#I've never made a choice in my goddamn life

[kenniesf1]

request!!

With F1’s summer break just around the corner, I keep imagining a popstar!reader x Oscar Piastri SMAU where they have this whirlwind summer fling—late nights, secret getaways, soft moments no one else sees. But once the season kicks back up, they stop talking… and suddenly she’s dropping music about him, after she softlaunced him for pretty much 3 weeks straight and her fans can help but wonder who “he” is. And of course oscar hears her new releases.

also btw i LOVE your fics!! keep them coming 🙌💕💕

the right beaches | OP81

masterlist

pairing: oscar piastri x singer!reader

summary: oscar and reader have a short-lived fling over summer break, only for the excitement to die down when they returned to their lives. oscar listens to her new releases and realizes he wants the reader back.

note: i'm about to enter the STING ZONE (writing in second person) 😏 ty anon for this amazing fic idea i love ittttt

ynln

liked by noahkahan, user1, and 2,319,844 others

ynln the 'utopia' tour!!!!!!! i'm so, so conflicted on how to feel about the us leg ending. on one hand, i had the best time meeting you guys, playing for you, and getting to be on the receiving end of all your love and support. but on the other, i'm going to miss you guys so much 😭 taking a little break (tropical yn, on her way to you right now) before the european leg!!!! thank you to everyone who has made my dreams possible 💞

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user1 seattle n2, you'll always be famous!!!

user2 AHHH i was at seattle n1, she was so stunning!

user3 she played 'the perfect pair'!!!!

sabrinacarpenter my idol be like: liked by author

clairo it's never over 🥲

ynln we'll always have our private concerts

user4 i loved concert vids but i'm sooo excited for yn on vacation

user5 IKR i hope she does vlogs like she did when she was in paris

urfriend1 the backstage misses me, doesn't it?

ynln ho i miss u too :(

user6 let mother rest!

user7 fr those vocal chords be TIRED

chappelroan can i be a guest in europe????

user8 OMG CHAPPEL PLEASE

ynln what user8 said 😉

metlife In the hall of fame, for sure!

ynln 🥹

user9 pray she's working on the new album over break 🤞 liked by author

user10 OH MY GOD

oscarpiastri posted a story!

oscarpiastri excited for a tropical summer break!

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user11 lord forgive me for these sinful thoughts

user12 smiley osc 😮‍💨

lando see you in three weeks mate

oscarpiastri i'll miss you buddy

ynln playing a case of you - joni mitchell

liked by gracieabrams, oscarpiastri, and 2,459,174 others

ynln beach babe!

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user13 im so confused why is polite cat oscar piastri in the likes 😭

user14 he's everywhere but in my bed

fayewebster my wife (yn) has gone to war (well-earned vacation)

ynln i've got a locket with you in it, baby

user15 AHHH she's too cool for school

user16 YN! drop the new album and my life is yours

ynln let me work on it goddamn it 😖

user17 oscar x yn... can she be on the f1 movie soundtrack????

user18 beach babe indeed

gracieabrams if being a singer doesn't work out, you can always be a photographer

ynln or i can be your house wife :))))

user19 the song choice 😩

a few days ago... july 9th, 2025 - 22:43

It is late. Well, not even. Most of your shows run later, with you getting home well past 1 in the morning. So it isn't really late. For your rest-obsessed mind, your body that needs to make up for the nights spent writing and days spent recording, it sort of is.

Your friends have dragged you to a club, one you didn't bother with the name of, using that same tired excuse of 'we're in our twenties, we're alive to go to clubs.' You would've gone without the hassle, but you'd be lying if you said it wasn't fun to annoy them. As your group approaches the neon signs, the sounds of the crowd moving and singing along, the excitement slowly seeps into your body. Your expectations for this break aren't all that high--you just want to rest and spend time with your friends. With a career like yours, one that gets more demanding as it goes, it's not all that easy to cruise through with high expectations. You've learned that the hard way.

The club is open, the salty sea air filling your lungs comfortably. Somehow, once your friends have wiggled through the crowd to reach the bar, the air gets incredibly hot and sticky, making you crave a towel and a cocktail, ones you could take to the beach a few meters away and enjoy, solitary. It takes your friends five, maybe six minutes (a new record), to plead with you, asking you if you could go over to the bar and leverage your fame for a couple of free drinks (it doesn't seem to occur to your friends that your music resonates with dramatic teen girls, not muscular bartenders).

You aren't in the mood to use it today. Pushing through the ignorant crowd, which you predict would've continued to dance, even if a tsunami sweeps the place, you reach the bar, wooden, covered in tropical flowers and cute marker-written notes from former customers. Your arms extend to the edge of the bar, vying for the bartender's attention. The man, dressed in a tight black t-shirt, is moving along to the music, lost to the drinks he is carefully making. You don't mind; you have all night.

When he finally turns around, just as you are about to order, an accented voice interrupts, "One vodka tonic, please." Your head spins around to see who in the world thinks that highly of themselves, not to wait in the customary way, only to be met with quite possibly the most beautiful man you've ever seen. You've always found it weird to call a dude beautiful, but when it comes to the guy besides you, there's really no better word. He's in a simple white button up, the sleeves rolled up, accentuating his upper arms. The top few buttons are left opened (on purpose, considering the look of this guy) in such a way that you can't see much but you can see just enough.

He notices you staring. At first, he slightly smirks, imperceptibly. When your expression doesn't change, he realizes he has cut in front of you. As if turned on by a switch, his cheeks redden and he smiles, raising his arm from the bar to bashfully rub the back of his neck.

"And whatever the lady wants," he adds, extending his smile, "on my tab." Normally, guys like this piss you off. Those large smiles of theirs are so obviously fake, just like their veneers. But not this guy's. No, he seems to be genuine in every little action. In his stance, in his hands, in his eyes.

"Vodka Red Bull," you order, sending him a curt smile as a 'thank you.' He bites his lip when you tell the bartender your order, kicking his feet around while you wait for the drinks.

"Sorry about cutting in front of you," he reaches his arm out. "I didn't mean to. I'm just by myself here and I could really use the drink." Without a word, the bartender pushes the two drinks towards you, the check under the vodka tonic. Before taking a sip, the man signs the check, leaving quite a hefty tip--and then he turns his attention to you.

You take the straw of your drink between your fingers, stirring, "That makes two of us." There's something so... uniquely special about absolutely needing a drink, and sharing that with another person. It's a bit raw, incredibly honest. I'm supposed to be having the time of my life but I need a temporary escape, a fix.

"Why a Red Bull?" he asks, walking to the edge of the club's property, outlined in plants and tropical trees.

He definitely looks familiar, "Why not a Red Bull?" The man shrugs, conceding the point willingly.

"Okay then," he switches, "why the drink?" He must be able to sense your hesitation because he gestures to himself and adds, "I'll go first," with a wink. "I'm on a three week break from work and it's super stressful and no one I'm here with seems to want to validate me in that. They're all just trying to get me to party and drink when I want to prepare." You tilt your head, examining him.

"Makes sense," you reply. The wheels in your head are spinning, trying to pin his words to the blurry idea you have of him in your head. "You look familiar," you finally tell him. He takes a sip from his drink to conceal his smile--it doesn't work in the slightest.

"Could say the same about you." Now you're both standing there, each leaning against opposing trees, taking one another in. He seems to be doing better at this figuring-you-out-thing because he's got a glint in his eye, shiny and planned. You can't place it, but you can remember it. "I'm Oscar Piastri," he gives in, his hand extending to shake yours. No one has shaken your hand in forever. "I'm a Formula 1 driver." Right.

"Oh," you comment, mainly to yourself. "I knew that." It isn't a loaded statement, just a blank one. You did know him. You've heard the stories, mainly from your friends, who followed the sport much more closely than you did. "So when you say job, you mean racing to the possible death at 200 miles per hour?"

He flashes that dangerous grin again, "Was that not implied?" Oh, he's cute. Oscar Piastri's got that sarcastic, mysterious, undeniable look to him and it is fucking working.

You shake your head, another sip, "Do you know what I do?" You ask it as a joke, not anticipating much, but Oscar's back straightens against the tree.

"You're a singer," he shrugs, as if it is oh such common sense. "Yn, right?" You can choose, in that moment, to be freaked out and ruin this perfectly fine (and somewhat flirtatious) interaction or to suck it up and give him the same energy back.

"Yep," you pop the p, "how'd you know that?"

"My sister likes your music?"

You cross your arms, only in a different way, bearing a different intention, than you did a few minutes before. "You here for an autograph?" you coyly ask.

He pushes himself off the tree, getting closer. "Among other things."

july 10th, 2025 - 1:07

The conversation absolutely flowed between you and Oscar, natural in its origins and destination, more like a river you stumble upon than one you labor endlessly to forge. He's sweet, charming, but also very touch-and-go. You don't feel unsafe with Oscar, and he doesn't feel bored with you.

Right now, the two of you are holding hands, stumbling towards the beach in front of the club--the one you've known you were going to end up at. He's telling a story about a race in Hungary in 2024, not-so-subtly dropping innuendos and comments and winks and smirks and glances. Oscar Piastri, you think. You're interesting.

