#Collab extensions

[pinkiexneomorph277]

https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/pinkiexneomorph277/750950564970545152

Extended the invite further other blogs i might of interacted once or twice with and fandoms , sorry if we talked before and i don’t remember or if we have talked before and YOU don’t remember .

Plus some more friends i feel i accidentally left out

XD , Just offering some fun.

@peachy-doodles , @adyflygonna , @blaiddraws , @bluebellowl , @nartothelar , @agdapl )

(Note ya don’t HAVE to reply or join if ya don’t feel like or feel weird to be randomly invited , this is just for funsies and nothing against you or anyone who don’t participate , this was just a random extension of blogs and friends i remember and if they don’t know me that’s fine i don’t expect ya too )

[mutedeclipse]

FULL EXTENSION!

Brains(ish), Brawn and the... One Who Leads. (Kinda Badly)

[fumifooms]

Benichidori is jirai kei

Benichidori's modern look is very iconic to the japanese alt fashion movement jirai kei! The archetype associated with it even fits her in interesting ways. Here's what and why

(The untranslated top part reads something like: "If their world was our modern world, Benichidori would have worn contacts and drawn tear troughs.)

The two most damning features are her very distinct makeup and pink & black hair combo! Incredibly iconic. The iconic jirai kei has a very specific look, being dressed in pink and black or some white, with casual chic type blouse and skirt, but the "subcul jirai", a somewhat debatable semantic, is used for the look of jirai kei that has become more neglected in its wider image with time, for example very commonly seen wearing a huge loose shirt like a dress. Baggy & loose, primarily dark with pastel embellishments is a way to sum it up. Something dark with an edge of innocent.

I'm gonna be quoting the aesthetics wiki because I think they put it better than I could. I also recommend the japanese fashion wiki for more info and visuals— Here I tried to pick references that are more subcul and less front and center, but for example Benichidori's exact hairstyle is common if you look around. "地雷系 is a subculture originating from Japan that is heavily based on the teens hanging out in the night life of Kabukichō (a red light district). During the height of its popularity it highly resembled Japanese Girly fashion, especially dark girly, but has since moved on to integrate a broader variety of styles. The stereotype behind this subculture is that cute, hyperfeminine young women who dress in darker fashion styles have personalities that do not match their appearance. Rather than being sweet and demure, they are said to be violent and obsessive (like a Yandere), and-"

I'll spare the gritty, more sensitive details, but yes the reputation of this style is based on very stigmatized negative assumptions of its wearers being emotionally unstable, with mood swings. Jirai in the first place means landmine, so the name associated to the fashion being "landmine" gives you an idea of the stereotypes associated with those who wear it, it's the same idea as with calling someone a ticking time bomb.

Which brings us to our girl! Very quiet yes, very demure, looks pretty and does her job in elegance and silence. Until…

Mood swings is right! For Benichidori analyses I have other posts, but it's clear Benichidori has her sensitive spots and anxiety spikes that can get her to lash out- canonically stated dysmorphia, black on white text on her profile, in fact.

So yes lots of dark and problematic roots with this movement, both in actual events surrounding it and the way they are treated for it. Needing money for a host addiction (Host clubs- Usually predatory industry where people grow an attachment to the escort they buy time with/for. I recommend the oneshot Kamiya by Tsubasa Yamaguchi that depicts this), gang affiliations, trafficking... And well, Benichidori does have experience with one of these.

But yeahh! I want people to draw more of modern Beni, basically. Love her. Give her attention. This could even be used as ship fodder. Hienbeni Benichidori yandere confirmed. Did you know? Modern Rin is goth/dark girly, according to her summer sketchpage look <3 I love thinking of them hanging out, rinbeni real. The ninja trio girlies all trying out alt fashion together and aaa 💕

I found so many clips of people all telling the story of how jirai kei is not so secretly messed up and yada yada when I first looked into the subculture, but it is good to know that jirai kei/dark girly clothing is being worn a lot by people not part of its culture as well, apparently! It's becoming more mainstream, so to speak. Still, in my heart Beni remains my landmine girl……… 🫶

[thegreatyin]

@rainrein you should. the insane blonde man is really high quality (despite what the fandom would make you think)

[depressedraisin]

Parklife (1994) and Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino (2018): What does it mean to be an album of the times?

At face value Blur’s third studio album Parklife, released in 1994, and Arctic Monkeys’ 2018 release Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino, their sixth, are very very very different albums. One the Britpop classic, the other a widely divisive experimentation -- they don’t even seem like they could hang out in the same sentence together. Then what the fuck am I on about?

Both albums are individually iconic in the respective band’s discographies -- with Parklife Blur conquered the heights of the Britpop war and firmly cemented its place in British music history while TBH&C marked a pivotal turn in style for the Monkeys, which in my very humble non-musician opinion, will make it historic sometime in the future. If you have spent as much time as I have overthinking the lyrics and pondering over interviews of another British rock band you are hyperfixating on though, you might see something more connecting these two albums. Written about 20 years away from each other, in wildly different times,  the two weirdly enough, have these faint threads tying in their themes and subject matters. 

Damon Albarn, the principal author of Parklife, described the album to NME as, “a loosely linked concept album involving all these different stories. It's the travels of the mystical lager-eater, seeing what's going on in the world and commenting on it."  Rings a bell? That’s extremely TBH&C coded! That one has often been called a concept album based on a luxury hotel and casino on the moon with various eccentric characters and their stories, wryly commenting on issues plaguing life in the 2010s. 

