangling at his side.

“Oscar?” You frowned, jumping the small distance separating you from the ground. “What-? How’d you know─?”

“I… guessed.”

“Oh.”

Silence. The incessant rhythm of the rain filled the space as you both stared each other down. Waiting. What was he supposed to say now? “So… uh. How are you?”

Your eyes widened, and a scoff escaped you. “How am─?” You crossed your arms on your chest, staring at Oscar like he had grown a second head ─ and maybe he had, because he couldn’t even try to think straight. “I’m good, Oscar. Great. How was the race?”

“It was─” He stopped, swallowed. It felt plastic, strange ─ the distance, the iciness. Both of you knew you weren’t really inquiring about the race, you knew him better than anyone and probably guessed how it felt already, and he wasn’t really inquiring about you.

It was the first time you saw each other after last year, and everything felt more real. Heavy.

“Did you forget how to talk, Osc’?”

Osc’. You haven't called him that in a long time.

A nervous chuckle escaped him. You were so far and so close at the same time, hair frizzy from the dampness, knees scratched from your recent climb ─ he missed you, you were right there and he still missed you, because you were slowly slipping through his fingers. The last bit of his resolve crumbled.

“Y/N, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

Oscar never showed too much emotion. But here he was, drenched by the rainfall, eyes open and raw. And you didn't know what to do with that. You shifted on your feet. “For what?”

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his damp hair, frustration bleeding into the gesture. “You know what for.”

“That’s not enough. Not anymore.” Your voice was laced with barely contained emotions, strangling you.

He knew. Oscar stepped forward tentatively, just once. Enough to make you look up at him, and he held your gaze even as it twisted with the kind of hurt he never wanted to be responsible for, but had to be faced with. Because he had. And he had to own up to it ─ so everything spilled out.

“I fucked up, last year. Big time.” His voice cracked. He couldn’t care less. “And I know- shit, I know I’m probably too late. I should’ve said something back then, but I didn’t know how or what or why.”

“I was scared. Not just of ruining things, even though it was a part of it, but of─ of what it meant. I didn’t understand, Y/N. I didn’t get why you were the first person I looked for in a room, why I felt so goddamn lost when I moved out and you weren’t there anymore, why seeing you living your own life without me was─ I don’t know, I guess I’m selfish or something.” His throat burned. “And that night─ here, last year─ I should’ve known. Fuck, I think I knew long before then but I was just so blind. When I asked you to come with me, and we─ I should’ve known why. I did. I just─ I didn’t want to mess it up. I didn’t want to lose you.”

Oscar let out a short, breathless laugh, shaking his head. “But I did anyway. I messed it all up because I couldn’t make up my mind, and I don’t blame you if you don’t─ if you can’t─”

He couldn’t finish the sentence.

The rain pattered against the dirt and the surrounding pavement, unrelenting, like both of your heartbeats. Oscar’s fingers twitched, aching to reach for you ─ but he wouldn’t do it. Not unless you let him.

Finally, you spoke. “You’re the biggest idiot I met in my entire life, Osc’. You’re so stupid.”

Your voice was teary, but you didn’t cry. You weren’t angry. You weren’t turning away. You simply stared at him, lips parted ─ barely smiling, but it was there.

Oscar blinked rapidly, taken aback. “I know,” he admitted, his voice a whisper, “but I love you.”

There it was. After fifteen years, there it was: the plain truth, out in the open for you to see. What he spent his time running from, what he should have told you so long ago.

You didn’t react. Your eyes widened, a sharp inhale went through your mouth and you stared, frozen in place. Oscar panicked. “I understand if you don’t─ I mean, after everything, I get it if─ Or, or maybe I misread, but─”

“Say it again.”

Your voice was authoritative. Hopeful. And this time, a tear slid down your cheek. His heart skipped a bit. “I love you.”

And Oscar Piastri is twenty-three when he kisses you for the first time.

Your hands grabbed the hood of his sweatshirt, pulling him to you. The crash of your lips against his was sudden, but it didn’t take Oscar long to find a rhythm ─ not when it made so much sense, not when it felt so right. Finally.

A shudder rippled through him, something snapping back into place. It was messy, desperate ─ years of missed chances spilling out at once. You exhaled against his mouth and Oscar felt it everywhere, in the way his fingers trembled when he cupped your cheeks, how his knees almost buckled when you got closer, in the way his world narrowed down to just you. His mouth against yours. Fuck.

You pulled away, just for a second. “Osc─”

“Not yet,” he rasped. And he captured your lips a second time, choking out any other words.

How had he gone so long without this? Without knowing what it was like to have you like this?

He tilted his head, deepening the kiss, his tongue slipping past your lips. Desire, want, love, all of it blurred in the way his fingers wove into your hair, when he slowly brought them down to your waist, pulling you against him, hungry, greedy.

If he wanted you to come with him so badly the past few years wasn’t because he needed you at his side ─ he still did, but that wasn’t the gist of it. Now that you were falling apart against his lips, hands making a mess of his rain-drenched hair, he knew he had wanted you next to him because he wasn’t allowing himself to have you. He had wanted you in his chest, curled beneath his ribs, a part of him so irrevocably that no miles, no years, no silence could ever pull you away.

And now, he had you. Shit, if that wasn’t like ascending to heaven felt like, he didn’t know what would.

You put a hand on his chest, slowly, and when you separated Oscar found himself longing for more, for every instance he passed on. Yet, the wide smile on your face stopped him ─ because you looked perfect like this, bright and open, taking up space. That’s why he fell in love with you.

“I love you too. So much,” you said, and the words softly blossomed in Oscar’s chest like spring. He dropped his forehead against yours.

“Me too. I love you. You don’t even know,” he breathed out, his lips slowly dropping a kiss on your forehead. “It feels so good to say it. To know.”

You grabbed the string of his hoodies, toying with them as you’d usually do, but every single one of your actions sent another wave of heat in Oscar’s neck when he remembered what you tasted like. “You could’ve felt good about it earlier, y’know.”

He arched a teasing eyebrow at you and you giggled. “I’m sorry, but the realizing-i’m-in-love-with-my-childhood-best-friend didn’t really come with an instruction material. The confession either.”

“You were pretty dramatic, true, with the rain and the running,” you laughed. “It was gonna be pretty easy for me last year, honestly. Until you bailed.”

Oscar groaned, and his head dropped on your shoulder. “I’m never gonna hear the end of this, am I?”

“Oh yeah, you’re in for a long ride, Piastri.” A long ride. That sounded amazing.

Realization hit him at full force, harder than a crash. “Wait, what do you mean last year?”

Your hand went up, wiping a raindrop dripping down his cheek, and the look you gave him was overflowing with fondness. “I mean that before you tried to kiss me, that night, I would’ve told you I’ve been in love with you ever since I started spying on you at the playground.”

“You…?” Oscar’s mouth dropped open. Had he really been that blind? How many signs had he missed, exactly? “How─”

You kissed him. A quick, hard peck on the lips, but that was enough to shut him up and get him to melt against you once more. “Let’s not talk about it here. I’m cold, and I think it’s the type of discussion that’s too long to have outside,” you said, slipping your hand in his. “My mom would love to make us coffee, if you want.”

Oscar sighed at the familiar feeling, fingers tangling with yours in a well-known pattern. He missed the both of you, and now he got to have it in a better way. “You’re sure? I’d love to, but is your mom─”

“Don’t even worry. She’s been calling me Mrs. Piastri for years now, I think the news will move her to tears.”

So you runned back to the porch of your house where you’d sat years ago, drenched in the deluge but happier than you’ve ever been. Oscar loved you, he knew now. And you loved him back, it was worth the rain, the missed opportunities, the hesitation and the heart wrenching confessions that will follow as you sit down.

You were worth the vulnerability, Oscar thought when you crossed the threshold. You were worth everything.

A year later, Oscar is standing in pole position for the Australian Grand Prix of 2026.

Qualifications went great, keeping the fastest lap position for all rounds. He was confident in his capacity ─ last year had tested his patience and goodwill, but he only came out stronger, more resilient.

The home race curse was a popular saying in Formula One, and sadly he fell victim to it ever since he put his feet in a McLaren in 2023. He had hoped to win the Melbourne race, to bring back the trophy under the cheers of his home crowd and the screams of his family ─ but this year wasn’t for hoping: if there was one thing you taught him, it is that hoping never achieved anything. Actions did. And he was going to win the Australian Grand Prix.