He pulls you toward the low waves, cool water splashing against your ankles. There's a few staggered people around the coast, but Oscar makes it feel like it's just the two of you. His hand is on the side of your head, in your hair, and his eyes are so intently looking into yours that you can't help but back away. With his confidence, no shocker he's an F1 driver.

"Come," he says, stepping deeper into the water, "let's get in." You just laugh. Here's a grown man, up to his knees in salt water, ruining a pair of respectable slacks--the same man you've been calling mysterious and dangerous. Well, he definitely still is those things. But right now, with that childish look on his moonlight soaked face, he's just... nice.

"No fucking way I'm going in there," you reply, switching the bunched up ends of your dress from one hand to the other. You're keeping a careful eye on the waves splashing against you. He put his hands on his hips, cocking his head against you. You shake your head no in response. Oscar just takes that as an invitation to walk back over, his face colored with shades of slight embarrassment and disappointment. Just when he reaches you, his hand pulls you close. You can feel him breathing erratically, but you can't focus on anything else but his lips. As the two of you lean in, you catch an undetectable flash of a grin. He pulls your arm towards him, sending you both deep into the water.

july 12th, 2025 - 3:26

You tap your pen against the crumpled note pad, as if tapping continuously will somehow make your brain work. So much for that. The only lights in the room are the ones emitted from the weak lamp behind you and from Oscar's phone. "Said I'll see it to believe it, but what?" you ask yourself, twisting the ends of your hair in confusion. You repeat the lyrics again, like rolling a stone over in your palm, hoping you see a part of it you haven't before, "Said I'll see it to believe it, but what?" Oscar puts his phone down, turning around.

"Okay, what are the lyrics again?" he asks, rubbing his eyes as they adjust to the dim light on your side of the bed.

You just look at him. "What do you mean?" He gestures to the notebook, still rubbing his eyes. Drama queen, you note.

"You're going to be up all night if you don't finish this chorus--"

"--verse, actually--"

"--so let me help you finish it," he states confidently, pulling the notepad out of your unconsciously strong grip. "Said I'll see it to believe it, but," he reads to himself.

"Osc, it's fine," you say, starting to fight him for the notebook, which he holds further and further away from you, still reading your draft, "you could've just told me you want to sleep, I can finish this later." He shakes his head, a smile betraying his 'tired' demeanor.

"I know you, Yn," he teases, sing-songy, "I might be able to fall asleep but you'll be up all night trying to write this. Let me help." You finally snatch the pad out of his hands, falling into him on the bed.

"You're not a songwriter, Osc," you say with a smile, hoping desperately it doesn't come off as an insult.

He crosses his arms, coy. I guess he just always looks hot. "You know, contrary to what you might think," he starts, pulling you up from his lap closer to his face. Easily, he can see the blush coating your cheeks, "I went to school. Even graduated. Shocking, I know."

"I wasn't insinuating you were uneducated, Osc," you reply, trying to wiggle out of his firm grasp on your sides.

"So then let me help," he enunciates, ending the statement with a flash of a huge smile. Oscar Piastri. Fucker knows how to use that goddamn smile to get what he wants. You sigh, loudly and obnoxiously, before making a big show out of passing him the notebook.

"Hm," he lets out, eyes going over the few lyrics already written down. He gently kisses the top of your head, eyes never leaving the paper. "Okay, what about this? Said I'll see it to believe it, but I don't know the actual truth? That good?" You, once more, seize the notebook from his hand, and, with the click! of your pen, write down the lyrics he said. "Good, huh?" he boasts, putting his arm over your shoulder, pulling you back in the nook of his arm.

"Not yet," you mutter, unaware, "too many syllables. But maybe it'd work with 'I know the actual truth.' How's that?" He shrugs, mouth in a straight line.

"But you don't know the actual truth," he retorts. You look up at him, his face brightened and smiling down at you, so absolutely domestic that it melts whatever's left of your already stolen heart. Maybe the clues he left are the ones he's getting rid of now.

"Who does?" you ask, rolling your eyes playfully. Except, when you say it, your eyes fly back to Oscar's, which are, predictably, staring back at you, wide with importance.

"Write that down," he urges, left hand shaking at you to hurry.

"'Said I'll see it to believe it, but who knows the actual truth,'" you read out, voice slightly muffled due to the pen cap you're holding between your teeth. You take a slight moment, going over the line once more as you feel Oscar's breath on the side of your neck. "Cause I'm sure now." Once you're done messily scribbling your lyrics, you let go of the notebook, finally able to tuck yourself into Oscar's side, without petulant worries about a song that you know will eventually get done.

"Thank you for letting me help," he quietly utters into your hair, peppering gentle kiss after kiss. It was a bit worrying, how easily you can envision this never ending.

"Thank you for helping," you reply, pulling his hand to your mouth so you can return the favor with a kiss on the back of his palm.

ynln

liked by logansargeant, phoebebridgers, and 2,830,915 others

ynln i've got a surprise for you!!!! since i'm SO dedicated to my craft (translation: i've met someone 🫢), i decided to find a (surprisingly good) studio and record over vacation!!! 'beaches' is out tomorrow:

'Cause days blend to one when I'm on the right beaches And the walls painted white, they tell me all the secrets Don't wait for the tide just to dip both your feet in 'Cause I'm sure now, I'm sure

here's a sneak peek at the chorus!!!!!

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user20 SHE MET A BOYYYYY

user21 beach babe met beach boy????

user22 oh she's down so bad

user23 i need this now!!!

user24 it's gonna be such summer vibes i can't waittttt

oscarpiastri Cute song! liked by author

user25 is it about the oscar guy in her comments?

user26 as an f1 fan, i don't think so, oscar's just very friendly. i also think he went to the same place she's at for vacay so they might've met

user27 as another f1 fan, i totally think it could be him!

reneerapp H O T

ynln T H A N K Y O U

user28 logan's in the likes too????

july 15th, 2025 - 06:13

The sun is, for the first time these past few days, not blinding, opting to hide behind the thin veil of clouds in the sky, possibly as a service to you and Oscar. Unlike your night owl friends, he's offered to meet you early, promising he knows the best spot to watch the sunrise from. A line, for sure, one used often, but Oscar clearly meant it. The two of you have trailed through the edge of a forest near the beach (not an easy feat, considering you were in thongs (guys, that's a flipflop, let me live, i'm being british 😛)). As you two walk, he lets you hold his arm for balance, laughing fully every time you dramatically trip on a small pebble).

And now you're here. This part of the beach is much more secluded, granting you privacy that only you and Oscar, as figures in the media, can fully appreciate. He's laying on his towel, eyes barely opened, staring at the sky. Against his thigh rests his coffee (which he stubbornly brought in a coconut, making you question if you really like this man). His hand, at first, was near your leg, but he quickly interlocked it with your hand without a second glance.

"I'm really glad to have met you," you say, rubbing your thumb against the back of his hand. Oscar pushes his sunglasses up with his free hand, squinting eyes on you. "I mean, I love my friends, but I feel like you kind of, I don't know, get me? It's really nice." His face is almost frozen, giving no indication of how he feels. You try to cover your tracks, hurrying to add, "Not that we're, like, being serious or anything. Like, I know you're busy and I'm busy, I just wanted to tell you that I'm having a good time. No subconscious messaging or anything." You laugh, uncomfortably and incessantly, worrying about the look on his face. Suddenly, he pushes himself up on his elbows, quickly leaning in to pull you into a kiss.

God, he's way too good at that, you think to yourself. This is definitely going to be a problem.

"I know what you meant, Yn," his voice announces in that annoyingly cute way, "I just like seeing you squirm." You push him away, almost spiling the coffee. His hand flies to the coconut, steadying it, stupid and stubborn and wickedly pretty expression still gracing his face.

july 17th, 2025 - 14:25

"You wanna hear something really funny?"

"Respectfully, Yn, you find the dumbest things funny."

(Scoff) "How dare you! There's nothing respectful about that!"

(Shrug) "Then I said it disrespectfully."

"And here I was, about to share a stroke of comedic genius. But now I won't."

"We both know you will."

"Yeah, I will. My street?"

"Mhm."

"It's 69 Greenwich Street."

"So not funny."

july 18th, 2025 - 20:43

"Oh my god that book was so fucking good. I need to go buy the second one."

"Oh, I already bought it for you."

"Oscar, what?"

"Yeah, I was near the book store and I remembered you telling me about it so I bought it for you. No big deal."

july 20th, 2025 - 09:46

"You look really nice, Yn."

"You're one to talk, Piastri."

july 20th, 2025 - 23:09

"Oscar! It literally just hit me!"

"What?"