Parklife was a kind of a study of middle class English life of the mid-90s. With an extremely catchy pop soundscape and cheeky-cockney-laced lyrics about London parks and bank holidays, it became a quintessential symbol of Cool Britannia. They say the album never took off in the States because it was so British. In the years since, however, the band has described it more as sarcastic critique rather than a celebration of Britishness. Going through the lyrics with a fine toothed comb  with that in mind then, you can feel the impatience a bunch of 20s somethings were feeling with the ideal 9-to-5 picket fence lifestyle as well as exhaustion with the hedonistic decadence of youth in the backdrop of an unpopular Conservative-led economy in decline. A similar, if updated for 30 year olds in 2018, sentiment can be sensed in the absurd surrealism of the lyrics of  TBH&C. What do you do when you are fed up with tribulations of life and the ghosts of mistakes you’ve made along the way-- you fuck off and escape into whimsy of science fiction. 

The political context of the time when Parklife and Tranquility Base were released does matter. Opens up another perspective to reading the album.  It’s quite a stretch but bear with me.  

 The 90s in the UK began with Thatcher resigning and the Conservative government which dominated the 80s, becoming increasingly unpopular. There was a recession plaguing the early years of the decade. Britpop happened smack dab in the middle of this, and it was all about reacting to grunge and shoegaze and bringing back what is essentially British back to its music scene. Oasis, Suede, Pulp, Elastica (Justine Frischmann is the queen of Britpop btw) -- and ofcourse, Blur, were reviving guitar pop, singing in working class accents and about working class life and bringing back memories of the Swinging Sixties. Though each drawing from a wide variety of influences, these bands were becoming the face of a wider movement in music, art and youth culture.  The political scene took note.

In the mid-90s, the Labour Party led by Tony Blair quickly aligned itself with Britpop and Cool Britannia. Noel Gallagher and Damon Albarn were being courted by politicians , label execs getting party membership invites, headlines went like “What’s the Story? Don’t vote Tory”. Britpop soon acquired nationalist undertones --- never forget Brett Anderson showing off his twinky waist with Union Jack in the background and “Yanks go home!” headline. 

By the end of the 90s, when Britpop had begun crumbling, the economy had recovered and Tony Blair was in Downing Street.

TBH&C and the Monkeys in general, perhaps have less political currency. When they burst onto the scene with their Sheffield accents and garage rock riffs in the generally stable pre-2008 economic climate, the Arctic Monkeys did occupy the space in British pop culture left vacant by Blur and Oasis in the wake of post Britpop, at least for a time. Their debut broke the record of being the fastest selling one, which used to be held by Elastica previously. The Monkeys were indie rock darlings in the UK and with 2013’s AM, became darlings in the US (and Tumblr) as well. Tranquility Base though, came out in a whole different world. 

2018 was a fucking atrocious time, to put it mildly. The world was in total freefall inching rapidly towards disaster, which ultimately culminated in the pandemic of 2020. Trump had been elected in 2016 and 2018 was arguably one of the peaks of his shitshow. Over in the UK, Theresa May and her Conservative Cabinet were deep in the quagmire of Brexit negotiations. (Gotta note that Turner has said he voted against leaving in the referendum. Albarn is of course, a very vocal critic of Brexit.) Right wing governments were coming into power everywhere it seemed like, the climate crisis took on a new sense of alarm among the larger public - and things only spiralled in the years following. I can’t think of another album which could accurately capture the sheer fatigue of seeing outrageous headline after headline, how desensitised we had all become, how disillusioned with life- in a mason jar like TBH&C has.   

That’s what makes an album legendary doesn’t it? You listen to it and immediately remember what living at the time was like. Even if 1994 was 10 years before I was born. 

Now that we have gotten that out of the way, let’s look at the two albums a little more closely. 

Some lyrics which give me very similar vibes: 

sexual hedonism // start treatment (tbh&c) and girls & boys (parklife)

mundanity of relationships // four stars out of five (tbh&c) and end of century (parklife)

the performativeness of middle class activism/social work // tranquility base hotel and casino (tbh&c) and parklife (parklife)

losing friends and losing touch // the ultracheese (tbh&c) and badhead (parklife) - now these aren't really similar, but i feel a connection. in my bones trust me bro. the whole "i'll grin and bear with it" thing about badhead is very reminiscient of the sense of insouciance about life that haunts tbh&c....almost??

the myth of america // the ultracheese (tbh&c), golden trunks (tbh&) and magic america (parklife) - magic america is making fun of reagan era the american dream while a disillusionment with the glitz and glam of life in la is pretty much consistent throughout tbh&c

a pathological dependence on technology as escapism // jubilee (parklife) and start treatment (tbh&c) - digital cameras and the internet and tvs were taking baby steps into invading our daily lives back in 1994, and by 2018 we were all fully under the vice grip of tech addiction. this parallel i find particularly funny so.

astronomical references // far out (parklife) and star treatment (tbh&c) - alex james, the blur bassist wrote and sung far out about his love of space. it's a pretty nice parallel hey.

For the last one, let's talk about Tracy Jacks from parklife. I couldn't really draw a direct parallel with a song from the other album, but that song spiritually fits right in I feel. An average Joe in the throes of a midlife crisis, teethering so so close to the edge and one day just snaps - that's a character one would expect dwells in the lounge of the Tranquility Base Hotel to drown themselves in the decadence and escape from all their shit, when all is said and done.