You were standing in your usual spot, orange headphones on, all in smiles and shouts. Hattie next to you playfully shoved an elbow in your ribs to get you to quiet down, which only made you louder. Oscar was persuaded he could hear you above the sound of his race engineer. Or maybe he didn’t. Maybe the thought of you swirled around every mechanism of his car like it always did.

Today marked one year since you and Oscar got together. Since the kiss, the realization, the heartfelt confessions above a steaming cup of gingerbread coffee in the middle of summer because your mom affirmed it was a big occasion before leaving the two of you alone. And the fifteen years it took for you to finally get to that point were a painful obstacle of unsaid and what ifs, taking a few months to finally get out of the way, and plenty of awkward conversations ─ but how beautiful was the other side of it.

Devotion and love, gentle and kind. The impulsive dates, the good morning kisses when Oscar had enough time to come and visit, his hand resting comfortably on your lower back, “Oscar Piastri’s partner” on the screen when the camera was pointing at you during races, the weekend getaways.

Oscar noticed the large, varsity top hung on you, a bright orange with the large number 81 written in white. Just underneath, the words Mrs. Piastri were written in a similar font. You had it custom-made a few months into the relationship, simply because the comment about your mother the day he kissed you became a regular inside joke between the two of you.

It made Oscar’s heart flutter every time you wore it.

He observed the red lights above him, flickering out one by one. He thought about it: how the fifteen years of being apart made every day spent with you seem like too little, how he couldn’t get enough of you and how he didn’t want to.

Suddenly, Oscar couldn’t wait for the race to end. Because he was going to keep his P1 with his skills and the speed of his car, and brandish the trophy high on the podium for the country who raised him. Because after, he will rush out in your arms and kiss you until the air in his body runs out. Because he had a girl to get, and plans to make.

Because even though it was only a year spent together, Oscar Piastri is twenty-four when he decides he wants to marry you, and he was not about to wait fifteen more years to make it happen.

©DRGNSFLY 2k25 ─ do not copy, steal, post somewhere else or translate my work without my permission.

[arciam]

Deep Dive:

Jayce vs. Romance

(Or, Part 7½ of the "Underrated JayVik" meta series.)

I did say all the way back in part 7 that I might write a separate post about my perception of Jayce when it comes to romantic relationships, so that's what this is.

Obviously, this character-read is very informed by the notion of JayVik being a thing - because, y'know, so is my read of the show - so to start with, we'll have to take the following things for granted for the sake of argument:

Jayce is not straight (I'm not opposed to the idea of a cosmic love which transcends gender, I just don't think it has to be "only" that - we can have both you know)

Jayce's feelings for Viktor, at least by the end of the show, are romantic in nature and Jayce is aware of it (how him and those feelings get there is one topic of this meta)

I will extrapolate a lot from how Jayce behaves in his relationship with Mel, seeing as there are very limited points of reference otherwise

All of this is a personal hypothesis, not a claim to truth

And, if at any point you get the impression I'm talking about a character who might be on the spectrum here, I'm not saying that, but I'm not not saying that iykyk

Now, with all that out of the way:

1. Let me first tell you the story of a nerdy kid

Born into a lower House of toolmakers in the elite part of the city, this young man attends the prestigious academy as - essentially - "the poorest rich kid", where his only friend just might be the teenage daughter of his high-society patrons (who, by the way, are the only other people he will think to turn to outside of his family before deciding to end his life).

He's both a handy and a cerebral guy who has spent most of his life in single-minded pursuit of an outlandish (and also... quite illegal) idea. Everything in his life revolves around it; he hangs tapestries of magicians on his walls and fills his windowsill with interesting crystals he found. He travels to deserts and conducts covert research with dubious equipment, all in hopes of making his singular dream a reality.

So, if his lower status or the weird vibes of his hyperfixation didn't make him a loner, then the necessary secrecy surrounding his special interest certainly would.

(...At the same time, however, he just so happens to also be tall, built, conventionally attractive and carry himself with confidence - so when we as the audience first meet him, we kinda assume that he would be a popular person who has it all, though only because we're conditioned to assume so of people who, well, are like that. Also, the show does a clever thing by first introducing him to us bantering with a pretty girl who appears impressed by him, before we learn of their sibling-like relationship.)

Now, why do I say all of this when it has nothing much to do with romance?

Because this is the boy Jayce never stopped seeing in himself.

A nerd always tinkering away on his model railways in the basement by himself, essentially. He doesn't lack self-esteem necessarily; he is comfortable with who he is and confident in his cause, but he does rather see himself as the odd one out.

Even as the show goes on, despite his charm, his looks, his eloquence and talent for public speaking, I don't feel like Jayce ever truly realises the power and the appeal of him. He knows it tends to "work" whenever he takes the floor (and he is absolutely thrilled with the positive response), but I feel like it's a skill he steps into like a pair of dress shoes, more so than something he views as an innate part of who he is.

2. Boy meets girl - and boy (in one night!)

✨Pop quiz!✨

What happens when the guy who considers himself the least eligible bachelor in the room meets the two - in his eyes - coolest, sharpest, most capable and most admirable people he's ever seen?

(Or more importantly, when those same people express an interest in him and the singular thing his whole life revolves around?)

Well, essentially this:

Sorry, wrong image.

This:

This leads me to headcanon #1 regarding Jayce's relationships with other people:

Anytime any person Jayce looks up to tells him he's a good boy so much as gives him the time of day, he is thrilled.

3. So about that windfall...

Irrespective of all of what I just said though, Jayce also strikes me as a guy who... while definitely not uninterested in having a romantic relationship, doesn't ever actively go for people in a romantic way (or physical, for that matter).

And y'know, case in point is really just how my girl did all of that

yet not only is Mel still required to close the entire gap all by herself in the end, but even in moments where Jayce might recognise her flirtation, you just never see any gears turning in his head like "maybe I should do something about this".

(I remember actually laughing out loud when in episode 4, Mel sways her hips at Jayce asking "To what do I owe the pleasure~?", and for a moment, as Jayce hesitates, I obviously assumed he would pick up on the suggestiveness in some way - if only as recognition on his face -, only for him to go "It's Heimerdinger..." Like, literally the least sexy thing to possibly say in that moment. 😂)

This is why I previously described Jayce as a guy to just kind of... roll with the punches in situations like that.

Though less flatteringly, in conversation I have also likened him to the specific breed of man in real life who "seem content to let themselves be picked up like windfall" - not particularly choosey about who gets to do so and instead opting mostly for the path of least resistance, romance-wise.

Which brings us to headcanon #2:

Jayce - while a highly emotional person who is not afraid to show it - doesn't tend to consciously concern himself with and think about his feelings, what they mean, or where his romantic interests lie, really. He's mostly just along for the ride.

4. By God it's Mel Medarda with a steel chair..!

Now, what do you get when you combine these factors into one character?

Well in this specific case, you get Jayce Talis who - when one of the most capable and admirable people he knows decides, for some reason, that she wants a piece of him - is more than happy to oblige and be with an amazing person. He's just thrilled to be there, basically.

Congrats, Mel - you've managed to push through Jayce's complete lack of response to your advances and unlocked his rare "love-starved boyfriend" skin as a reward!

...So what about Viktor, then?

Well.

He didn't.

As I mentioned in the original post as well, my personal JayVik pet theory is such that "if at any point during their partnership Viktor had made a move first, I do believe Jayce would have put up the equal amount of resistance he did with Mel, so... zero."

(And when I say "move" I mean MOVE - again, nothing short of a smacker or outright love confession would have been enough to spark Jayce into action yet at that point.)

If we're taking the idea that Jayce is "not straight" for granted (which we are), then looking at both Mel and Viktor through Jayce's eyes, I honestly don't believe Mel ever had that much over Viktor in terms of being a viable romantic option - other than the simple fact that she is the one who claimed that spot.

Or, as @glassvines wrote in response to the original post: "Viktor had all the cards...but none of the confidence".

5. Now go sit in the corner and think about what you've done

So yeah, that's tragic and all, but then how do we get to this point?

"Now, all I want... is you."

(Oh hush, don't pretend this is not what that line actually means.)

Point being, if Jayce - while he might not have refused Viktor and may have been equally happy to "oblige" - never consciously considered his own desires and wouldn't have actively pursued a relationship not explicitly handed to him... then what happened for him to end up here, dishing out banger after banger of quotable love confessions which contain the clear message of "I have made my choice, and it's you"?

...Well, in a way I sorta gave it away with the very first image of this post, didn't I.

Oh, what a timeout in the naughty corner can do to set a guy's priorities straight...