"You didn't like that I had a vodka Red Bull because you drive against Red Bull. I'm literally so smart."

oscarpiastri

liked by lewishamilton, quadlock, and 1,393,502 others

oscarpiastri met some cool people in bali :)

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ynln it was so nice to meet you!

oscarpiastri back at you

user29 ok this is either they're-in-love confirmation or we-are-strangers confirmation

user30 leaning to the latter (for my emotional health)

user31 ugh he looks so hot

user32 ARGHWGGHAUGQPERUGBR

lando party w/o lando?

oscarpiastri well, i didn't want to break my nose, so yes

charles_leclerc Deserved rest 💪

oscarpiastri Wish you were here, would've been fun!

logansargeant this is not my oscar piastri

oscarpiastri me when i want attention be like

logansargeant ok u caught me im jealous

oscarpiastri fly down 😘

user33 oscar's not with that singer, he's dating logan clearly

alex_albon 😂

mclaren We really shouldn't be seeing this...

oscarpiastri lando's done worse 😅

lando sybau sybau sybau 🥀

july 24th, 2025 - 15:32

Media day is a day where drivers do pre-race interviews and funny videos for their team's social media, to advertise and to get their thoughts out about the progression of both their season and their team's. What childhood memory did you lose to remember that now useless fact?

You're sitting on the floor of your New York apartment, back against the side of your couch, as your TV plays the interviews in Belgium at the loudest volume. Some neighbor will surely have a problem, so you enjoy the few moments you have, replaying his voice in your head, as if memorizing it will change anything.

You haven't really heard from Oscar. It was to be expected. Both of you agreed that this was a fling, nothing more. Him leading the standings, you with an album release on the way. Neither of you needed another thing to add to a stacked, hunger-satiating plate.

Well, you may not have needed it, but it became clear to you quite quickly that you definitely wanted it. Sitting there, eating a bag of sour gummy worms and drinking room temperature Dr. Pepper, you watch him in his element, bearing the most honest of smiles. You don't know what to do. Your phone lies unlocked in front of you, on his contact, right next to your notebook. You are hoping that the least the universe could do was give you some kick-ass songs from this shitty experience. Right now, it doesn't seem like that's going to happen.

You chuck another gummy worm in your mouth, miserably listening to Oscar talk about how good his vacation was. How relaxing. That's nice. What a fucking guy, you think to yourself. That's what he is. He's a guy, a boy, he's not a man or anything. I clocked him with that stupid 'beach boy' nickname. I'm cosmically stupid.

Suddenly, you feel the urge to write. It's less like your mind is willing you, more like it's your pen, reaching for the paper like a moth to a flame. Real man, you think to yourself, looking at the title of what is apparently your next song, Oscar's haunting voice playing in the background.

(spa, belgium)

july 24th, 2025 - 21:17

Oscar's pathetic. He must be. He's lying in his hotel room, in the most comfortable bed he's ever been in, yet sleep evades him. He has a structure he likes to stick to during race weekends. Being unable to sleep because he's thinking about a girl he's know for three weeks isn't (and never will be) part of that structure.

Evasive Yn Ln, imperceptible Yn Ln. She must be a witch, right? There's no other explanation for the voice in his head, the one replicating her songs and her sweetly weird pronunciation of her t's. It calls him to her. His phone, over the past few minutes, has gotten closer to his face. He's replaying videos from his summer with Yn.

One of her trying to surf. One of them on a jet ski, her hands around his waist, chin on his shoulder, face bearing a beautiful smile. One of her dancing to her music on a crowded beach, holding a beer in one hand and making fun of something called a 'frat-boy flick.' And then came the videos from her concerts, which the internet is happy to provide.

She's got a song called 'lovesong,' which Oscar feels so insanely confused about. His feelings are so muddled they may as well have been rained on. It's a beautiful song, one he can't forget if he tries. But something twists in his stomach whenever he gets that painful and common reminder that it wasn't written for him.

She's singing into a microphone, strumming the chords on her sticker-laden guitar, smiling. Oscar sees her in the back of her mind right now, knowing she's doing anything but smiling. Hell, knowing Yn, she's probably writing a song about him right now. And not one he's going to like.

And yet.

He adjusts himself in bed, still scrolling. He's going to be scrolling for a while. That's what mistakes do. They linger in your brain, they're felt in every touch. Oscar's going to be feeling them for a long time.

ynln

liked by lexijayde, user34, and 3,008,961 others

ynln single number twooo! summer time in my favorite city always heals everything! the newest single coming your way (releasing midnight est) is called 'real man'. here's some lyrics:

And I already told you I'm not part of the band Please forgive me just for thinking it's a fleetin' romance I guess no one ever taught you how to be a real man

hopefully, the album will be done 🔜

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user35 who messed with my queen?

user36 we go to war when 'real man' drops

user37 why do the best girls always get the worst guys?

lexijayde her pen ✍️ ✍️ ✍️

ynln my pen <<<< your everything

user38 i feel bad for yn... but i know this album's gonna slap

user39 IM IN LESBIANS WITH HER

yourfriend2 could he hold it down and take it, if you gave him a chance?

ynln STAWP leaking my lyrics ����

user40 yn's friends just dropping the lyrics like it's nothing is killing me

user41 god's strongest soldier

user42 this is 'norman fucking rockwell' 2.0

user43 EEK!

yourfriend3 he wasn't a real man, dab on it and move on

ynln 😶‍🌫️

july 27th, 2025 - 15:28

When the FIA announces the red flag, everyone's annoyed. He gets out of his car, in a rush to find his phone and headphones, pushing past personnel with as much ease as he overtakes Lando. He's in the bathroom right now, hurrying to plug his headphones in so he can listen to Yn's new songs.

He knows it's about him. Fuck, that doesn't look good. A song called 'Real Man,' surely satirical, and he can tell off the bat it's about him.

And I already told you I just wanted to dance Could you see me standing out here with my outstretched hand?

The verses weren't too bad. They hit Oscar like a pile of bricks, a gift that keeps giving until he feels like he's driven through Yn's brain, on a track that will probably never exist again. He is perched against the sink, one hand steadying him, the other holding his phone as close to his face as possible. Oscar is absolutely fucking pathetic! He can't even look himself in the eye, he cranes his neck down to not make eye contact with the mirror.

I guess no one ever taught you how to be a real man

Oscar immediately thinks about his mom. God, she would be livid if she knew how he'd acted. His sisters even more so. He turns the faucet on, splashing some cold water on his face. Truly, he shouldn't care this much. It's been a few weeks of knowing you--surely, it isn't normal to be this fucking hung up.

Because that's definitely what he was. Hung the fuck up. On everything about you, too. It's not like there were many things he disliked about you that he can find solace in. No, he's forced to face you in your entirety, through this stupidly catchy song and through all of those videos that keep popping up on his fucking feed (it's definitely not because he's been liking and saving all of them).

He's sitting in the garage, hiding from the cameras, and he's thinking about you. He's talking to Tom, focusing his vision on the statistics on the screen in front of him, and he's thinking about you. He's pulling his balaclava on, his gloves on, his helmet on, as he steps into his car, reaching out to the steering wheel--yet he's thinking about you. Fuck.

july 27th, 2025 - 18:03

So... that shouldn't have been possible. The rolling start, the ticking time bomb that was those degrading mediums. You. Oscar's race consisted of thinking about you (the only exception being his lap 1 overtake, where he was only half thinking about you). It shouldn't be possible for a driver, as off and unfocused as he was, to win. Formula 1 must have gotten too easy.

Yet, here is Oscar, parking his car in front of that beautiful #1. He takes a second to breathe, even though it is a bit more difficult to do so, before he steps out, careful not to slip. His arms punch out in glory, the crowd erupting behind him. Lando and Charles pull in as well, clearly not as jazzed as he is. Oscar jumps off the car, heading straight to where his mother and grandfather are standing, cheering. He pulls his mother into a hug first, his mind so dizzy on the culmination of this insane fucking weekend that her compliments slur together. His grandfather is beside them, reaching out to Oscar the second Nicole is done. Oscar's mind is fucking with him again because he truly can't tell if he's happy, sad, or some other much more complicated word.

His grandfather's first race and he wins it. His mom, who he hasn't seen in a few weeks, clapping and trying to hold back her tears. His heart strains towards this moment, drumming in Oscar's chest, telling him to enjoy it, live in it, breathe it the fuck in. But he does miss you. He's selfish and rude and unappreciative, feelings which he will definitely rot in later, once he gets back to Monaco. But he wants you here. Really fucking badly.

july 27th, 2025 - 12:03

Oscar won his race. Plain and simple. He was really fucking good, too. You're still curled up on your couch, your cats roaming the living room and leaving whenever your reactions get too loud. Even when they announced the red flag, you stayed in your spot, the only movement between the start and end of the race being the repositioning of your blanket (the stress and adrenaline were keeping you warm).

It's really hard, not to text him right now. You know he probably doesn't want to hear it--or even care--but you miss him and you want the best for him. After all, that is why all of this is happening in the first place. Oscar deserves the best, and you do too, and being together wouldn't give either of you what you deserve. Right?

You really miss him, though. Your hands ache for your journal, for the feel of the smooth pen in between the pads of your fingers. The ruffle of pages and the inhibiting smell of ink splotches, they bring an unparalleled comfort to you. You need that right now. The cameras zoom in on Oscar's face. He's smiling, bright, that beautiful smile that you see when you close your eyes. His dimples are incredibly prominent, pairing with his deep hazel eyes to create an image you're unlikely to ever forget. He looks so fucking happy. He's hugging his mom, his grandfather, and giggling as the swarm of Papaya engineers huddle around him in support.

You wish you were there. But, simply put, you're not. You're in New York City--the place you have always insisted to be the best. It doesn't feel like it. Fuck it, you think to yourself.