Now what's the concluding point of all this rambling. I don't know lolz. Y'all just read a thousand words of nothing.

Just kidding. Actually I read somewhere Damon Albarn was inspired by the 1989 novel London Fields, a science-fiction adjacent black comedy set against the backdrop of an impending nuclear crisis, while writing Parklife. That kinda rung a bell. (Yes, I did wonder if Alex has read this)

I just wanted to see if we can find any interesting connections parrallels or references between Parklife and Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino. I dunno if I've been successful in getting any point across, or it's just pointless waffling on. But one thing that did get confirmed to me once again, these two albums are really the Albums of Their Times. Captures the zeitgeist in such a specific but unique in their own ways, it's really wonderful.

And also studying the legacy and impact of AM with reference to other musical outfits is always fun. I think we can all safely say that AM is well on their way to capturing a seat in the pantheon of great British bands, where somewhere in a corner Blur also sits. Damon Albarn is a fucking legend of course -- from the pretty posh boy of Britpop he has gone to becoming one of the most versatile, experimental and prolific songwriter/composer in the contemporary music scene. He is apparently working on the music for an Goethe's fragmented libretto of Magic Flute Part 2. How many rockstars do you know have composed operas - how fucking dope. I wanna hope that we'll get to see Alex exploring crazy paths in music like this, he definitely has the potential. This whole exercise would probably have made more sense with one of Damon's post-Blur works, his first solo record Everyday Robots or even Blur's last album The Magic Whip, but I started this essay so had to finish it.

Maybe another day eh.

[logomaru]

Got neither so I did this for me

[justgoji]

Doing a redraw of Piko for his birthday

[windydrawallday]

The touch screen of my laptop is acting crazy again… just two days before an event check in and when i hoarded enough references to work on something personal i was eager to finish for today %D

Art is fun yeah, YEAH

[aquacomet]

It's time for the last around 24-hours heads-up for those who want to add to the Reveal-versary/Birthday collab boards! There's still some space for if you were planning to pop in!

Also due to the remaining spaces, character restrictions have been loosened so if you already doodled something up feel free to add another lil character or two if you wish (so long as it's coloured in someway!)

Original post link (Has a explanation about the event and the rules in more detail if you need them)

Link straight to the collab boards:

[cruesuffix]

something so inherently hopeless romantic about writing a song for your lover only for them to leave you and take half of your earnings with them (not before trying to cheat on you with your co worker, who coincidentally just happened to join your band).

[runicmagitek]

my assumption is that you already have a silas fic idea percolating in your brain even though you haven't played fates yet based purely on his Vibes (which are immaculate)

First off, this was fucking comedy gold.

NEVER CHANGE, ROSE!!!!

Second off.

...............m-maybe

[freshthoughts2020]

[yutarot]

in perfect sync. j.jh smau

♫⋆♪ ₊˚. humour, friends to enemies to lovers, secret relationship, forced proximity, college au, dancer au, hiphopdancer!jaehyun, fboy!jaehyun, balletdancer!yn

synopsis. your dance college wasn’t the easiest to get in to, let alone was it easy to stay. so what happens when your college decides they need to cut two of the dance teams from competing ever again, the ballet team and the hiphop team. will both teams get along in order to solve their connected issue, or will they fight to get their own team back to competing again? only you and hiphop dance team captain, jeong jaehyun, can decide your teams fates. but there’s one problem, you hate eachother.

WARNINGS: mention of drugs/alcohol, language, jokes about sex, mention of injury, some usage of ballet terminology, lots of extensive lore?, angst, lots of angst, slowburn as fuck obviously, major character betrayal, lots of lying, i mean LOTS of lying, jaehyun is an asshole for like 50% of this, the plot gets v messy and confusing but i live for that so

DISCLAIMER: all portrayals of people are fake and from my imagination, in no way am i claiming that they act like this irl.

written wc: 8.8k

STATUS: complete! — 09.03.24 - 10.02.24

TAGLIST - OPEN!

MASTERLIST

[profiles one] || [profiles two]

[one — jungwoos scared of girls]

[two — that can’t be good]

[three — well that sucks]

[four — he’s stalking you]

[five — we were just friends]

[six — the man he was] half written

[seven — i need to talk to you]

[eight — i’ve waited so long]

[nine — roses]

[ten — im over you]

[eleven — ur over me?]

[twelve — betrayal] written chapter

[thirteen — dimples]

[fourteen — conflict] written chapter

[fifteen — i never knew]

[sixteen — you’re welcome, btw]

[seventeen — she deserves to know]

[eighteen — it was me.] written chapter

[nineteen — hey guys…]

[twenty — collab of the century]

[twenty-one — i’m happy he’s over u]

[twenty-two — i did it for you] written chapter

[twenty-three — no one knows except..]

[twenty-four — that same old dimpled smile] written chapter

[twenty-five — everything about you]

[twenty-six — however hard it may be.] half written

[twenty-six and a half — it’s finally happening]

[twenty-seven — they can wait]

[twenty-eight — ive nothing to fear] written chapter

[twenty-nine — they don’t know we know they know we know]

[thirty — in perfect sync.] written chapter

end.

replies, likes and reblogs are all greatly appreciated! feel free to send thoughts and requests in my asks: characters, scenes, chapters etc.

[pitlanepeach]

FROM EDEN | Chapter One (1/8)

Oscar Piastri x Francesca Gold (OFC)

Summary — Francesca Gold is an introvert with a quiet life and a YouTube channel where she talks about books, drinks too much tea, and rarely ever shows her face. She prefers it that way - tucked into her London flat with her cat, Henry, and safely hidden behind a screen.