With Jayce spending weeks in stark isolation at the bottom of a ravine in the most extreme allegory of "getting locked in a room with someone until you talk it out" (except the guy you're locked in with is you), this proves to be an absolutely crucial time of introspection for him in a multitude of ways.

It's where he faces the wrong turns he took, realises that Heimerdinger was always right about the Arcane's corruption, and recognises the ways in which Mel had used and manipulated him.

It's also where he finally realises what - who - was most important to him all along, and in what way.

(The first three, you can glean from the voice lines played over the scene by the way, in case you're wondering.

So is that last bit just me making stuff up, then? No - it's an interpretation for sure, but not a fabrication. See, the shot of Mel's image burning away before Jayce and giving way to Viktor's instead is not only interesting for drawing yet another parallel between them, but also for being a shot that is otherwise out of place with the voice lines. For instance, there are several lines from Heimerdinger, yet Jayce doesn't envision him; there are none from Viktor - a striking absence in and of itself -, yet he does appear.

If nothing else, what this tells us is that this shot is - mostly - detached from Jayce's other epiphanies that I specified above. At which point, if you then take the shot by itself and purely at face value, it does become a... surprisingly candid symbolism really, if you ask me.)

To be clear though: The preference was always there.

After all, Jayce had previously already recognised that his place had always been with Viktor. Also he did dip out of Mel's bed to go see Viktor before he could have even known Viktor was sick that one time, so...

He just hadn't really thought about what that meant.

But lo and behold, it only took a stint in boyfailure jail for Jayce to consciously come to the realisation of not only that, but also that he is, in fact, not content to be windfall about whom he pledges his love and loyalty to anymore.

He wants to close the gap this time.

And to think: all of that even before he learned that Viktor was also the cause of his lifelong special interest in the first place like whaaaat. Imagine the day he must be having...

Jokes aside though; obviously, there is something to be said about Jayce meeting mage!Viktor and finally understanding - as I pointed out in part 13 - just how much Viktor truly needs him, and this perhaps being the final piece of the puzzle for Jayce to realise his priorities as well.

It would have made this post even longer though, and not even added very much, since I do believe multiple things can be true at once here.

Part 1/2/3/4/5/6/7/7½/8/9/10/11/12/13/14/15/16/17

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[softbyspoiled]

Okay so this post is going to be a little all over the place so bear with me. When I started this blog, it was with my feeder so I could start dipping my toes into the world of feederism & see how I liked it.

I was very open from the jump, and it wasn’t only the sexual intimacy my partner and I unlocked through it- but also using it as a means of catharsis. I’ve struggled with body dysmorphia, restrictive eating, and obsessive thoughts for a long, long time- and this has truly shifted how I view and appreciate my body.

It’s become a safe space to spill my guts just as much as I fill them up (lol.)

I’m alone right now, physically and emotionally it feels. I’ve run into a karmic loop, and it’s hard because I know the journey ahead is going to be tedious, sad, brutal, lonely at times… but the trade off of thisdiscomfort could be a catalyst for some major growth.

The thing is, is I’ve already gone through a lot of growing pains. And I mean LOT’s ya’ll- my record is 😮‍💨 embarrassing… and pretty jarring. But I look at how I seemingly landed on my feet time and time again… And all those times, counting my lucky stars, comparing myself to a cat with 9 lives.. how about instead of taking it as blessing of invincibility, what if I actually thanked the divine order with action, and redirection? And did it when I was down bad, with nothing to lose but everything to gain…?

Theres a part of myself that’s convinced that there’s a very bad person inside of me who needs to be kicked down, and murdered. Because I am an alcoholic there feels like there’s an intense duality of character. I feel like I need to shut her (the alcoholic) the fuck up. But the duality of “that” version of me isn’t so distinct. That is very much just me. And because I want to get rid of her so bad- she comes back at me full swing. She wants all the attention from me, and when no attention is paid she will do whatever it takes to get it back to her.

I said I would take my time and get to know her, and I never did. And now I’m forcing myself to sit with these parts of myself that I never had to before because I always reached for validation from everyone but myself. My friend said it to me simply today, and it boils down to this, a part of me just hates myself THAT much. And people always want to groan on about self love and its importance, but let me tell you… it’s important. You stunt yourself, and the lack of self love will come across as only lack of love and consideration for others because a part of you is always at war within.

And SO! Idk what my journey on here is going to look like. Quite honestly. My feeder and I are not together, and the stuffing, loving, intimate connection part of this kink has sort of left my life. And coming on here is something I guess I’ve held onto.

But I cherish the unconditional love I see on here. I love being able to speak freely, and somewhat anonymously I guess… and this kink is very much real for everyone here but I know at the end of the day we’re all also humans so maybe some of this other stuff I’m rambling about resonates. (Maybe not, and if not I’m sorry I wish I had some good content I could pump your way.)

This is me post run, and pre dinner. I’m having like a noodle, beef stir fry thing.😋 And I know in about 2/3 hours I’ll be scurrying into the kitchen for one of the donuts I brought home from work. (I HOPE! Because if I’m being honest, my appetite was actually good yesterday and the day before but is declining again as it pretty much has this whole month.)

Yikes IDK guys. I’m sad, but I’m not giving up. 🔐

[oddyseye]

In my entirely logical analysis (no need for philosophy majors, I've got this), Achilles tops.

In ancient Greek relationships, age often influenced who took on the role of the erastes (lover) and who played the eromenos (beloved). The erastes was generally older, more experienced, and expected to provide guidance, mentorship, and protection. The eromenos was younger, more vulnerable, and ideally a younger warrior or a youth in training.

Patroclus, being older than Achilles, would fit into the role of the erastes under typical circumstances. But here's the issue: Achilles is a hero of unparalleled divine nature. That complicates things! Achilles' divine status means he was seen as exceptional and almost untouchable by normal human standards. His godly heritage would put him at a level above normal mortal men, a fact that would elevate him in the eyes of anyone who interacted with him, including Patroclus. In this context, Patroclus may have been older, but Achilles' divine nature would have given him an inherent power that would allow him to be viewed as dominant in terms of prestige and influence, especially in their relationship.

Ancient Greek culture revered the concept of arete — virtue, excellence, and heroic prowess. Achilles, as the epitome of arete in war, held a position of extreme importance. The relationships between warriors were often framed in terms of honor, and the ability to gain glory on the battlefield was paramount. For warriors like Achilles and Patroclus, there were no real equals. Achilles stood above not just Patroclus, but anyone else because of his outstanding ability to gain glory in combat. When Patroclus takes Achilles' armor to fight the Trojans, it's an act of both bravery and imitation. Patroclus may be older, but it’s Achilles' glory and armor that he borrows. In battle, Achilles' supremacy is evident, and even Patroclus knows that by donning his armor, he's stepping into a role of shadowing Achilles, not taking the lead. Thus, even in their relationship, there is a metaphorical transfer of Achilles' glory and divinity to Patroclus, but it's clear that Achilles is the figurehead, even in the act of losing his place in battle.

And despite being older, Patroclus' main role in the Iliad (and in the mythological tradition as a whole) is that of the devoted friend, warrior, and protector (AKA babysitter) of Achilles. When Achilles refuses to fight in the Trojan War after Agamemnon insults him, Patroclus steps in, not as a leader, but as a substitute. He is there to hold the place until Achilles returns to fight, but he is never truly in the same league as Achilles. This role of "substitute" underscores the idea that even though Patroclus was older, he was ultimately not seen as equal in their relationship.

Achilles' response to Patroclus' death also shows us that Achilles is the driving force in their relationship. Patroclus' death leads to Achilles' return to the war, where his divine rage and superiority on the battlefield become the climactic moments of the Iliad. Achilles takes vengeance in a way that is deeply personal, emphasizing his higher status in their relationship.

Final Verdict?

Achilles = Erastes (active, dominant role)

Patroclus = Eromenos (beloved, passive role, but still deeply respected and valued).

So, yeah. Achilles was on top. Next question.

why is that our greatest philosophers were debating whether Achilles was on top or Patroclus

[self-loving-vampire]

I get that the standard answer to "why do people find smoking sexy even now?" is "because of a mass marketing campaign from over a century ago" but that answer doesn't fully satisfy my curiosity, specifically about the mechanisms of how something like that works.

I suspect part of what gets left out of conversations about that it is that a lot of people are terminally celebrity-brained and readily adopt whatever image famous Hollywood actors (pre-internet influencers) popularize.

But when you sincerely don't care about that the perception of smoking seems very different.