'Good job :),' you text him, hurriedly putting your phone on DND and throwing it across the room. Instead, you pick up your journal, beginning to scribble down lyrics in a dire attempt to capture Oscar and those beautiful brown eyes--the prettiest eyes you'd ever seen.

july 29th, 2025 - 2:47

It has been impossible to sleep. Hungary is coming up in less than a few days and still--still, still, still--you're on the forefront of his mind. He can't catch up to you, no matter what moves he pulls or what daydreams he envelops himself in. You're simultaneously far off and right there. That text you sent--that mindless, but in no way meaningless--has been memorized, tattooed onto the side of Oscar's brain.

He knows what he has to do. In fact, he feels stupid for not knowing sooner. Not knowing about this whole ordeal or about how prevalent you would remain. Oscar's calling everyone who works for him, anyone who can get him a fucking flight.

(new york city, ny, usa)

You are dreaming again. Usually, the dreams start in that nameless club you met him in. In the dreams, you do it right. Well, not really. You're unsure how to do it right. It seems like, no matter how well you string the words together, how adamant you are, he's always an arm's reach away. The only thing separating you is consciousness, as well as the Atlantic Ocean.

This dream takes a different turn however. Out of nowhere--interrupting one of the better dates included in these dreams--loud knocking begins, to the backdrop of heavy rain, pitter-pattering on the sidewalks. Five minutes of you convincing yourself it's the dream pass until your body can no longer lay there, limp and tired, and not do anything about whatever psycho is waking you up at... 2:47 in the morning? you think to yourself, rubbing your eyes. You grab a big t-shirt off the edge of your bed, making your way to the front door. The knocking hasn't eased up, in volume nor in strength or repetition.

"What do you want?" you drag out the last word, making it clear you're annoyed, when you realize it isn't some random standing in front of you, it's him. It's Oscar?

He's been knocking for a while. His clothes are fully wet, dripping on their own, his hair basically slicked to his forehead. It's hard to pretend he doesn't still manage to look sinfully good. His mouth is parted--he wants to say something, but the words aren't flowing out like he expects them to.

"Hi," Oscar finally breathes out, his body moving with him. You cross your arms. It is painfully clear that, even without an apology, you are considering letting him in and just letting it go. You shouldn't, you know that. So you close the door behind you, stepping into the rain with him. "I'm sorry," he finally says. You don't reply, allowing him to continue.

"I'm so fucking stupid, Yn," Oscar laughs, almost in horrendous awe of himself. "I can't even imagine what I was thinking, pulling that stupid line about needing to focus on racing. It was incredibly shitty and not even fucking true and I don't even know what else to say except that I am a moron." He takes your hands, gently, and when you don't pull away, grips them a bit stronger.

"I know you saw the race," he says, his voice soft, beckoning you back to him without even meaning to do so. "The entire time--the entire weekend, for fuck's sake--I spent thinking about you. It should have been a miracle for me to even finish the race, much less win." Oscar starts laughing again. You've missed the sound, sure, but you don't quite know how well his finding humor in this sits with you.

"It should have been a miracle," he repeats, his eyes staring into yours, "but it wasn't." Your eyebrows furrow. "I can't do anything without you. Or without thinking about you, I guess. All this shit about wanting to focus on racing and not being able to be with you--I had it all wrong! You literally take up every waking moment of my time. When I'm not thinking about you, I'm dreaming about you or I'm watching your concerts or rereading our texts. I need you in my life, Yn. I was so stupid before. I can't even..." he struggles to find the words. "I just... what was I thinking?"

Finally, after what feels like an eternity of you scanning him, trying to answer the myriad of questions your doubtful brain comes up with, you smile. "You clearly weren't," you grin, pushing your hair out of your face. "What are we going to do about that?" Once Oscar catches that glint in your eye, he, too, can't help but smile. His right hand slides away from yours, snaking to the small of your back. His left goes up to your lip, wiping off the raindrops carefully.

"I've got a few ideas," he leans in, the space between you almost non-existent.

"Oh yeah?" you joke. A beat passes. You put your arms around his neck, pulling him in as close as possible and kissing him in a way you never had before. All of Oscar's kisses were destructively good, but this one was borderline dangerous. Maybe even addictive. The rain dances on your skin, soaking you in the moment. When the two of your pull away and give each other soft smiles, it's clear.

ynln posted a story!

ynln back to the place where it started so i can announce 'this is how tomorrow moves'!!!! out august 29th!!!!

single #3: 'ever seen', out tomorrow

oscarpiastri playing ever seen - yn ln

liked by yourmom, oliviarodrigo, and 1,529,747 others

oscarpiastri i've got the prettiest eyes she's ever seen??? (tagged ynln)

view all comments

user44 my favorite crossover episode

lando my eyes are better 😤

oscarpiastri that's funny because i don't remember asking.

lando you didn't need to add the period at the end, asshat

kimiantonelli my girlfriend loves your girlfriend!

olliebearman kimi no i don't??? not yet, oscar, but i will listen, i promise

isackhadjar y'all need to figure ts out

user45 can i be adopted?

ynln beach boy reveal!

oscarpiastri you ever gonna stop calling me that?

ynln no 🥰

oscarpiastri yay!

user46 i'm grieving my nonexistent relationship with him

user47 you and everyone else, sister 😔

logansargeant who is this DIVA 💜

oscarpiastri MY girlfriend...

danielricciardo SOMEONE had a good summer

oscarpiastri understatement of the century

nicolepiastri She looks so kind!!!! I can't wait to meet her, Oscar!

ynln mrs piastri you're so cool thank you so much this means everything to me thank you

oscarpiastri thanks mum, she's passed out

alex_albon lilymhe why won't you write me a love song?

lilymhe why won't you write ME a love song?

alex_albon i have, it's in my diary :)))

georgerussell63 what about me?

alex_albon girl there's more for you than for lily 😉

oscarpiastri stream my girlfriend's album when it comes out!!!!!

ynln

liked by carlossainz55, ediepiastri, and 3,074,298 others

ynln it's out!!!! 'this is how tomorrow moves' is available in record stores (my preferred method of listening) or wherever you stream music! this album is summer in new york, secret sunsets on the beach, sleeping in with pretty boys. it means everything to me!!!!! i hope you guys like it and tell me your favorite track!! (p.s. mine's 'coming home')

view all comments

oscarpiastri mine is ever seen!!!! or beaches!!!! or take a bite!!!! or everything i want!!!!

lando i'm sensing a pattern 🤔

ynln oscar's love songs 🤗

hattiepiastri pro tip 🤓 don't let your brother date your favorite singer, it ruins all her songs for you

ynln i'll write a song about you too bby don't worry

oscarpiastri why does my family like you more than they like me?

nicolepiastri We WOULD like her better if you actually let us meet her, Oscar

kimiantonelli i really liked it yn, 10/10

ynln you are the youngest person EVER thank you kimiiii

charles_leclerc hello daughter-in-law!!!!

ynln papa?????

oliviarodrigo My new favorite album!

ynln from you, that means so much

user48 AHHHHHHHHHH

user49 AHHHHHHHHHH

user50 she's so in love i'm crying for her

mclaren Playing this in the paddock 🎵 liked by author

fayewebster i wish i wrote girl song ❤️‍🩹

ynln you wrote kingston, be fr!

oscarpiastri i can't believe i didn't know i was in love with you immediately

ynln definitely took you a while 😥

to anyone reading this who thinks they might possibly potentially maybe have a fic idea please use the request!!!! i have the most fun writing those and it guarantees that some people will enjoy it, which is literally all i can ask for :)

[sleeperagentclone]

30, 37, 79 for the unusual asks!

30: Usually I go for citrus but right now I have a coconut and pineapple candle I really like, I think it was bath and body works that had a scent called like "moonlight stroll" or something that I really liked as a kid

37: I used to read a lot as a kid but than I got hit with ocd + whatever is wrong with a lot of peoples attention spans nowadays and I probably haven't read a full book in a decade? Even a mutlichapter fanfic is a bit too heavy of a lift for me now.

I do play a lot of choice of games and hosted games games, which is text based choose you own adventure so very much like reading a book

AND, very exciting, I am very close to finishing my first book in maybe a decade, many thanks to my library card and the libby app for that

As for a favorite book, I have no fucking clue, when I finished Wicked there was an instant feeling of like absence that it was over and I wanted to reread it right away, Princess Bride, Stardust, and Ella Enchanted are all amazing books with equally amazing movies, I devoured the Percy Jackson books as a kid but I'm kinda on the fence with them now given the authors stance on Palestine, Nancy Farmer, Neal Shusterman, and Scott Westerfield all have both series and books that I love, there's a children's(?) biography of Woody Guthrie that I absolutely adore, idk

79: No :( I think it would be cool if supernatural stuff was real but I can't act like I think it is. I for sure think that things and places can be haunted but I think that's all like physiological in our head type of shit

[r0seb100d]

Hey, Could you write about Dallas Winston falling head over heels with a soc but doesn't say anything till he sees her out with someone?

Hii! Thank you for the request, I hope you enjoy <3 🤍

Warnings: fem!reader

I've got my eye on you

A Soc. Dallas Winston had fallen head over heels in love with a goddamn Soc. Now if only he could pinpoint the precise moment where this aberration had occurred, perhaps he would be able to counteract whatever spell he had fallen under.