Oscar Piastri is a Formula 1 driver. Fast-paced, high-stakes, always on the move. He hasn't read a book in years, but he's watched every single one of Francesca's videos. Just for the sound of her voice.

Following her on Instagram was a moment of weakness. He didn't think she'd notice.

She did.

Chapter Warnings - Mentions of agoraphobia + severe social anxiety, depressive episodes + very brief references to skin-picking.

Notes: HAPPY BIRTHDAY OSCAR 🧡

Sometimes, Francesca felt like her MacBook was an extension of her body.

It came with the territory. She spent six, sometimes eight, hours a day editing. Her management had offered to hire a professional to take over that side of things, but she always declined. She liked the process. It kept her busy. And besides, her audience had come to expect her touch — the specific pacing, the way she layered her clips with the perfect font depending on the theme of the video. No professional could replicate that.

“The team at Penguin emailed last night. They want you to do another collab next month — summer drop. It’s going to be huge,” Katie says, without preamble, the moment Francesca answers the FaceTime. Manager, best friend, chaos in a messy bun. 

Francesca blinks, gives herself a second to process, then beams. “Wait, seriously? I mean, I know they had great feedback on the last video, but I just thought…” She trails off, shaking her head and letting out a breathy laugh. 

God, it was still hard to believe this was her life. That she’d built this job from scratch — and was actually good at it. Good enough that one of the biggest publishing companies in the world wanted to work with her again, for the second time in less than a year.

“It’s going to be great. I’ll email you the content brief as soon as I have it,” Katie said. She was smiling too, the fine lines around her eyes deepening with joy.

Francesca often thought that was the best part of having a manager who doubled as your best friend — the fact that when something good happened, it wasn’t just her win. It was theirs.

“Pizza at my place to celebrate?” Francesca suggested on a whim, and immediately wished she could take it back. Her spine went rigid, and a glance toward the front door confirmed what she already knew — she wasn’t in the right headspace for company. Not even Katie, who was one of the only guests she’d ever had at her flat. “Uh, I mean…” She felt her face burn with embarrassment as she tried to find a way to rescind her invitation. 

“I’m busy tonight,” Katie said breezily, and relief washed over Francesca like a wave. She managed a small smile. “Another night, maybe,” Katie added, her eyes warm and knowing. The softness in her voice made Francesca’s throat tighten.

She was a terrible friend.

“Yeah,” she said softly, and wished — not for the first time — that her brain would just let her be normal.

Just once, it would be nice to exist without wrapping herself in cotton wool, constantly calculating every choice, afraid of pushing too far and tipping into that place she didn’t like to think about. The edge was always there, waiting. And when she fell, it was dark. 

“Another time,” she finished, quieter this time.

Katie hummed, then did a dramatic spin in her chair.

Francesca had already figured out she was in her office. It was painted bubblegum pink — hard to mistake for anywhere else.

One day, Francesca would have an office too. She already had a Pinterest board full of inspiration pictures.

For now, her flat was too small — a one-bedroom with just enough space for a two-seater table in the kitchen and a small couch tucked beneath the living room window.

But one day, she'd have more.

The walls would be lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. She’d have a big desk, maybe even a chaise lounge to film her videos from — soft lighting, stacks of novels within reach.

Her gaze drifted to the window. Her sixth floor flat overlooked a busy street, which was both comforting and overwhelming. She liked the reminders of life happening outside. But sometimes, the idea of stepping into it — of opening the door and being swallowed by the noise — made her feel physically sick. 

“So,” Katie said, her voice deceptively flat. “Read anything good recently?”

It wasn’t funny.

It wasn’t even a little bit funny.

But whatever tension had been lingering between them dissolved in an instant.

One blank look from Francesca was all it took for Katie to double over with laughter — and Francesca followed close behind.

—

Oscar Piastri followed you!

Francesca stared at her Instagram notifications and blinked. She only ever got alerts like that when someone verified followed her, and it always felt a little disconcerting. Being perceived was... weird.

She tapped on his profile picture, waited for the feed to load, then let out a quiet, shocked breath as her eyes widened.

Christ. Almost two million followers.

She read his bio first.

I drive @McLaren F1 cars.

Her brows pulled together.

She knew about Formula One. Her sister — back when they still spoke — had been a hardcore fan. Always waking up at absurd hours on Sundays to watch the races. Francesca had never understood the appeal. She wasn’t ever interested in sports, really.

And if she was remembering right… the cars were bloody loud.

Nonetheless, she let herself scroll through his feed, indulging the curiosity. Why not? He’d followed her first.

Which… she paused, thumb hovering over a video — a clip of him laughing with another guy, shorter, with dark hair, both of them doubled over and grinning wide.

Why had he followed her?

Was he a reader?

She chewed her bottom lip, eyes flicking back to his feed. Nothing about books. Nothing even vaguely literary. Just cars. Fast ones. The kind that had made her cover her ears and wince when her sister had played it on the TV. 

Still, she kept scrolling.

There were podium photos, clips from press days, shots of cars mid-race that made her anxious just looking at them. A lot of orange. And still, nothing that explained why he would have any interest in the kind of content she posted.

Before she could stop herself, she opened a new tab and typed his name into Google.

Oscar Piastri F1.

Search.

The first result was his Wikipedia page. She clicked it, scanning quickly.