In my own case I am also pretty much a dog in human form and can't stand the smell, which persists even when someone isn't currently smoking. It sticks to clothes and hair and even their furniture.

And the whole "smoking is edgy and rebellious" thing falls apart when you know how manufactured and arbitrary it is.

That part, by itself, is not automatically a dealbreaker. For example, I think chest sarashi looks really cool even though it's literally just a piece of cloth with no inherent "cool" qualities but a few cultural associations that tie it to some of my kinks.

But smoking has very different associations for me than I imagine it does for the type of person who finds it attractive.

It is also such a mainstream and popular symbol for "tough and rebellious" characters that it kind of ceases to be edgy to me. I don't assume smokers are cool rebels. I assume they are people who were influenced by celebrities, Hollywood, or peers to see smoking as cool and rebellious even at the cost of their health. A complete 180 into extreme conformism and submission to normative influence.

Smoking is "cool" because tobacco companies sank a ton of money into mainstreaming and popularizing it through conventionally-attractive celebrities and the like, so buying into their framing completely is not edgy. The image of smoking is too deliberate, too artificial, and too big.

A more sincerely rebellious person, in my view, would instead adopt aesthetics that they personally find cool but that normal society may instead see as cringe or ridiculous.

In other words, those fat, katana-wielding men wearing fedoras and criticizing religion that people used to make fun of have a more rebellious and independent spirit than a smoker does, to me.

[howlsofbloodhounds]

so... you know how a lot of the fandom depicts killer hating fell? why do you think that is? (as in, why would killer hate fell in the first place)

From what I’ve seen, at least the reasons as to why some think Killer would hate Fell, actually has a lot less to do with Fell as an individual and a lot more to do with Underfell as a whole.

If I recall, the first time I saw this idea put forward was by the author of the fanfic For the Forgotten Ones, although there might’ve been earlier ideas I’ve yet to see. I’m not well versed on Underfell canon at this moment, so this will just be based on what I’ve heard about the AU.

It seems to boil down to the concept that Killer finds them all weak and pathetic more often than not. He thinks they don’t actually hold up their “kill or be killed” ideals.

And that if it came down to it, most of them are too “weak” to do what he believes is necessary to achieve goals and desires. Or simply just to survive.

Killer is depicted as viewing a lot of the residents of Underfell as something like frauds. All bark and no bite, words and no actions. They say things and don’t actually do things, don’t actually believe it.

They’re just small scared dogs trying so hard to make themselves appear angry, and to make that anger look like something strong enough to warrant being afraid of.

Especially if any of the residents of Underfell attempt to both judge and moralize the things that Killer says and does via working “with” Nightmare. Even more so if they attempt to make themselves out to be above Killer.

I don’t think Killer would hate Fell, or Underfell. Or at least he wouldn’t say it in words.

Briefly ignoring that one ship art rahafwabas drew of killer and fell where killer seemed to take a more dominating position in the drawing, killer (at least when in Stage 2), seems to avoid using strong or emotionally charged words like “hate” or “love.” It’s always, “I kinda like..” and “I kinda miss..” and “I will make you suffer.”

The only times he’s been absolute about similar things is when he said “I dislike everything” and “I don’t eat.”

So even if Killer does hate Fell and/or Underfell, I doubt he’d use a strong word or such an emotionally self aware word such as “hate.”

At his worse, he’d probably want Fell to suffer and feel weak. For Fell to realize this truth too, and to understand what he deserves for being weak.

Perhaps, if he finds Fell curious and fascinating, he’d be interested if seeing if Fell could learn to be “stronger.” Perhaps he wants to test Fell, to see if he can understand what “kill or be killed” means in Killer’s world.

Or perhaps he’d look down on him even more for trying to compare himself to Killer, similar to the way Killer threatened to kill Swap for the comparing.

A thing about Killer in Stage 2 is that he does seem to view himself as superior in a way, above others.

And he often doesn’t feel or show remorse or guilt much of what he does or says to others outside of Papyrus—and is shown to be willing to say whatever he thinks he has to avoid drudging up those emotions, to become more aware.

(Not to say he finds pleasure or joy from it (not if he doesn’t believe someone has somehow done something to deserve it), but in that he is indifferent at least, fascinated/curious/confused at most.)

To avoid Stage 1–because that is a version of himself he views as both weak and dangerous. Possibly even the remains of a thing that should be dead already.

Someone confronts him that he can never change, can never be a good person after all the monsters he’s killed, and yet his only response is “It’s not my fault they are weak.”

And sure enough, very first time he killed Papyrus, he calls him weak.

And yet even in the present, all this time has passed and he has killed Papyrus in a multitude of ways multiple times, he still feels sick when he remembers what he did and said to Papyrus.

He says he’s fine, he can kill Papyrus with a smile, and yet he’s still said to be his hardest enemy. (Even Killer himself seems deeply confused and disturbed by these contradicting beliefs, emotions. It causes him significant distress and dissociation.)

So in a scenario where Killer hates—or “dislikes”—Fell or the residents of Underfell, perhaps it’s moreso because the kinder versions of them are just reminders that he hasn’t yet shed himself of what he perceives as his own weaknesses.

(And perhaps his awareness of the possibility that, in doing so, he’d be risking losing himself (losing control) completely into Stage 4. There’d be no coming back for him. No more hope.)

Fell and Underfell’s residents can at least be interpreted as having grown up like that, they don’t know any other way of life, but Killer wasn’t raised like that.

He wasn’t born and raised into this life—he was coerced and remade into it, kicking and screaming. And he started to believe that he wanted it, because the one who held his very self in their hands kept insisting he did.

That they knew what he wanted, what he needed, better then he did—all while they used that knife on him and kept one finger on that shiny Reset button, always.

So perhaps they’re reminders of a version of himself he does not wish to associate with or be reminded of, one he doesn’t want to risk allowing to the surface. Because he views it as dangerous, and impossible.

And weak.

[oscconfessions]

id really wish for the object show community to quit being hostile over fans/haters of a character, by this i mean when people say "i hate ___ fans," "i hate ___ haters," "dni if you love/hate___," etc. i believe it hinders our ability to get along as a community for a really unnecessary and trivial reason. ive never seen a true instance of in which someone liking/hating a character affects how you must view that person. we should value each other further than up to just our mere opinions on the characters because its a really dumb way we keep getting into conflicts and high-scale arguments.

literally, one of my best friends in the whole universe loves fries from bfdia, while i hate his guts (in that specific season, for clarification). she hates eggy, yet she is one of my favorites. yet we remain friends for years.

i understand that for many neurodivergent people (99% of the osc), its difficult to see past your interests and our interests is how we make friends with people in the first place. i get this, it affects me too. but we cannot keep letting our opinions make us hostile towards one another, especially since someone's opinion on a character is not a gauge of morality. its not. someone enjoying a character who is morrally wrong (or even grey), someone disliking a character who is actually an angel, i just dont get it..............

ooookay okay okay, unfortunately i  have to mention that the only and ONLY exception in my case is pin from bfdi, because we are the exact same person and being /gen. everythingg and anything, whether positive or negative, that is said about her anywhere applies to me as if the people are saying these things about me. so if someone were to refuse to understand pin, treat her harshly and insult her for being herself, all in front of me, well obviously my brain would register that person refusing to understand me and insulting me, so that is why it would be impossible for us to be friends, let alone on good terms. :[

(p.s.: as you would expect, yes my self-esteem skyrocketed after bfdia 18 came out to the point where i organized a very personally healing character analysis video essay on her, but the second i discovered what many others were saying about her my self-esteem plummeted way harder and i felt horrible for a long time. and if anyone mentions the first few minutes of tpot 16 my mind begins to spiral.)

that is it send ask 3/26/2025

.

[teabo]

1. Kintype?

My only confirmed kintypes are Polymorph, Canada lynx and void but I also have a lot of questioning kintypes

2. What do I prefer to call myself?

When referring to myself I usually use the term alterhuman or nonhuman unless I'm referring to a specific kintype then I may use a more specific label like therian otherkin fictionkin etc

3. How did I find out I was alterhuman?

I originally found out about the community and thought it was super cool so I started learning a lot about it. I never really thought much about if I was nonhuman until I discovered polymorphkins which just clicked with me a lot more than seeing any of the kintypes I've seen. Idk I was in denial for years until I got more into the Tumblr community where they told me to allow myself to experiment.