Maybe it was your sweet, genuine wave that he was met with that night at the drive-in, maybe when you had stuck up for Johnny in front of all your Soc friends despite them all rolling their eyes at you. Or maybe it was just simply the way you carried yourself, free of obnoxiousness and full of honest kindness, all whilst looking like an angel sent to this earth that had just done it for him.

There was no denying it. No matter how hard he tried, Dallas could not let the thought of your large, sparkling eyes, powdery perfume, and neatly done hair out of his head.

It was unnatural, out of character, and frankly embarrassing for him to even admit it. Dallas Winston, a greaser, a hood, a criminal, so desperately in love with a girl whom he had no business being with.

You were so different from his typical choice of woman, and that was what made you all the more entrancing. You weren’t a greasy girl packed with attitude and snark; you were polite and friendly but also smart, speaking up when you needed to and simply avoiding anything that brought about a large sense of negative energy. It made Dallas want to keep his unnecessary comments to himself, at least whilst he was around you.

Thinking that this was just a stupid crush that he would eventually have to get over, Dallas never once acted upon his fantasies, simply remaining cordial in the few interactions that he had with you, praying silently that he didn’t come across as a fool.

However, he was proven wrong. It had now been close to six straight months of pining, and he was beginning to feel beyond ridiculous. Not even his usual indulgence in pure debauchery was cutting it anymore; in fact, it only seemed to frustrate him further, fueling the ever-growing feeling that he was missing something in his life.

Dallas would be lying if he said that these uncontrollable feelings didn’t terrify him. They were not something he had ever expected to encounter in his chaotic life; he could deal with rumbles, fights, and being locked up but could not handle the need to get close with you. You made him forget there was such a thing as Socs and greasers—you were just… you.

Now, he probably would have continued with this internal battle for God knows how long if it hadn’t been for a particular sight he was met with one Friday evening. A sight that quite literally tore his heartstrings and crushed its remains to pieces. A feeling that made him so uneasy that he wanted to bash his own head in. Dallas Winston does not get heartbroken over girls, especially not sweetheart Soc girls.

Nevertheless, seeing you hand in hand with a stuck-up Soc prick made him freeze in his tracks. There you were laughing, your bright red lips stretched into a smile as you listened to whatever bullshit spewed from his mouth, occasionally sipping on your Coke and batting your eyelashes.

Why did his chest ache so much? Why did he feel his knuckles clench until they were surely white? Why did this hurt so much? He felt like a lovesick teenager who had just had his first crush, and this bothered him greatly. He should not be feeling like this. How did he even find himself in this situation?

He shook the overwhelming thoughts away and glanced around the drive-in. There were plenty of other pretty girls that he could at least try to pick up for the evening, maybe even go out for a couple of dates and try to erase the memory of the girl who had burrowed herself inside of his brain and refused to leave.

Three girls later and he still felt like shit. None of them held even a quarter of your captivating essence; hell, they were so boring to him. They didn’t look or speak or smile like you, and that was it.

Dallas realized he was absolutely done for. He could either accept his seemingly permanent heartbreak or he could finally pull himself together and act like himself again. When he wanted something, he went and got it. This situation should be no different. Sure, he felt that it required a bit more of a gentle approach—it was the least you deserved—but there wasn’t anything holding him back from making his move.

Looking around once more, Dallas’ eyes landed on you, and his heart jumped. You were sitting all alone, with a new cup of Coke and no other guy beside you.

Taking a deep breath, he made his way over.

“Hey.”

He felt stupid.

“Hi Dally, you here with anyone?”

You smiled at him.

“No, I’m here alone.” He took his chance. “Are you? Here with anyone?”

You tilted your head slightly and sighed.

“I was with some guy, but he was…”

You searched for the right words.

“A dick?”

His response made you burst out into laughter.

“Dally! You can’t say that!”

“I don’t hear you denying it, Doll.”

He smirked back at you.

“Fine, yes he was a dick, a total dick. I had to fake laugh the entire evening and pretend I was having a good time, and then I just had enough, and here I am.”

You glanced up at him.

“Someone like you deserves someone who’d treat you good.”

“What...?”

Dallas took in a shaky breath.

“I could, if you’d want me.”

Your eyes widened ever so slightly, and your own breath hitched.

“Are you asking me out?”

“Yeah, maybe I am.”

He smiled.

“You’d want to go out with me?”

You asked with a hint of self-doubt, unbelieving that Dallas Winston would be into a girl like you.

“Mhm, had my eye on you for a while now, Doll, so what ya think?”

His heart was pounding in his chest.

“Yeah, yeah, I’d love to go out with you.”

“Okay, how about I pick you up tomorrow at six?”

“That sounds perfect, Dally.”

He couldn’t hold back the grin that had appeared on his face.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then. Bye, Doll.”

“Bye, Dally.”

For the first time in months, Dallas felt a warm feeling spread throughout his chest.

♱ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ♱ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ♱ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ♱ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ♱ . ݁₊ ⊹ .

౨ৎ 1k words ౨ৎ

[cryptidvillage]

Bullying Remmick Imagine #1

I'm getting back into writing, and I love being an unserious little menace. I am God's silliest goose fighting Her funniest battles. Remmick needs to be made fun of more, he just makes it too easy. Not proofread, just chaos. Enjoy.

_______________________________________

° It's night. You're finally winding down after a long day, where work and family tried your patience until it was hanging by half a thread. Now that you were at last alone in the peaceful quiet of your abode, you'd be damned to hell if you let anything get between you and your deliciously warm cup of chamomile lavender tea--with two drops of local honey to taste.

° Pursing your lips together, you prepare to blow steam off of the hot liquid. A burnt tongue was certainly unwelcome, and there was no need to suffer for the simple pleasures.

° Knock, knock, knock. Your nose scrunches up in annoyance when you were interrupted by whoever had the foul audacity to knock on your door at this hour. This was, arguably, a sacred nighttime routine for you. And someone had the nerve to impede upon it.

° With a groan, you begrudgingly set down your favorite mug on the wooden table before standing to attention on your tired legs. You glare in the direction of the door. You hoped that if you were a cockatrice, that whoever was standing on the other side would have dropped dead from your fatal stare. You rolled your eyes so hard a black hole probably formed somewhere.

° Every step you took towards the door thundered into the floorboards with an unforgiving ferocity. Anyone with decent hearing would be able to deduce that you were in an irritable state, and they should steer clear, unless they wanted you to make them cry.

° Your fingers wrap around the doorknob and yank it open. Not only was your routine interrupted by knuckles upon your door, but your eyes were assaulted by the most pathetic man you've ever seen in your goddamned life.

° "I-I'm mighty sorry, miss, I do know it's an odd hour," the male specimen stammered, his voice breaking. "But I uh, I've run into some trouble, and I'll need a place to stay the night, lay low and whatnot. I'll be out of your hair come mornin' time, honest."

° With the way this man was begging you, he managed to remind you of all of your worst exes combined into one horrible little amalgamation. It was almost impressive. Almost. Don't ever give a man like him that much credit. Also, if you're going to solicit someone at an ungodly hour, at least have better fashion sense.

° "Wow, are you serious? In that shade of blue?"

° The man frowned at you, his pout straightening into thin lips. "Come again?"

° "Did I stutter? That shade of blue is disgusting. I wouldn't be caught dead in it."

° His mouth hung slightly agape at your words. In all of his existence as a vampire, he'd never had anyone insult him on their doorstep quite like this. Sure, he'd been told he was a sight for sore eyes, looked like he'd narrowly survived a pack of wild dogs, etcetera etcetera. But this? Going after his choice of clothes? It was a new low Remmick didn't think possible.

° "Aww, miss, ya don't gotta be so mean now," the man began again, wagging his finger at you. "Ya don't know what I been through. Please, let a man whose clothes ya don't agree with come in, and crash on the couch or somethin'? Ya don't gotta look at me much if it really bothers ya to yer core."

° You cocked a brow at him. Persistent little fucker, aren't you. Your eyes flicked to his left hand, and a gold wedding band caught your stare. "I see that ring on your finger," you spoke. "I'm sure your wife appreciates you knocking on other women's doors at night. She thinks you're a real keeper, doesn't she?"

° The man's face contorted into one of deep sadness. "I ain't got a wife anymore, miss," he replied. "She--my wife was killed. She's dead. I'm runnin' from the men who killed her, like a goddamned coward. Please take pity on me, don't let the bad men get me like they got her." He then had the idea to sink to his knees and fold his hands together pleadingly. It didn't make him any less kickable.

° Both your eyebrows shot up. Bullshit had a strong, offensive odor.

° "You tell everyone that, don't you?" you shot back. "You're not foolin' me. I bet she divorced your sorry ass. Thoughts and prayers. Not to you, though. I hope your wife got everything. Looks like she did, since you're the one on my porch beggin' like a sad little wet dog, Mr. Divorce." You give a sharp nod of your head, saluting a woman you didn't know across time and space. "Good for her."