Twenty-two. Australian. Drove for McLaren. Something about back-to-back Formula 2 and Formula 3 championships. ‘I understand that, without my agreement, Alpine F1 have put out a press release late this afternoon that I am driving for them next year. This is wrong and I have not signed a contract with Alpine for 2023. I will not be driving for Alpine next year.’ Her brain started buffering around "qualifying sessions" and "downforce," so she backed out and clicked Images instead.

Okay. He was… very symmetrical.

She immediately closed the tab, her cheeks flaming red.

And then she opened it again. This time, she searched Oscar Piastri book. Nothing. Oscar Piastri reading. Still nothing. Oscar Piastri favourite books.

No real results. Just an old fan forum thread with a blurry screenshot of him holding what looked like a paperback on a plane. He couldn’t have been older than seventeen. Could’ve been anything.

‘F3 champion and high school student lmao,’ one of the comments read.

Francesca let herself sink back into the couch. She pulled her knees to her chest, her free hand drifting up to her mouth, picking absently at the skin around her fingernail.

“How did you end up here, Oscar Piastri?” she whispered.

And then immediately felt ridiculous.

It’s not like a follow meant anything.

It could’ve been a slip of the finger. Maybe something his management team did to stir engagement. A glitch. Instagram glitched all the time. That was a known thing.

It really was.

Still curled up on the couch, Francesca tapped back into Instagram and navigated to the official Formula One account. Just to look. Just to see if maybe there was something that explained why a McLaren driver might follow a booktuber with anxiety and a penchant for editing videos until 2am.

There wasn’t.

But there was a countdown at the top of the page.

Qualifying. One hour to go.

Qualifying? What was that? Like… sports pre-game? Car auditions?

She frowned. Then, before she could think twice, she picked up the remote and opened the app store on her TV. A few clicks later, she was signing up for a Sky Sports subscription.

“For research,” she told Henry, who lazily stared at her from his spot on the armrest like he was judging her life choices. 

“I’m just… curious, okay?” she added, navigating to the F1 channel.

Henry yawned, unimpressed and unentertained.

Francesca pulled her quilt blanket around her shoulders and settled in, one hand on her mug of tea, the other resting lightly on Henry’s back. The TV buzzed to life with dramatic music and fast edits of cars screaming around tracks.

“Oh, they really are loud,” she muttered.

Still, she didn’t change the channel.

The coverage had barely started before the noise hit her full-force — engines growling, tires screeching, the low thrum of commentary that barely kept up with the chaos on screen.

Francesca grimaced. She didn’t like it. Too loud, too fast, too… much.

Henry flinched at a particularly aggressive rev, then resumed kneading the arm of the sofa like he was above letting it actually concerned him.

Cars whipped around corners at impossible speeds, camera angles switching every few seconds. She couldn’t follow any of it. Couldn’t understand the appeal. It made her anxious, frankly — a blur of noise and danger and people cheering for machines hurtling toward potential disaster.

And then one of them did crash.

Right into the barrier.

Metal crumpled. The commentators’ voices jumped a pitch. The screen showed a flurry of slow-motion replays, sparks flying.

Her hand flew to the remote. She didn’t want to see this. She was about to switch off.

But then, like it had been summoned just for her, a name appeared at the bottom of the screen.

Oscar Piastri — overlayed over the image of a sleek orange car pulling into the pit lane.

She froze, her heart jumping in her throat.

The camera cut to him stepping out of the car. Calm. Focused. Tugging off his helmet to reveal slightly flattened curls and flushed cheeks. The camera lingered for a second too long — or maybe not long enough — before cutting away.

Francesca didn’t move.

She didn’t even blink.

“Oh no,” she whispered, sinking slightly lower into the couch. “Absolutely not.”

Henry purred beside her. 

— 

iMessage – Francesca & Katie

Katie: How’s your evening? Still editing?

Francesca: yep super busy so much to do

Katie: Why are you being weird

Francesca: 😶

Katie: Wait What did you do

Francesca: nothing?? literally nothing.

Katie: Francesca.

Francesca: okay fine i may have accidentally subscribed to sky sports

Katie: YOU WHAT

Francesca: DON’T it was just for a second. i wanted to see what “qualifying” meant.

Katie: Omg Omg Did you watch it? YOU WATCHED IT DIDN’T YOU

Francesca: it was research.

Katie: Research for what???

Francesca: i think i might want get my drivers liscence soon. 

Katie: HAHA BULLSHIT definitely not because a certain driver literally just followed you on instagram or anything

Francesca: shut up maybe

Katie: Fran.

Francesca: i didn’t like it i almost turned it off. but then his name came up and i just… idk. i kept watching.

Katie: Omg my baby has a crush

Francesca: shut up no ew

Katie: Right Why did you google “Oscar Piastri favourite book” at 8:07pm

Francesca: STOP STALKING MY BROWSER HISTORY GET UR OWN GOOGLE ACCOUNT 

Katie: Nah 

—

The Sky Sports app was still open on her TV.

Francesca hadn’t meant to leave it there. It just... stayed. Like the universe was silently daring her to press play again. 

She’d lost herself to editing again — that blissful, numbing kind where hours passed unnoticed, her fingers tapping out precise cuts, adjusting audio, overlaying soft transitions like muscle memory. The world outside her screen had faded away, quiet and far off.

But now… now her video was exported, her desk light dim, the flat heavy with stillness.

And she couldn’t resist.