4. Favorite kintype?

Probably between being a polymorph and being a void

5. Most recent kintype?

Canada Lynx

6. Least favorite kintype?

One of my questioning kintypes which is a dinosaur / giant dinosaur-like reptilian

7. What are my reasonings for being alterhuman?

I don't really have an answer to that it's not something I can properly formulate into words

8. Do I wear gear?

I do not however I think it'd be cool if I did maybe I will in the future

9. Any advice to new alterhumans?

If you are like how I used to be and are constantly in denial that you could be alterhuman just let yourself experiment. Nothing ever has to be set in stone and if you discover you're not alterhuman then that's okay. The misconception is that alterhumanity is such a grand prominent life changing thing when it really isn't. For me alterhumanity is such an ordinary mundane thing that it barely impacts anything.

10. What are some things I do to affirm my kintypes?

When sitting down I lift my heels to give more of an animal-like appeal or when standing I lift one heel so it's both subtle and comfortable during phantom shifts, chewing on stuff, flexing my hands (idk how to explain it without showing), meditation, and probably more I'm not thinking of rn idk

11. What is the strangest thing I do to affirm my kintypes?

Dissociating enough that I can manipulate the feeling of my body whether that be to feel huge or small or feel like I'm just floating around while my body is laying down or staring off

12. What are my goals to affirm my kintypes?

Honestly I don't really have any big goals as of rn but I think what would really do a bit of help is to meditate more and to shift / astral project.

13. Do I do quads?

No I think my body would die if I tried XD

14. Funniest way I've found out a kintype?

Okay this is one that I'm still questioning but I began questioning Gregg from night in the woods after randomly getting a memory of flexing Infront of a mirror which was like wtf XDDD

15. How does being alterhuman affect my day to day life?

for me personally it really doesn't affect me unless I'm experiencing a phantom shift then I'm dying /hj

16. Does being alterhuman affect my religious beliefs?

For me yes and no. I don't think my part in being alterhuman affected it but I believe the discovery of many communities has broadened my mind to the possibilities and limitations of both spirituality and religion.

17. Do my own mental illnesses affect my view of my alterhumanness?

I definitely think my mental illnesses play a huge role in my view and in my alterhumanity as a whole but I also believe a lot of other things play a role as well.

18. Does being alterhuman affect my gender?

Not at all.

19. What is my favorite thing about being alterhuman?

It's like being an undercover cop and it makes life feel more fun like a video game or book. So you are telling me a computer, mountain dew, luke skywalker, France, and the concept of winter are all friends? (⁠´⁠⊙⁠ω⁠⊙⁠`⁠)⁠！

20. What is my least favorite part of being alterhuman?

cannot shapeshift -1 point not cool man

Alterhuman questions

Kintypes?

What do you prefer to call yourself (therian, otherkin, nonhuman, etc)

How did you find out you were alterhuman?

Favorite kintype?

Most recent kintype?

Least favorite kintype?

What are your reasonings for being alterhuman?

Do you wear gear? If so, what kind?

Any advice to new alterhumans?

What're some things you do to affirm your kintypes?

Strangest thing you do to affirm your kintypes?

What are your goals to affirm your kintypes?

Do you do quads?

Funniest way you found out a kintype?

How does being alterhuman affect your day to day life?

Does being alterhuman affect your religious beliefs?

Do your mental illnesses affect your view of your alterhumanness?

Does being alterhuman affect your gender?

What is your favorite thing about being alterhuman

What is your least favorite thing about being alterhuman

PS. I know not everyone resonates with the word kintype and I'm sorry for using it I just didn't know what other word to use

Reblogging this means that you want people to send you asks!

[impactrueno]

I saw an oldish post of yours where you mention something about the musicaljuice and musicalLyds dinamic after the musical, and it was a fair thing to wonder about cause, yeah, tf do you do after that? Not a particularly openended story, in any case here's my cup of tea.

no one rlly likes beetlejuice besides Lydia and well, not just the fun parts, he helped her develop and put her in a situation where Charles had to listen to her, basically indirectly solved her daddy issues lol, don't know if Lydia would rlly think about the latter though.

But thing is he isn't rlly the ideal friend, nothing rlly happened during the musical to demonstrate growth from beetlejuice or any kind of communication with the whole "leaving him" thing from Lydia's part, in Beetlejuice's head she still was gonna leave him, bro rlly has no object permanence ANYWAY so that, it's likely that similar stuff (maybe not the full blown marriage thing but yk, a lot of misunderstandings and things happening because hr has the separation anxiety of a two month old puppy)

It would take some character development for him to not think Lydia is gonna leave him forever as soon as she walks to a different room, and bringing up another thing you said, Lydia isn't exactly the best either, they were just using eachother to feel better but it wasn't rlly sustainable, but the difference is Lydia changed and Beetlejuice didn't, and most likely he won't, similar to your toonjuice comic where he is capable of caring and he can develop yes, but he isn't gonna change, there's just so much wrong with musicaljuice he can grow in his own Beetlejuice way, but in the end of the day he's still him.

weirdly enough,both toon and musicaljuice are the more "human" of the juices in a sense, or at least, the most emotionally vulnerable and even relatable to a level (more leaning towards musical in this point, I haven't really seen much of the cartoon) because at his core he wants to connect and feel loved, he kinda sucks at both of em tho which makes it hard for any dinamic he could be a part of to work 💔

So yeah that's my thoughts sorry for the mess of dispersed ideas and the long ass text.

-🌧

yeah musicaljuice is the definitely most "human" of the three. i feel like this is because musicals thrive on exploring characters' feelings and emotions, so we get to see a lot of that from him, and that helps the audience understand him better and relate to him to a degree you wouldn't usually see in the cartoon…much less in the movies lmao (even so i still find toonjuice the most relatable. me, personally.) bj's arc in the musical really hit home for a lot of people.

but i'm gonna have to disagree with you that bj didn't change or go through character development. at the beginning of the show, death means nothing to him. we all die. let's kill some people. it's whatever. but after the wedding ceremony where he came to life just to die a minute later, when he protects lydia from his mother, he shows that his view on life and death changed quite a bit after what he just went through. he saw that lydia's life was precious and would not let his mother take that away from her. note that in Say My Name, he's stopping her from jumping off the roof only because he needs her alive, since she's the only living person who can actually see him and therefore summon him. but after the wedding, he's very selflessly protecting her right to live. not just that, but he kills his own mother (the cause of all his emotional issues) in order to save lydia. that's HUGE. symbolic, too!!

he's the only one of the juices who actually went through a character arc and showed growth by the end of it. toonjuice is notoriously bad about this sort of thing lol. and moviejuice is…..question marks. what even is he. we just don't know.

the thing is we didn't get to see much of him after the events that changed him. the only interaction he has with lydia after that is their goodbye, which was very sweet and did a great job at showing that there are no hard feelings. but like…how different would their dynamic be after all that? because it was a pretty significant shift in character from him, which would probably affect how they get along with each other.

…OR WOULD IT….?

see, there's also the possibility that they would simply go back to how they were during That Beautiful Sound. just two fucked up friends having fun in ways that only make sense to them. although maybe his abandonment issues wouldn't be such a problem after doing the incredibly cathartic act of killing his mother lmao. or maybe lydia, now understanding him a lot better, would help him figure out how to deal with his issues (this is a big maybe because she doesn't come off as the type of person who would do that…that's more of a toonlyds thing.) perhaps maybe they would talk things out, she would probably tell him "i wasn't leaving you, stupid." bro was scheming against her while she was literally upstairs gushing to the maitlands about "her monster" lol but he didn't know that!! after the whole wedding stuff and meeting his mother i think lydia would go "oh now i get why he acted so weird."

it's all one big "maybe" because i think it could go either way with these two, and it all hinges on the direction you want to take them in. you mentioned bj isn't an ideal friend, and i guess you could try making him one?? but he doesn't have to be. i certainly wouldn't expect him to be the ideal best friend, not by any sane person's standards anyway. and that's the thing about them, they're both chaotic and messed up, and it's likely they would remain so even after the events of the musical because that's just the kind of people they are. not to mention the fact that you can't get rid of bj's emotional issues overnight. all of this, and they would still be inseparable because of the unique type of connection they have. there's these posts i saw the other day that i think encapsulate them pretty well lol

i would say that the one thing we know for sure is that he now has an undying loyalty towards her. she tricked him and then killed him, and yet he still went out of his way and faced his own personal demon to save her and showed gratitude for allowing him to be alive, even if it was just for a bit.

this dumbass though. instead of scheming against her, if he wanted to become alive so he could stop being invisible, he could've just told her that. considering how big of a weirdo she is, it's so easy to imagine her agreeing to the marriage thing just to make him alive, if he had brought it up in a less insane manner lmfao but then we would have no plot now would we

[princescribbler]

I Think I Have a Fetish For My Wife/Momma/Princess

I've always been a fetishist. It's something deep within me that doesn't ever really go away. I've ignored it for long periods (Looking at you, early college years!), I've dabbled in it, I've even reveled in and embraced it (That's now). When that happens, I've picked up and discarded a few different kinks and interests. There was a time where catheter play got me going, and the idea of a stent would've made me blush and squirm. If you asked me in the past if I'd ever even temporarily tolerate chastity, much less make it a frequent, daily thing for me? I'd have said it was highly unlikely, maybe even impossible to imagine. Now, it's just on days that end with Y.