° The incredulousness that Remmick felt made his eye twitch, and his pleading hands fell at his sides. Sure, his wife back when he was still a human had willingly left him over a thousand years ago, but this was a low blow. He wished you'd slip up and break the threshold so that he could tear your throat out, permanently taking your ability of hurtful jabs away.

° "I don't understand why you gotta be so cruel to a man who's clearly strugglin'. There's somethin' deeply wrong with ye. Hurt people hurt people, ye know. Maybe I could come in and have a chat with ye, get to know ye more and figure out what's botherin' ye. We could help each other. We don't have to be bickerin' like this."

° You picked up a lick of an Irish accent slipping through his Southern drawl. Bingo.

° "My problem is that my fucking tea is cold now, from me having to stand here listening to you flapping your goddamn cake munchers," you retorted. "Fuck off, Lucky Charms."

° The door slammed in Remmick's face. You did not have the pleasure of seeing him blink like a frog as he struggled to process what the hell had just happened.

[laserbobcat]

as someone who's 33 and writing Narilamb and reading your comics, and also kinda interested in different kinds of art myself, it is so so nice seeing someone around my age who's into this fandom and making art. I feel so stupid sometimes that it's hard to even pick up a pencil or stylus - and I'm new new new to art like that so I need that practice time. seeing people like you making what you love and not giving a good goddamn is really inspiring. I'm sure you get lots of love for your comics but idk I just wanted to say thank you 💗 your cat and Leshy make so many people smile for so many different reasons :)

AW I do get a lot of kind feedback, but it's rare that I don't have the time/energy to answer. I really appreciate messages. I do read and see all of it, and every little tag matters. It's why I try my best to leave at least a little tag when I reblog art, and I'm not shy about sending messages to creators when I have, again, time/energy. People are shy, but we are all dorks, you realize it pretty quick when you start interacting more with the artists you follow. Warning surprise super LONG life dump bellow. I was like "Inspiring, are you sure? I'm also wreck, let me tell you just so there's no misunderstandings" and bam, novel.

About being 35 and making whatever I want: I do in fact feel self conscious about a lot of things, it's just that people on the internet don't really matter. That sounds harsh, but it's true. It's like people you meet on the street, or at bars, or at work: mostly polite positive interactions, some nice memories, a few of them will form solid bonds with you, the vast majority of them will be lost as soon as they're not in the same vicinity as you anymore. And it's normal, and it's ok. Humans aren't made to nurture too many relationships, even the social ones. So I personally enjoy fandoms in a detached sort of way that might feel like I don't give a damn. I think it's healthy tbh. But it's easy to appear calm and detached when you don't really have skin in the game. I really care about this blog it's my fun place, but it's completely detached from my actual life. I'm being an anonymous dork among dorks, it's nice. Some people are dumb sometimes and I don't care. What are they gonna do, sue me, lol. BUT LIKE. I almost deleted that blog once because and IRL person I know found it? I panicked SO HARD. Y'all nerds can look at my silly comics with cute cats kissing: not people in my real life. I'd rather be found drawing hardcore tentacle porn or sniffing paint. I'm not like, brave or anything, I'm hiding online XD

And honestly life is haaaaaaaard right now. For everyone lately. but for me personally: fanart is a nice hyperfocus to forget that life is a bitch. A distraction. I've always been "too sensitive" never could hold a job for too long, because people are awful in low level entry jobs, I never got one that I really like. I've been studying art and digital art, it's been hard, and it didn't lead me anywhere professionally for various reasons. I paid a private school and I am just finishing paying a big loan, just for the (average) skills I got being used to draw a cartoon bush with legs, kissing a cat, on a dusty website. It's so incredibly easy to feel like a failure. And being an artist SUCKS in this world. I'm not an artist by choice, god I would love to be smart enough to have done different studies, and have some kind of job that actually pays. But no, just did a professional profile, and all my affinities lead to creative work, I'm doomed to be good at things that are hell to make money off of when you don't have twice or thrice the energy a regular job needs. I just can't stop. Even when I take breaks, I always come back to creating things. A life's curse, truly.

I feel depressed now, so let's filter this shit through my "15 years of therapy" voice translator: -I'm not too sensitive, people telling me this in my life have all been notorious assholes. If we had more raw hearted people, daily life would be softer, and we wouldn't have wars. Us kind softies are vastly underappreciated. -I haven't been paying a school for nothing, I met my best friends there, learned a lot of skills and methodology that serve me today, and will serve me later in ways I can't just pinpoint yet without hindsight. I also have a lot of experience and help I can share with younger people and beginners. I'm a great art teacher. -I'm happy that I can't help being creative. So much people trail off into things they don't like, and realize later that they're utterly miserable. It's harsh, but not having the strength to pursue something you don't like is kind of a blessing. You avoid so much shit on your life path. it's not a life worth living. I've seen people with good paying careers give them up to get fully into a passion. -It's okay to draw a bush kissing a cat, who fucking cares what you do on your free time, the cops? It's ok to enjoy cute and silly things even when everything gets serious- especially when everything get serious. So much of us get our inner child crushed it's terribly sad. -The silliness is serious actually. You can get a powerful life lesson from deep books about philosophy and self-care and shit, but they're not rare everywhere else. The silliest movie, comic or fanfic can have a line or a character that will resonate enough with you to change your life. Like a tiny little piece that was missing in your personnal puzzle. I felt deeply moved by some comics online, so my own comics online 100% have the same value. What are "serious" media but hobbyists getting their art to a bigger professional scale. We're all telling stories around campfires and there's nothing stupid, shameful or weak about that. Egyptian gods were dramatic furries ffs.

I'm eternally stuck between "Yeah follow your heart and do art" and "It will lead you to hell though" because I feel like both are true. But do you really have a choice? What are the other options? I personally don't, so I just pick up the pen for a hobby, and started applying to ceramic courses for a career change. We'll see where it goes.

Well that was a lot, but I have some serious anxiety issues that make me over-explain stuff, and I'm talkative, and I'm on my period. Enjoy.

[krispdreemurr]

For my Weird Route I picked a lot of the obviously mean or cruel dialogue options, and it was really interesting. For example, if you click "Of course it's weird" to Ralsei after his moment in his room, Kris will apparently cover their mouth after entry say "of course" so that's all Ralsei hears, and if you choose the "I'll never play again" option after Susie's piano flashback Kris will bite their hand to stop them from saying it.

I love that Kris is taking more direct actions to stop us. The entire bit in the Holiday house was amazing, probably my favorite section in the game. There's also a lot of really great moments like that in the Weird Route specifically. I won't go into details now, but if you're not planning on playing it and are okay with me sharing I'd love to send another ask.

I love Kris so much

ive seen the weird route now and holy shit. goddamn.

the piano thing is particularly striking to me as a sign of defiance, because like as I've been getting into i do feel like taking on the soul was a choice Kris made when depressed and able to accept giving up their life that now they want to undo. them reclaiming the ability to play piano on their own is a Big component of them wanting to continue Living, and it makes total sense to me as the thing that would provoke the strongest reaction. they're not letting you undo their healing.

[izloveshorses]

i feel like my biggest takeaway from andor (s2 specifically) is... it's something you just gotta accept as it is. it wasn't the cassian origin story™ we were expecting, and tbh it wasn't even a real rogue one prequel™ either.

don't get me wrong, i'm disappointed that it wasn't exactly what we wanted it to be. and i'm annoyed by tony gilroy's misunderstanding of one of my favorite characters of all time. but it was never going to be perfect. we've had almost ten years to craft what we envision cassian's backstory. of course some of us were going to be disappointed. but... i think there's more to the show than that? cassian sort of became a vessel for a larger narrative.

i think they decided to tell a beautiful story about grassroots rebellion and how to start a fully functioning revolution from the ground up, and when you look at the broader picture, they did that really well. and the quality of the filmmaking, the cinematography, the set, the costuming, the writing... it's beyond almost anything we've seen coming out these days. let alone for disney, let alone for star wars, of all things. sure, it suffers from the shorter seasons, three ep release weeks, etc, but i think those are just pitfalls of the state of modern tv. and with all things considered, they fit a lot of story into a tight schedule. and i can't believe The Mouse greenlit this radical as hell show.

as for the character choices and rogue one tie ins..... i am cherry picking what i liked and moving on. tbh i already forgot about the baby thing today, didn't remember until logging back on here after work and seeing a post about it lol. i am looking at things i didn't like and saying 'wow that was stupid! anyway.' maybe i've just been online too long, maybe i've been hurt real bad by other shows in the past, maybe life is just really hard rn and i just want a good goddamn show to look forward to, but i just don't really care to focus on the bits that made me mad anymore. obviously there are some things i cannot forgive (killing cinta, for instance) but the rest.... i am looking away... i do not see it...

we've survived a long time without much more than a single movie to work with. and we've lived off of 'everybody lives/nobody dies' aus for nearly ten years now. i think we can do the same here <3

[crownmemes]

From Sentences, Vol. 1

(Sentences from From (2022-). Adjust phrasing where needed)

"Denial is a major branch of my family tree."

"We had an arrangement. You don't come here."

"You're like a poem, you know that? You make everything around you beautiful."

"Can we go back to some place that resembles civilisation?"

"I don't trust these people. There's something really weird here."

"This, unfortunately, is going to be the worst conversation of your life."