She clicked on Post-Qualifying Interviews, telling herself it was just to see what the drivers sounded like. That was all. She was just curious. Nothing more.

She turned the volume down to a whisper.

Henry flicked his tail in visible disapproval.

“I’m not proud of this either,” she whispered, settling into the couch like she was committing a crime. The blanket came up to her chin. The remote was gripped in her hand. 

The first few drivers were all very… race-driver-y. Confident. Loud. Slightly sweaty. Lots of hand gestures and scathing words for their own performances. 

And then Oscar appeared.

The interviewer asked him something technical — tires, or grip, or some other concept that meant absolutely nothing to her — and he responded with this measured, thoughtful calm. No bravado. No shouting. Just… collected.

Francesca tilted her head, studying the way his brow creased slightly as he answered, like he really cared about getting it right. The way he smiled softly at the end of his sentence, almost to himself, like a punctuation mark no one else noticed.

She didn’t even realise she was smiling too until Henry let out a judgmental meow.

“I said I’m not proud,” she muttered, hastily backing out of the video.

The silence that followed was immediate and deafening.

She tossed the remote aside and buried her face in her hands.

“Oh my God,” she mumbled into her palms. “I need to go to bed. I need to stop acting like an actual crazy person.”

Henry pawed at her ankle, unimpressed.

She was going to delete the Sky Sports app first thing in the morning. 

Right after she watched one more video.

Maybe two.

—

Francesca watched the Grand Prix the next day.

She made tea. She stayed in her pyjamas. She sat through the whole thing, even when it dragged and even when the commentators said things she didn’t understand. It wasn’t thrilling. It wasn’t magical. It just… was.

Oscar finished somewhere in the middle.

She turned the TV off, went to take a shower, and moved on with her life.

There were deadlines to meet. Emails to respond to. A pile of unread books that had started to stare at her like she’d betrayed them. Her expensive Sky Sports subscription went untouched the rest of the week. 

But then Tuesday came.

And Tuesday was awful.

There was no real reason. No one thing she could point to and say that’s what broke me. It just felt like everything was a little too loud, her own skin too heavy. Like gravity had turned up a notch and was dragging her down with it.

She didn’t get out of bed.

Didn’t open her laptop.

Didn’t answer Katie’s texts — not even the one with a cat meme she would normally have replied to in all-caps.

Henry crawled into her lap around midday and stayed there, curled against her like a warm, quiet anchor. She lay still, wrapped in blankets, blinking up at the ceiling like it might give her answers.

Nothing did.

It was the kind of day where time slowed and thoughts didn’t. Where brushing her teeth felt like running a marathon. Where everything felt stuck.

She picked up her phone out of habit, already ready to put it back down again.

But then — the notification.

@oscarpiastri liked your post. Her latest one. A photo dump from less than two hours ago — mostly books, a coffee mug, her hand in the sunlight.

Her heart stuttered.

Not in a dramatic, fireworks-going-off kind of way. Just a small, stunned skip.

She stared at the notification like it might vanish.

Henry shifted slightly in her lap. She didn’t move.

It was such a small thing.

A double-tap.

A gesture.

But in the middle of a day where just existing felt impossible, someone — he — had seen her.

Even if it didn’t mean anything.

Even if it was random.

Even if he probably liked a hundred photos that day.

She let out a long, shaky breath and rested her phone on her chest, her hand curled loosely around it.

"Okay," she whispered to no one.

Maybe she could get up later.

Not now. But maybe later.

—

The MTC was buzzing, even though it was only a Tuesday. Debrief done. Media duties had been wrapped earlier in the morning. Everything had settled into that post-Grand Prix lull where everyone finally took a breath until the next weekend came around.

Oscar leaned back against the side of a worktable, scrolling idly through Instagram. Nothing serious. Just background noise.

Until he saw that she’d posted. 

Francesca Gold.

He hadn’t meant to follow her, not really. It had been a 2am spiral the night before quali day — his sister had sent him a TikTok of somebody talking about a F1 themed romance novel, which had ultimately led him to her channel, which led to hours watching her recommend fantasy novels with painfully sincere enthusiasm.

It was just a photo dump. Books. Sunlight. Her cat, maybe — very ginger and grumpy looking. He didn’t overthink it.

He double-tapped the photo, thumb pausing just slightly over the screen.

She rarely posted pictures of her full-face. Never showed it in any of her videos. But he knew that she was pretty. Gorgeous, even. 

A grin tugged at his mouth before he could stop it.

“What’s that face?”

Oscar glanced up.

Lando was standing a few feet away, arms crossed, looking far too smug for someone who had just received a stern telling-off for his comments to the press after his bang-average race performance. 

Oscar blanched. “What face?”

“The one I just saw.” Lando pointed. “The ‘I’ve got a secret’ smile. You were two seconds away from giggling.”

“I don’t giggle.” He argued. 

“Mate.” Lando deadpanned. “Come on. Spill.” 

Oscar locked the screen and slipped the phone into his pocket, casual. “It’s nothing.”

Lando raised a brow, clearly unconvinced. “Nothing’s usually something.”

Oscar didn’t answer.

Lando stepped closer, all mock seriousness now. “Is it a girl?”

Oscar gave him a long, slow look. “You’re very nosy.”

“That’s not a no.”

He looked away without meaning to. 

“Oh my God, it is a girl. Who is she? Wait—” He snapped his fingers. “I saw something on twitter about you following some… I don’t know what they call them. She reads books.” He said. 