Throughout that time, I've had a lot of fetishes, and kinks, I've dabbled, I've played, I've explored and embraced and tested out and attempted a whole lot. And there's been one very strong, very present constant.

Loss of control.

That's huge for me. It's integral, a part of my very identity that fills me up and makes me feel good about myself. I have zero good explanation for this; You might argue it's about the idea of being accepted with imperfections, you could try to view it through the Freudian lens (Don't: That dude was kinky AF, and assumed it was universal, not gonna work here) but however it works, you're going to come up short. There isn't a single clear explanation, it's just something I need!

Whatever the reason, it's consistent. I crave a loss of control, the ability to let go, be 'less' than my normal self, whether it's talking about ageplay, ABDL, or a hundred side-kinks and interests. And it's very, very hard to do that when you're not necessarily the most open, trusting personality.

Then along came Momma: She was patient with me, in a way most people probably wouldn't (or even shouldn't) be. When I said, "I want to go slow" she agreed to set the pace to glacial. When I sporadically tried to speed it up, or change the stakes, or alter the terms, or anything of the sort...she was fluid, and tried to move with me. She's been my rock, and my safety, and my favorite, most wonderful secure place. And as a result of that, I've developed a Momma Princess @giggle-byte fetish.

I mean that sincerely: See, if you take away my lovely lady, Momma? I don't want Chastity play. Chastity play without Momma means denial, frustration, etc. With Momma, it's teasing, lots of fun, plenty of 'fun', not feeling denied, and in fact feeling cared for, comforted, and loved.

Take away Momma, and diapers aren't my thing. With her? Sure, 24/7, I feel secure and whole and good! Without Momma? I mean, before her I was scared to leave the house padded, much less wear full time, discretely and constantly.

You can say the same thing for nearly any sort of fetish or kink. If I've got it, it's about 10000% more fun, safe, and explorable with Momma than if I didn't have her. She makes it alright to try new things, to explore, to grow and adapt and even, maybe, sometimes take a break from things. Whether it's something I need every day, every week, or just once every few months, I know my wife, my love, my better half will be there to make it a good thing. I'm incredibly, unbelievably, UNFATHOMABLY lucky to have this beautiful partner in life. And if you ever, ever get someone half as good? You hold on tight, because you're definitely going to end up developing some lovely, fun, and even sometimes WHOLESOME new kinks!

I love you, my darling. Thanks for giving me a Momma Princess fetish. ;) -Scribbler (Or "baby-prince-papi", as you might know me, sweetheart)

[captainjonnitkessler]

the main thing im struggling with in regards to AI art is if the person using AI can even call it their art. is the creator the person who put in the prompt(s)? is it the person who made the AI? is it all the artists that the AI created 0.01% of its patterns from? is it the AI itself? does the question even matter? i don't know if it's comparable to something like scrapbooking, moodboarding or interior design (see: using things You Didn't Make (magazine images, gifs, furniture) to then create your own art. the comparison just feels...off. there is a general understanding that scrapbookers/moodboarders/interior designers probably didn't create the things they're using, and people generally have a different view on it than say painting or drawing because of those differences in fundamentals. i understand that a lot of AI artists can take a lot of time, effort and skill into narrowing down prompts to get very unique and specific outputs but it feels more comparable to a commission to me. i do think there is an amount of creativity that goes into prompt-making, visualising the end product and figuring out how to get there, but i struggle to see where the line sits of "AI did this" vs "I used AI to do this". i also don't find generative AI to be very similar to other technology 'shortcuts' like digital art tools such as layering, blending and line stabilization -- generative AI is on a whole other level to that. i'd love to know your thoughts on this

I think AI generation is a tool that's the logical progression from a lot of already-existing digital art tools. We don't question whether a digital artist gets to call their work their own even though they couldn't have done it without the hundreds of people who program and maintain Photoshop and we don't question whether a traditional painter gets to call their work their own even though they didn't grind their own paints or build their own paintbrushes. For that matter, we don't call digital artists lazy hacks because they use a computer to generate colors instead of buying and mixing their own paints, because we understand it's a different medium that requires different skills - or at least, we don't anymore, because I'm pretty sure we went through all this same discourse when digital art started being a thing.

There's already plenty of art forms out there that rely on some level of randomness or automation - plenty of digital artists use custom brushes to do the grunt work of filling in foliage so they don't have to individually place every leaf, splatter artists let paint fall where it will instead of deliberately placing every dot, epoxy artists let physics and gravity pull resin across the canvas with relatively little human input. They're still artists, they're just using art styles and tools that don't rely on intention in every aspect of the art the way traditional artists might.

Overall I think if you say "sure, this person has an artistic vision they are trying to express with a tool that requires skill and practice to use effectively, but can we really call them an artist?" you're getting lost in the weeds. But I also think we've had this argument with every single advancement in art technology since we moved on from cave paintings, so I kind of wish we could just skip this one.

And because I think there's a disconnect here that people are getting tripped up on - am I saying that every person who throws a prompt into DALL-E is an artist? No, in the same way I don't call myself a photographer because I took a picture with my cellphone. But that doesn't mean the nature photographer who spends hours laboring over getting the perfect shot isn't an artist either, y'know?

[fujofriday]

the parts about ford’s character are very true but also i think the issue with people not taking the CANON abuse seriously is well… people don’t take abuse men go thru seriously. of course all victims have it hard, but in real life men victims never are really ever taken seriously, victims aren’t treated as victims because of toxic masculinity (masculinity as a whole really. ur a man and u got abused? how? ur a man and man = strong sooo jot that down) and how deeply rooted it is. that’s a whole topic and i won’t go into that but i think it relates here with him and similar characters. it’s easier to have a laugh or make a mockery of a character to people versus taking these sensitive topics seriously and that annoys me a lot LOL.

i’d also love to point out the whole redemption aus or things of that type also ERASES the kinda character bill is and what he does. he can’t be redeemed simply because he wouldn’t allow himself to do that. you think he, the same person who can’t even admit what he did to his home dimension, can say how much he fucked up to the person that got him the closest to his plans??? as well as his whole family?? that’s not even including the rest that got manipulated by him that failed to make the portal. that motherfucker is stubborn and won’t bend for anyone, but he’d expect ppl to do it for him because how he views himself. fanon can do so much and it’s fine to make characters a bit OOC for fun (hell ppl can do whatever they want at the end of the day, these are just my opinions), but when you completely rewrite characters for the sake of an au or story you might as well just call them different names. the characters lose kinda…. what makes them them. in my opinion :)

part of what i hate about billford (among many other things) is the way it assassinates everyone else's characters in the process. It's especially teue for post cannon, but it annoys me in general

A good chunk of Ford's arc is overcoming the abuse Bill put him through, regardless if you view their original relationship as romantic or not. Tbob only further cemented that arc For Ford.

The shame he feels at the idea of his family knowing the full extent of what happened, the relief he feels when they dont judge him, the guilt he feels at pretty much anything bill related, the "i found my happiness and it looks like this" page, the j3 page where he bonds with his family by burning all the old bill relics, having to overcome his trust issues, bill almost killing Ford's whole family and destroying the world, the torture he goes through in j3 and weirdmaggedon, etc

To throw all that away for "silly toxic yaoi. They just need couples therapy teehee" just cheapens everything! So many damn scenarios where Ford's forced to play nice and babysit his literal abuser played as romantic tension is gross! I get it's ppl just having fun or whatever, but it's such a reductive take on his character

And then of course you have the way everyone else gets rewritten to some make billford work. It's so ooc it might as wll be ocs.

Like, Mabel, for instance. She watched Bill posses her brother, try to kill him, hurt him, found the note Bill left saying he'd fake Dipper's suicide (ending the note with "wanna join him, shooting star?), was trapped in the bubble, etc. You think she of all people is gonna be making friendship bracelets with him and shipping him with her grunkle?????