"If I untie you, do you promise not to do anything crazy?"

"I feel like I'm hanging on by a thread here. I can't find any more bodies. I just can't."

"Those things, they walk, they never run - you ever notice that? It's like they're taking their time because they know there's only so many places we can go."

"I wasn't always like this, you know."

"Aren't you supposed to be talking to me about the virtues of mercy?"

"You know how sometimes you dream and you forget, but then later you start to remember, and you realise that it wasn't a dream and all of it maybe really happened?"

"I think I'm starting to remember things. Things that I thought were dreams."

"I wasn't hallucinating, trust me! I've done a fuck ton of drugs; I know what hallucinations feel like, and this was different!"

"I wish you had the luxury of grief, but you don't."

"There are no mistakes, just choices."

"If someone asked for a sign, how would they know what they were looking for?"

"What did you really come here to ask me?"

"How do you know any of this is real?"

"Hey! You don't walk away when I'm talking to you!"

"People tell me I'm not great when it comes to talking to people. You have no idea what it's like being smarter than everyone you know!"

"You know, you should really work on your party face."

"What are you doing sitting here all by yourself?"

"You did enough. You did more than anyone should ever have to."

"You come back, okay? Who the hell else am I going to argue with!"

"Now, get the fuck out of here before people start thinking we're friends!"

"Let me explain to you again how this works. I say jump, then you jump. I ask you a question, then you goddamn answer!"

"One thing I always appreciated about your predecessor is he minded his own business."

"Calm down! I'm not a fucking psycho!"

"Are you real?"

"Do you think we made it angry?"

"You know cigarettes are bad for you, right?"

"I know you're scared - I'm scared too - but we have to move, okay?"

"You're a creepy little kid."

"There's darkness in the forest. Nightmares you can't even begin to imagine. Things we were never meant to see."

"What's your favourite book? You do read, right?"

"It's your move, but I've got to say, your options don't look great."

"I'm going to put this as delicately as possible: how fucking stupid are you?"

"What do you want? Do you want my approval? Do you want absolution? Because you're not going to get it here!"

"You playing your whole creepy mystery man routine isn't exactly helping me feel any better!"

[hikarimiyanaga]

Teach Me (Part 2)

Part 2 after so long ����😭

I'm so sorry that my life caught up to me.

But will still try my best to write!

I've made a SocMed AU on X so let me know if any of you wanna read it.

(It's friendly rivalry.)

Warning : Omegaverse. Alpha!Reader x Omega!Nico Robin.

You go to class with little sleep. Last night was a disaster.

That goddamn dress on your crush keeps flashing in your mind and you had to relieve yourself two times and had to take an ice bath just to calm down.

You go to your usual seat and yawn.

"Sleepy?" A familiar voice asks and you look and see Robin.

"Huh? Y-yeah." You stutter in reply and she sits besides you.

"I knew your materials yesterday was familiar. We really did share the same class."

"Oh. Wow. You can tell from the materials?" Robin nods.

"Each professor has their own mindset, perspective and ways of teaching."

"Spoken like a true academic." Robin giggles at that.

"From now on, can I sit next to you? So I can teach you if you don't get it."

"Sure. Thanks for the help."

"No problem."

True to her word, whenever Robin saw you struggling, she was there to explain it to you clearly. After class, you were putting away your notebook when Robin speaks up.

"By the way, the jacket, it's yours, right?" You nod as you finish packing. "Can I keep it?" You freeze at her question.

"W-what?"

"Can I keep it?"

"Eh? Why?"

"The scent on it makes me relaxed." That sentence makes you blush furiously.

'WOMAN! Don't you know the indication of your words!?'

"I-it does?"

"Can I keep it for now?"

"S-sure. As long as you want."

"Thanks. I'll see you later at the library then."

"Y-yeah. Sure." Robin leaves and you quickly slump down on your seat as soon as she was out of sight. You internally screamed as her words keep repeating in your mind.

-

You were eating lunch all by yourself when Luffy suddenly grabs you while Ace and Sabo grabs your tray and bag.

"Hey! Wait-!"

"Come on, just sit with us."

"I'm perfect-"

"Fine. We know. But socialize, little sis." Luffy plops you down next to Chopper and Robin then Sabo and Ace puts down your bag and tray. The two older brothers pat your head and walk away to eat with their own group while Luffy sits next to Nami.

"Hey, Y/N! You finally joined us!" Usopp, the ever friendly one, greets you and you nod at him.

"Y-yeah." 'Not that I had a choice, mind you.'

"You got the meal C. Nice choice." Sanji says and you nod.

"Yeah. It has the best balance out of all the meal combos today."

"Oh? You-you can tell that?" Sanji asks while leaning forward, his interest piqued by your words.

"Calories, mostly. I expand energy when I work so I need them. But I also want to balance myself so I always get some veggies and fruit to go along with my meals."

"W-wow. Most alphas wouldn't care. They just like meat." Sanji pointedly looks at Luffy and Zoro who didn't care and just kept eating their food. You chuckle at that.

"I like meat too but I find it helps to have nutrients inside me."

"How are you training yourself?" Zoro joins in.

"Training? The usual since I was a kid." You smile at Luffy. He grins back and you two recite the training by Garp.

"Wow. So you kept up with Luffy, Sabo and Ace?" You smile at Nami.

"I did. Grandpa says I'm one of the toughest female alphas he knows."

"And it's a compliment. He doesn't say that to us, at all." Luffy points out and you take a bite of your food.

"He doesn't say it because he knew if he did you guys would lord it over him." You chuckle as you fork a piece of meat. You smirk at him. "He can compliment me because he knows I wouldn't convince him to skip training the next day." You take a bite of your food again.

"I never knew you kept up with it too. I thought you won't go into sports?"

"I won't. I won't. But it helps with the job and the pheromones."

"I see. I'll tell gramps about it then. He changed my regime when I got into boxing after all." You hum.

"Sure. He's been pestering me to get an omega so I don't call him that much."

"He has? He never pestered me, Ace or Sabo about it."

"You three have sports. It helps with the pheromones. I don't. Please, I debated him for an hour because he keeps insisting I should claim an omega already."

"Why wouldn't you?" Nami asks. "Surely, many omegas have tried to get marked by you, no?" Nami says while Robin clenches her fist at the thought of other omegas throwing themselves at you.

"Ah. Many did. Specially the ones from the bar. But I always turn them down. I want to mark someone for life. Not just for fun or convenience."

"You're a hopeless romantic, then?" You chuckle then nod.

"You got me." You smile at her. "Romance and marking have always been intertwined in my head. It's not just a matter of convenience or not using suppressants or relieving heats or ruts. It's a lifelong commitment for me." You look far away. "When I mark a person, I want them to know that they're be the only one that I'll ever love for my whole life."

The bell rings and you finish up your meal. You were about to put away your tray when Robin gets a hold of your wrist.

"Robin?" You ask as she tightens her hold on you.

"Come with me."

"Huh? Eh?" Robin drags you off while Luffy just returns your tray.

"What's with Robin?" Zoro asks and Sanji sighs.

"Why the hell are you my alpha? Robin-chan is going to go in heat."

"Oh. Since when did they become a couple, then?" Zoro asks again and this time, no one can answer his question.

-

You get dragged into a secluded hallway and Robin pants as she clings on to you.

'She's in heat.' It takes a minute before the realization hits you on the head. 'FUCK ME, SHE'S IN HEAT!' You quickly rummage through your bag and you bring out your emergency suppressants. You administer it to Robin who bites your shoulder.

"Hey! Ow!" Robin whines as she realizes that she missed your glands. "Why did you bite me?" You grumble as you rub your shoulder.

"Omegas can mark alphas too." She says and you freeze at that.

"I-I know?"

"Never let any other omega hit on you again." She says with angryness in her voice.

"Eh? Huh?"

"Are you deaf!?" She shouts and you flinch.

"Y-yes, ma'am!?" You're confused by the situation by now. What the hell is happening?

"Good. If I smell any omegas on you later, you'll have your punishment." She says then calmly walks away while you were losing your mind.

"What the fuck just happened!?" You freeze again as her words register. "And punishment??"

-

After classes ended, you were too scared to go into the library.

What the hell did Robin meant by punishment?? And why the hell is she punishing you??

"Ah. It is you. What the hell are you doing here and cowering like an idiot?" Nami and Chopper spot you before they go inside. So of course, Nami had to state the obvious.

"Shut up! Robin was so weird earlier! Why would she say that to me!?" Chopper and Nami look at each other.

"Say what?" Chopper asks.

"She told me to not let any other omegas hit on me and she said if she smelled any on me then she'll punish me!?" You look up at them with teary eyes. "What does she mean by that!?" Nami hums.

"Oh. Robin is claiming you."

"Huh!? What do you mean claiming me!? Doesn't she like Franky!?"

"She does?" Chopper asks Nami who shakes her head.

"Everyone thinks that since they spend their free time together sometimes but they're not going out." Nami hums. "I don't think Robin has ever liked anyone in her life." Chopper nods in agreement.

"Yeah. I agree. She's been in the system since she was eight and only got out because she turned eighteen."