Oscar exhaled through his nose, resigned. “She posted on Instagram. I liked it. That’s all.”

“Mmhmm. And now you’re smiling like a man with secrets.”

Oscar didn’t answer, just tugged the zipper of his hoodie down a little and pushed off the table.

“You’re going to message her, aren’t you?” Lando called after him, voice teasing.

“I’m going to find food,” Oscar said over his shoulder. “Stop projecting, Norris.”

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

He ignored it until he’d found a quiet, empty spot to sit. 

And then he opened her page again. Let himself look properly this time. The soft light coming from the window. The cat. The books. The half-face showing in the last photo; all dark hair and hazel eyes. 

He smiled again.

And this time, no one saw.

—

iMessage – Francesca & Katie

Katie: Hey. Please stay away from Twitter for a bit 

Francesca: uh oh why what happened have i been cancelled for not liking the new sjm book? lol 

Katie: Nothing major. Just… people noticed something. Some tweets about you and oscar 🤦‍♀️ They’re being annoying. That’s all.

Francesca: … there literally is no ‘me and oscar’ katie. what kind of annoying?

Katie: The “who even is she” kind And the “typical influencer girl” stuff Ignore them. They’re bored and jealous.

Francesca: typical influencer girl. oh my god i’m going to dissolve into the floor now don’t mind me. just fully evaporating

Katie: You are literally FINE You didn’t do anything. He followed you. He liked your post. 

FRANCESCA i didn’t even follow him back 😭😭😭 would that make it worse? i might just do it 

KATIE Lmao. You don’t have to do anything. Your account, your space, your joy. You’re allowed to post a picture of your cat, ffs

Francesca: henry is a public figure. 

Katie: LMAO Okay yeah that’s true

Francesca: god i hate being perceived. i feel gross. like i did something wrong.

Katie: You didn’t. I promise. People will forget about this in like 48 hours. Faster if you don’t engage. Also: do not google yourself. Do not check the quote tweets. Seriously. Step away. People are being disgusting. Talking about your mental health. 

Francesca: oh my god they hit the pentagon

Katie: STOP. You’re ridiculous. Don’t make me laugh right now. I’m angry. Go cuddle the public figure Tomorrow, we pretend that this never happened.

Francesca: … okay. but if i die of embarrassment, pls delete my browser history

Katie: Of course. 

—

It had been two weeks since she’d worked up the courage to leave her flat.

In that time, she’d dived head-first into the history of Formula One.

She’d developed an emotional attachment to Nico Rosberg.

And every time she saw Oscar’s face or heard his voice, her stomach did this weird little twist she tried very hard to ignore.

She still hadn’t worked up the nerve to follow him back.

Twitter had moved on after a few days. The comments had been vicious — picking apart the parts of her mental health issues that she’d made public, calling her a terrible match for the Australian driver (capital letters, like that somehow made it worse). It was mean, sure, but also probably laced with some truth.

It was laughable. She knew what a WAG was now. And she could literally never.

Cameras, fashion critiques, every movement scrutinised. There was a reason she didn’t plaster her face all over the internet. Sure, most people had pieced together what she looked like by now — it wasn’t some big scandelous secret — but she could still walk through London relatively unnoticed, on the very rare occasion that she did.

And that was how she liked it.

—

Oscar made it onto the podium in Japan.

Francesca had watched the race live, heart hammering against her ribs like it was her out there driving. Henry had abandoned her half an hour in — bored or annoyed or both — but she’d stayed curled up on the couch, eyes fixed on the screen, half-hidden behind her quilt. 

When he crossed the line in third, she let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-overwhelmed-sob.

She was proud of him. Which was ridiculous, really. She didn’t know him. He was nobody to her. But still — she'd watched, taught herself the rules, learned the names of the tracks, made a list of all of the weird acronyms, and somewhere between doing all of those things, she’d started cheering for him like it mattered.

She opened the Instagram app before she could talk herself out of it.

Went to his profile.

Paused.

Her thumb hovered over the message icon, heart beating too fast, palms clammy.

What would she even say?

Well done? I was cheering for you from my couch. 

No. God, no.

He had millions of followers. He probably got hundreds of thousands of messages. Messages from people he actually knew. From people who weren’t... whatever she was.

She hadn’t followed him back. That felt important. It made her invisible. Safe. Unknown.

And still, the urge to say something curled up inside her, warm and nervous. She wanted him to know. Just a little. That she’d seen it. That she was proud of him.

Her thumbs started to type, slowly, hesitantly:

Congratulations. You were incredible today. I’ve been cheering for you. 

She stared at the words.

Then deleted the message.

Then retyped it.

Eventually, she shook her head, hastily swiped out of the Instagram app, locked her phone and let it slide to the other end of the couch.

She buried her face in Henry’s fur, blinking fast.

Maybe next time.

—

bookishgoldie just posted!

liked by oscarpiastri, stephbroher, and 35,768 others

bookishgoldie: enjoying the london sunshine ☀️

view all comments

user1: KING HENRY SIGHTING

user17: i love that cat like he's my own omg

user03: it’s officially spring!!!!!

user63: OSCAR IN HER LIKES AGAIN OH MY GOD

user17: FRANCESCA HIDE BEHIND ME BABYGIRL I WONT LET THE TWITTER DEMONS GET YOU AGAIN 🤺

user60: this is crazy... do u think they're like friends or

user76: no idea. she's so pretty though.

user5: do we even know if oscar pastry is literate? genuine question.

user33: i LOVE your apartment!!!!!!!!!!!

bookishgoldie: i do too!! thank you

user18: my favourite booktuber ever

user2: I’ve been here since the beginning and it’s crazy to me that she’s basically a household name now.