Yes, she's a pretty forgiving person, but she's just as willing to hold a grudge. ESPECIALLY if you hurt her family!

The same applies to all the other characters. Why do they bend over backwards to be nice to bill? Why would they ever approve of Bill and Ford getting together??? It goes against everything they stand for and believe. Why do they suddenly stop caring about their family as soon as bill is involved??? When the show is aggressively about the importance of family????

It's like a worse version of gravity falls where everything is written around billford, and i just don't get the appeal.

[literary-motif]

(Some) Sakuverse Characters as Songs

These thoughts have been fermenting in my mind for a while. Originally I wanted to turn this into something similar to my Sakuverse Characters as Paintings-Post, but I lacked both the time and motivation. So have this drastically watered down version of my original idea instead.

Isaac Rhoades -- Heavy In Your Arms, Florence + The Machine

I think Isaac would view his love as a heavy love ("My love has concrete feet / My love's an iron ball"). He views himself that way, considering the emotional baggage he brings into the relationship. Also, musically these somber but strangely soft tones together with the vulnerability of the lyrics create an ensemble that reminds me of Isaac's character.

Alex -- Gold, Sir Sly

Perhaps my characterisation of Alex is a bit off here, given the way his series ended. However, his ambition is an integral part of his character in my eyes. His self-worth is tied to his accomplishments, which is why I settled on this angsty-melancholic song. "Pocket full of gold and I hope you find / I hope you find your dream / And darling, never settle, settle, settle / Chasing down the devil, devil / Chasing down the gods and I hope you find / I hope you find your dream // I got a million ways of losing / But nothing in my life worth proving / Chasing, all my time is wasted" is fitting for his character in this regard, comprising how his ambition both destroys him and is simultaneously what gives him, in his own eyes, meaning while also leaving him unfulfilled.

Zaros Atha'lin -- Bridges, ALIKA

I think this works on two levels. First of all Zaros' political ideas quite literally being a policy of bridges, to bring Serulla together and reduce the cliff between the nobles and the people. "Now I see myself / Building up a world of bridges" feels like his whole policy.

Second, I think the longing in this song, together with both the vulnerability it expresses both in the lyrics ("Realized that all the lies I've told myself have died / Bring me to the place / Where I belong / Filled with all the memories and dreams I have ignored // I remember all the things that I went through / All the lies and blurry lines and city lights I knew / Now I'm strong enough to see what lays inside / And I can feel it all") and in the instrumental, as well as the overall power it gains especially around the 2:41-mark reflect both his ambition and the conflicting emotions he has in regards to the Earis.

Dontis -- Man a Express, Mellow Mood

I just think he would like Reggae. This song I believe is about living life to the fullest and to embrace all the experiences it brings. It feels like a message that aligns with Dontis' personality and his views in general. "And yuh laugh and yuh cry and yuh smile ever more" especially is a line that reflects this, considering that Dontis has suffered greatly in his past but remains kind and positive throughout his long life.

Asirel Cain -- The Mephistopheles of Los Angeles, Marilyn Manson

Thought of this as a sort of title-track to my Asirel novella.

This is largely based on the ominous and empowering vibe of the song. But I also think that the motif of Mephistopheles is fitting for Asirel. "Lazarus has got no dirt on me / And I'll rise every danger // I was fated, faithful, fatal" I think characterises Asirel's tremendous power and the person it has inadvertently turned him into.

Alternatively Blood Sport by Sleep Token is also very Asirel-coded to me.

Elias -- Are You Ready?, Maneskin

This is very based on the vibes of this song. The deep notes during the first chorus ("Ride a benzo, get your bands up" 0:41-048) sound dangerous while the high notes during the second chorus (1:34-1:53) have something wistful about them. The combination suits both Elias role as Warden's son and heir-apparent for the Wraiths as well as his more vulnerable side, his trauma and the fact that this was a life that was thrust upon him and which at least part of him fundamentally resents.

Rowan -- Je Veux, ZAZ

The lighthearted, feel-good vibe of this song similarly states to live life according to ones wishes and not mind the opinions and expectations of others expressed in the lyrics. "Je veux d'l'amour, d'la joie, de la bonne humeur / C'n'est pas votre argent qui f'ra mon bonheur" feels like something that suits Rowan both in the way he views life and how he wants to live it.

Cevyk -- Call Me, Blondie

[insert joke about summoning a demon here]

I think this song has something unhinged about it, and that makes me think of Cevyk. "Call me my love / Call me, call me any, anytime" feels like something he'd say to Iqsus just to mess with them.

Niall -- What Difference Does It Make?, The Smiths

The whole song sounds melancholic to me, plagued by some distant ache that still hurts even though it has scarred over. "So what difference does it make? / It makes none" is the resignation that can be found in Niall at the beginning of his series. "But I'm still fond of you" is the paradox he finds himself in regarding SB and their relationship, both as being someone who hurt him in the past as well as the object of his affections in the present.

Xanthus Claiborne -- Prelude, Op. 28: No. 4 in E Minor, Frédéric Chopin

Xanthus, out of all the characters, is the only one I think suits a classical piece. He has an emotional complexity to him that I feel is best expressed without words. I think the mixture of quiet sadness, longing, despair and resignation this piece goes through as it progresses tells the story of Xanthus life fittingly.

Thanks for reading! Let me know your thoughts on this.

[0798f]

🎇 — Picnic.

RELATIONSHIP: Oikawa Toru x Reader

SUMMARY: Inspired by the beautiful weather, Oikawa wants to go on a picnic with you.

A/N: Day 5 of the Hanami event! I love writing Oikawa as absolutely obsessed and in love with his partner.

Toru

(Name)-chan!!!!!!!!! ♡♡♡ Let’s go on a picnic ♪(´▽｀)

(Name) couldn’t even finish reading the messages before Oikawa decided to call them instead. “Hi, Toru.”

“(Name)-chan~! I miss you!” They had just seen each other at school yesterday. “It’s cherry blossom season!”

He was stating the obvious again, but (Name) loved to listen. Their walk to school yesterday was in the midst of a cherry blossom hurricane, and while that was beautiful to look out, it was less beautiful when (Name) had to pick petals off their clothes. Instead of helping, or even shaking the cherry blossoms off his own person, Oikawa took a million photos of them. He giggled with delight, saying something about how adorable (Name) looked with cherry blossoms in their hair, until Iwaizumi arrived to smack him on the back of the head. Cherry blossom petals went flying.

“I know,” (Name) responded. Oikawa phone calls took about 3 hours on average, so they closed their textbook. No homework was going to get done while this conversation occurred. “It’s really pretty now that the wind died down. I ran some errands this morning and enjoyed the view.”

There was the sound of fabric rustling. (Name) could imagine Oikawa rolling around in his bed as they talked. “Exactly! The wind died down, so I think we should spend some time outside tomorrow. How about a picnic?”

Oikawa was sickeningly sweet when it came to romance. He always favored the cliche relationship experiences— stuff like ice-skating dates and sharing a drink with two straws. Things that (Name) never thought they’d like, but Oikawa made everything seem as special as it did in the movies. He was dedicated to making the perfect experiences and it didn’t matter if they were actually perfect or not. Oikawa was like a deer learning to walk when they tried ice skating and brought (Name) crashing to the ice multiple times. But they were laughing the whole time because Oikawa made it special.

He knew (Name) was listening so he continued. “The weather is gonna be amazing tomorrow! I was thinking we would go to the park by your house since there are some nice trees over there. My sister is baking cookies tonight so I can bring some!”

“Oh, this is perfect timing,” Oikawa heard (Name)’s smile. “I bought groceries earlier because I wanted to make fruit sandwiches for us.”

“Wahh, really?! This is destiny, (Name)-chan! Fruit sandos are the perfect picnic food!” Oikawa’s energy was infectious. (Name) had never been on a picnic before— it wasn’t exactly the type of thing people did on their own —but Oikawa would make it exciting. “I’ll bring cookies, drinks, and the blanket, and you bring fruit sandos and your gorgeous self! I’ll stop by your house at noon, is that okay?”

“That’s perfect, I’m excited.” A lull in the conversation made (Name) think. “… Do you dress up for picnics?”

There was silence from Oikawa initially. He was lucky (Name) couldn’t see him, because his face was flushed red as he imagined a whole fashion show worth of cute outfits (Name) could wear. His favorites included a cute sun hat and the charm bracelet he got them for their birthday last year. 