Chapter Two

[epicqtefail]

Hank Anderson wants nothing more than he has right now: working a very quiet night shift, watching shows with his kid on the weekends, walking his dog, and generally not having to give a fuck. The muted peacefulness of his life is interrupted when an android sent by the United States Postal Office makes it his mission that Hank receives his mail daily -- which Hank has been dodging for years, because physical post should be obsolete and, also, see the bit about not giving a fuck. Unfortunately, this RK800 - called Connor - only cares about the requirements of his mission, which tell Connor to ensure legal and timely delivery of the mail, no matter the obstacles he needs to overcome. Hank thinks Connor needs to obey the instructions of the humans around him. Connor knows he needs to accomplish his objectives. Somehow between the two of them, they fuck up a whole lot of shit before they slowly develop what might be a truly meaningful relationship. Again, it ain't that easy. Expect unexpected deliveries, sprinklers in your face, begrudging trips to both kinds of hospitals, a lot of embarrassingly confusing questions, Rube Goldberg traps, extensive apologies, a lot of exploration of what it means to be human, and a bunch of ridiculous bullshit as this all happens. Brought to you by @sevdrag and @epicqtefail , this is your mailman universe for the 2024 DBH RBB @dbh-bb

🎵 doooo wa wa wadoooooo wa wa wadoooo wa wa wadoooo mr postman 🎵

MASSIVE thanks to my collab partner Sev! you took this weird comic/premise and turned it into a whole batshit story, made it yours too and made it real. You're a delight to work with, you make me laugh with sounds i've never made before, and I can't wait to carry on with what we've started. Thank you, my Severything.

Read Sevdrag's Mr Postman work here!

final note: credit goes to Sev for Hank's spongebob boxers :']

[giuseppe-yuki]

Heyyyy, so Idk if you're going to see this but I have an idea, it's more of the reaction type? Like the drivers find out that you were a famous gamer back in 2020-2022, like a minecraft y'tuber or smthn like that but you don't show your face and stuff and they find out when you casually bring it up? Idk if u're comfy writing for the rookies but if u're not it's fine. (I hope I didn't sound rude lol)

hi anon :)

you don’t sound rude at all - my inbox is open to all requests! i love specific ones cause they’re easier to write too lol so thank you <3

i hope i did you prompt justice with this quick headcannon!

ex youtuber!reader x rookies headcannons

(side charles leclerc x reader)

• it's bright and early on a thursday afternoon - the most perfect media day the pr management could ever ask for

• ofc, charles his pr to do with ferrari, so he gives suggests you to drop by in his drivers room to chill

• he gives you kiss before you go, cause ofc, he's a good boyfriend

• on the way down the hospitality lane, you stumble upon kimi and ollie in a questionable alley trying to set up a camera to do a "vlog" for their pr duties

• in the seconds that you are walking by them, kimi almost drops the camera twice while ollie stands at least a meter away from the setup as if kimi was going to accidentally press a button that was going to detonate the camera

• feeling your "motherly" instinct kick in, you approach them to fix the problem - you're all too familiar with camera set-up from your streamer days

• "here kimi, move a little to your left, so you'll be in frame, while i adjust the resolution before you start filming"

• it's quite laughable the way you are dressed in a fashionable outfit with your little rosso corsa mini birkin, yet you are are wedged in between the mercedes and haas motorhomes, on your knees, trying to help the rookie drivers focus their camera

• they thank you profusely, but kimi gets curious enough to ask you how you even know so much about camera set-up

• "well, let's just say i had a little bit of an online presence during the covid years."

• you leave them alone to continue their recording and make your way to charles' driver's room before they have a chance to ask anymore questions that you aren't sure you want to answer

• they track you down after they finish their media and meetings though

• ur literally trying to enjoy your coffee with charles in front of hospitality with charles and they come barging into the gated off area (lewis gives them a bombastic side-eye) to ask you more questions

• “wait, so were you streamer or something?"

• charles: ????

• you don't reveal anything directly, but you do say - "well, how do you think charles knew how to set up streams during the covid era? he can barely make pasta by himself!"

• (charles catching strays while being confused what the hell is going on)

• them coming to the realization that yes, you were a streamer they get even more nosy...

• how many subscribers did you have???

• five.... million

• what did you stream???

• 🤫

• you leave at that, knowing that they're bound to be making extensive research to find you

• it's isack that recognizes you by the sound of your voice first after the news breaks in the rookie group chat

• on the verge of tears, begging you for an autograph (as if he wasn't an established celebrity himself)

• "omg this is the best day of my life - i watched your streams all the time."

• close second to lewis hamilton himself on his idol list

• gabriel tries to secretly get the stake media team to try and recruit you for at least 1 chronically online pr video cause its not fair got mclaren got Idshadowlady and now he wants a big youtuber collab too

• (charles vetoes that idea immediately cause god forbid his girlfriend is in an enemy team pr video...)

• it's not much of a secret anymore after jack doohan yells across the hospitality area when you walk by "NO ACTUAL WAY- you were literally my entire childhood i had no idea that was YOU"

• media had a field day with it bc its basically an accidental face reveal at this point

• people now coming to the paddock to get your signature instead of charles????

• ur cult following + charles tifosi = unstoppable