Oikawa blurted out, “you look beautiful all the time!” Which wasn’t an answer to (Name)’s question, so he continued, “but, we can dress up! We’ll look really cute together and we can take pictures!”

The mention of photos brought (Name)’s gaze to the picture frame on their desk. For the millions of photos Oikawa had taken in their years together, the photo (Name) decided to showcase was one of the first they ever took together. They were first years and little more baby-faced, and Oikawa’s eyes sparkled as he pulled (Name) close with an arm around their waist. (Name) was much more awkward, a wary smile and slightly furrowed brows, but their gaze was warm on Oikawa rather than the camera. He had asked a few times why (Name) chose that photo, and all they said was that it embodied their relationship.

“We always need more pictures,” (Name) laughed. “I’ll dress up. I need to finish my homework and make the sandwiches, so I gotta go for now. See you tomorrow, Toru.”

“Bye bye! Remember to take breaks!” Oikawa never hung up first, and after a short pause, he could still hear some shuffling on (Name)’s end. “(Name)-chan?”

(Name) tugged on their phone charm. “… Love you, have a good night.”

Oikawa rolled around in his bed so much he almost accidentally hung up. (Name) could vaguely hear a muffled squeal. “I love you too, so much!”

“(Name)-chaaan~!”

Sunlight filtered through the trees and (Name) had to squint to see Oikawa waving at them from further down the sidewalk. He wore a pink sweater vest over a pastel blue button up, no doubt trying to match colors with the cherry blossoms and afternoon sky. 

(Name) smiled, closing their front door behind them. “Perfect timing, Toru. You look very handsome.”

“Of course I have perfect timing! It’s my job,” Oikawa smirked, sparkling in the afternoon sun. But he was distracted by the dazzling sight of (Name) in their picnic date outfit: a light and airy ensemble to enjoy the warmer weather. Mentally, he gave himself a pat on the back for guessing they would wear that white sun hat he saw on the floor of their closet. “(Name)-chan, you look beautiful!”

He couldn’t help but close the distance and pull (Name) into a tight hug, but the large container they carried forced him to settle into a side hug. “Hmm,” Oikawa hummed. He squeezed their shoulders and pressed a chaste kiss to their temple. “Seems like a pretty big container for some fruit sandos…”

(Name) leaned into his touch and let out a dry laugh. “It’s a little more than the fruit sandos. I just got excited to make food… Let’s go set up so you can see.”

The park was a short walk from (Name)’s house, and Oikawa grabbed the container from their arms before they had the chance to protest. He tucked it under his arm, opposite from the tote bag of stuff he brought, just so he could hold (Name)’s hand on their way there. 

Oikawa guided them to a very specific spot in the park; a cherry blossom tree a bit away from the path that (Name) liked to relax by sometimes. It had a perfect view of the park that Oikawa capitalized on when he spread out the gingham patterned blanket that his mother would probably be looking for soon.

He leaned over (Name)’s container with sparkling eyes, bumping the top of his head against (Name)’s. “What did you make~? I’m so excited.” Oikawa wasn’t a terrible cook by any means, but he avoided it when possible so he only had his sister’s cookies to bring. Everyone else in his life was a much better cook and he loved to mooch delicious meals off of them— (Name) in particular. The love they put into every meal was unmatched.

(Name) laughed like sunshine and took the lid off the container. “Fruit sandos, of course. And…” They pulled out two small bento boxes next to the sandwiches, showing them off to Oikawa with a subtle smile. “Octopus sausage with fried rice.”

Oikawa was starving, and among all the food, he decided that (Name) and their beautiful smile was the perfect meal. The bento box nearly fell from their hand when Oikawa swooped in for a kiss, his arm steadying the back of their head. He couldn’t help but smile against their lips as he pulled them closer, layering kiss after kiss until (Name) managed to break away long enough to get some words out.

“…We haven’t even eaten yet,” they said, and it sounded like a complaint but their eyes, shining, still focused on Oikawa’s lips.

He hummed in agreement, yet pulled (Name) back in for another kiss. (Name) melted in his arms, kissing back with their own fervor. They liked to think of themself as cautious and hesitant, but Oikawa made it easy to indulge. 

He encouraged it, in fact, because it meant that the partner of his dreams would kiss him shyly until they were out of breath.

hanami event masterlist | masterlists

[slaaverin]

I wonder why most Jikookers think Jk loves Jimin more than Jimin do him when it’s clearly opposite. Maybe they are influenced by grant gestures JK does once in a blue moon while Jimin is consistently taking care and loving him.

One of the obvious example is 2 incidents in AYS. jk was riding motorcycle and Jimin was worried saying to be careful of cars but jK ignored him saying I’m good which Jimin said atleast reply with a ‘ok’. But Jk was thinking whether army will be worried about this and confimred he rides the vehicle carefully. See how he was completely tone deaf to Jimin’s worry ?

second is in the forest. Jimin asked him to go slowly and enjoy the view multiple times while Jk was rushing, clearly walking too fast and away from Jimin as if he was trekking alone with his cam. And Jimin subtly shaded him saying how immature it is as Jimin, when he was kid, used to fastly walk to finish first as he wanted to he’s good at it than his peers but now he take it slow enjoying the view.

JK is often unnecessarily praised to waiting for jimin when he does it once or twice but 90% time he just avoids Jimin who walks slowly.

I am tired of this discourse. Aren't you tired? I'm tired.

Can we stop this "Jk loves Jimin most" "Jimin loves JK most" For fuck's sake how hard is it to understand they are simply two different people who love in different ways? It doesn't mean they don't love each other just as strongly, simply that they show it differently. And it's FINE. Are we in kindergarten? Is this a competition?

The two example you picked. Please.

The first one. Of course he dismissed Jimin's worry. One, JK knows how to drive, it was not his first time riding a motorcycle. And secondly, have you never experienced a loved one in your life telling you to "please be careful" "please stay safe" "please bring a light jacket because you will be cold" and you just roll your eyes and say "yes yes I will" without thinking too much about it?

JK is a confident dude who thinks can take care of himself (and he can, as most people), so idk maybe he doesn't feel like pushing the fact he needs extra care from Jimin? (But I don't think he minds it either, just he's not gonna play victim or anything like when Jimin was talking about his cold)

I don't know is he so hard to read??? He never dismissed him in a harsh way? Just like "I know, but I'm a big boy don't worry" which is a perfectly acceptable reaction to have from anyone? Jk is a free spirit as he put it and it just shows. So what? Does it mean he loves Jimin less? Absolutely not, it doesn't mean anything in particular.

Can we stop changing perfectly normal interactions into some kind of twisted toxic ones?

Because you know most people wouldn't see any of this in a negative way. Yet you're making it negative. It talks more about you than about JK.

And for the second one.

Each person walks at their own pace. Jungkook is amused at Jimin's slowness and Jimin to justify himself (because everyone thinks their way of walking is the best way) tells this little story and they giggled and the whole thing was very cute and fun and just shows they are different and once again, so what?

Aren't you nitpicking and inventing stuff that doesn't even exist?

He doesn't "avoid" Jimin, he just walks as he wants to! And many times they're walking side by side. What even are we talking about here???

When I walk especially while traveling with people I walk always waaaay ahead of everyone and spend most of my time waiting for people. When I travel with my mom she's especially slow and I always make a fuss with how slow she walks and even make fun of her. Does this mean I don't like my mom? That I avoid her?

Common sense people, common sense please I beg you this ask is so ridiculous

Once again a perfect example of someone choosing very minute details and making a truth out of them without seeing the whole picture

Did you forget how JK took care of Jimin when he was sick? Even made a little stone tower and prayed for him? How he cooked for him several times, wanting to make the best carbonara possible, for Jimin? Did you forget how Jimin was down in Sapporo and JK was trying to cheer him up? How JK made Jimin giggle repeatedly? How many time he praised him, calling him pretty and encouraging him? How worried he was when Jimin got injured? How he was trying to help with music? How he shared his food?

JK said again and again how happy he was to be on these trips with Jimin.

If you didn't see any of this then I'm thinking you are willfully blind or just a 12 year old.

Nobody in their right mind would try to put jikook's love to each other into some kind of counting of points competition "he did more, no he did more" Are you hearing yourself? The only people making things weird here are you. There's nothing wrong with their own individual ways to show love because guess what? They are different people! Shocker I know.

If you can't take them both as they are and love them as they are without putting your own toxic views into it, then don't even bother.

And if you're a solo hating on the other, your fave would probably be ashamed of you.

I don't want to read this crap in my asks again for real. GROW UP.

Thanks