"Then she met us. So we're her pseudo family. Except Zoro and Sanji who are a couple. All of us are like siblings." You tilt your head in confusion at them.

"What? But I overheard her say that she'll make Frank jealous or something??" Nami hums.

"Ah. That. Must be Ivankov. Ivankov's one of her mentors. Must be the one who planted the idea in her head. She doesn't like Franky. Trust me. I'm her best friend, she'd tell me if she did."

"Then what about me?" You point at yourself.

"Well, if she doesn't like any other omega hitting on you then she's being possessive." Nami analyzes.

"And if she's being possessive, it means one thing." Chopper chips in.

"Possessiveness and liking someone can be different. I know that." You say then sigh.

"Does she like me? Or does she just want me?" Nami pats your head. The gesture coming from your frenemey is, oddly enough, very comforting.

"You'll figure it out. For now, let's go inside or she'll be pissed."

"Right! Let's go." All three of you go inside the library. Nami and Chopper sit in front of Robin while you sit besides her.

"Why do you smell like Nami?" Robin asks and you freeze as you're getting your notebook and books out. "Did you do something unnecessary?" She asks menacingly and you look at Nami for help but said woman just looks away.

'YOU FUCKING TRAITOR!' You shout in your head as you continue getting out your notebook and books.

"Uh- we just talked for a minute, I swear." You hold your hands up as she glares at you.

"Nami. Is it true?" Robin asks, not even looking at her best friend. You sweat as her aura becomes even more scarier.

"It's true. We just talked."

"The scent?"

"I just patter her head." That made Robin narrow her eyes at you. And you sweat even more.

"Why?"

"She was confused."

"Confused? Then you should've asked me." Robin crosses her arms at you.

'It was about you!' You and Nami think as Chopper giggles, clearly amused at the scene.

"I'll forgive you this time since it was only Nami. But. Do it again and I'll-" You cut her off and bow your head at her.

"I got it! No more! I'm sorry!" Robin sighs in relief at your words.

Truth to be told. She didn't know why she felt this way either. But just the thought of other omegas touching you is making her furious. As if somewhere deep inside her, something is claiming you as hers.

'No one else can ever have your scent. No one.' Robin has been repeating that in her head ever since she woke up this morning. When your sandalwood scent was the first thing she smelt. At that time, with your jacket on her nose, she has woken up without nightmares. Just a peaceful slumber. One that has been long overdue.

She knows it's weird. Hell, it's weirder than Zoro and Sanji dating. But in her head. It just made sense. She had to have your scent.

No matter. She'll figure it out soon.

"Let's start." She says and you nod in agreement.

-

The clock hits 9 and your phone insistently shakes in your pocket. You take it out and hum.

"It's time for work." You say and Robin closes her book. She begin packing as well.

"Yeah. We should go." All three of you look at her with confused faces.

"Ha? We?"

"Yeah. I'm coming with you." Robin says as if coming with you to your work is a normal, everyday occurrence. It was not.

"Huh? Why?" Robin hums.

"To prevent omegas from hitting on you." You pack your things.

"I-it's not really an everyday occurrence. I rarely get hit at, Robin." Robin hums.

"Good. But I'd rather be there. Why? Don't want me to?" She narrows her eyes at you and you backtrack.

"What!? Of course not! You're always welcome!" 'AHHH! BOA IS GOING TO KILL ME. I JUST KNOW IT.'

"Good. Let's go." Robin lets you lead the way.

"Good luck to Y/N's sanity." Nami laments

"Indeed." Chopper agrees and they both pray for you.

-

A/N:

Kqdbusebusgs.

TWO FICS IN ONE DAY!

I got a sudden burst of creativity and so here it is. I wanna thank everyone's patience.

Thank you for reading!

And if you'd like to support your broke ass author.

[crunchybeards]

Baby's 5th repost, I can feel my power waning...

But like semi-serious vent, just my general thoughts and feelings about this whole reposting and my experiences with it:

Obviously I hate reposters. Hate those guys with a passion. And yeah I've had my art reposted multiple times long before I even made this blog. Hell that was part of the reason why I kind of dropped off the internet for a whole year, it was people shitting on my art and then turning around and reposting it. This is why I even have a Pinterest account, that place is repost central and I've had friends and mutuals alike have their art stolen and I'd go through the effort of reporting these accounts. Some got lucky and the accounts got deleted and they never had their art stolen again. But the majority of the time it was just silent, no action taken and your art kept on getting stolen again. I've come to loathe that shitty pop-up that tells you they took your report into consideration. It pisses me off that I'm able to memorise that shit because of the amount of times I've had to report this. That I've seen that message so many times and nothing changes.

For me I don't care about my art that much. I like it don't get me wrong but I've kind of grown numb to the possibility of it getting reposted/ stolen. If you take it you take it. I hate that you took from me, that you don't credit me, that you fucking stole from me. But I'm more pissed off at the laziness of it all. I may not care all that much for my art but I did put in time to draw that, my hands hurt because I have to hold my goddamn usb cable just to draw. I put energy into that drawing, no matter how crappy it is, the effort was there. And reposters can't even be bothered to pick up a pencil and draw for themselves. Every other artist had to start somewhere and you're being a lazy, sleazy piece of shit by stealing that talent and getting engagement. That genuine apathy is what pisses me off, the fact that they don't want to put the effort in but they still want instant gratification/ money/ praise and so they steal and they don't care how them stealing effects the artist. That inability to recognise that a person drew that, that that person built up an audience or draws as a hobby or as a job or any other reason but that person drew with a purpose and is so obviously attached to that art by virtue of sharing it. And they fucking steal it. That shit legitimately disgusts me, it makes me unreasonably mad, that they don't care at all.

For a whole year I was hesitant about coming back to social media. I had deleted everything of my past digital footprint and cut ties with a lot friends and mutuals I'd made online. I didn't like having eyes on me, I don't like unregulated attention because I'd experienced that shit in the worst way possible irl and online. It's a deep fear of mine, being perceived like that because you don't know who's watching you or what their intentions are. And I hate that this is a fear of mine, of being afraid to be seen, its the whole reason why I even did theatre for three years. I knew I was never gonna use it but that fear was crippling me at certain points of my life. And yet I still made the choice to come back online and to stop lurking like I used to. I like engaging with people, I like talking and theorising, I like being a dumbass on the internet and I love sharing too. And I know other people feel the same, that they have fun on social media for similar reasons and all they ask for is for people to respect their boundaries. And I'm having fun here, when I say I love the fandom, I genuinely do. It's been a very long time since I've felt like I've had fun in a fandom, that the fandom feels like a community as opposed to some cagey group of people who happen to talk about your favourite thing. It's been really nice. But the transition from being a fandom nobody to being considered even remotely recognisable has just been weird for me. Like I had this looming fear again, that fear of perception and people being assholes or worse. And unfortunately that's exactly what happened, I've had people be weird to me, I've had shit sent my way and now the reposting has just kind of fucked with me a little bit. It's like I was right and I hate that I was right.

This is just an exhausting but familiar cycle for me, a cycle that I'd hope I'd leave behind if I stared afresh but that was naive of me. I'll try not to let it shake me too much, I've got bigger things to stress about than my art getting reposted or people being creepy online. After all this is a hobby to me, I draw for myself and for fun and I happen to like sharing. But I'm just gonna channel my anxieties into something productive and report as much as I can. I'm far more angry for the other artists than I ever will be for myself, not just my mutuals but all of them. So I guess I've got plans this Saturday night. Geez I haven't opened up Pinterest in months but if it can stop this then it's worth it honestly.

[waynes-multiverse]

Polaris – Chapter 4

Series Summary: When Beau Arlen moved to Montana, he left behind a past he wasn’t proud of. But when a series of murders requires the FBI’s help, Sheriff Arlen‘s ghosts come back to haunt him one by one. With a wrong turn waiting at every crossroads, it’s hard to make the right choices and find his way back home – back to you.

Pairing: Beau Arlen x FBI Agent!Reader

Warnings: 18+, so many flashbacks, more awkwardness, more funerals, more drinking, more murder, some fluff and a sprinkle of smut too

Word Count: 6.3k

A/N: Life got a little busy, so I've been a bit absent recently, but I'm so happy and grateful you guys are enjoying this series so far! All your sweet comments really put a smile on my face during all the chaotic and exhausting times 🥹🤍

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist || Tag List

Chapter 4: Rewind

A tequila hangover required copious amounts of coffee to battle the raging headache you felt. Your eyes stung when they met the blinding sun this morning, not even your darkest pair of shades bringing much relief.

Your whole body ached, a welcoming soreness between your weak and wobbly legs as you stalked inside the little bakery and coffee shop on Main Street USA. Beau had already scolded you for calling it that, but you couldn’t help yourself.

Helena’s sheriff then had sent you here for your morning coffee run, hoping this way you’d avoid the questioning and curious stares of Jenny and Cassie. Needless to say, you had never made it to Cassie’s place last night. Beau had been very convincing (and successful) in making you stay.

Hands, lips, teeth, and tongue – you clenched at the thought alone, cursing yourself for soaking through your fresh underwear. How good were your chances for a quickie during lunch break in his office if you promised to thoroughly lock his goddamn door this time?

“Y/N, hey.” Carla’s voice made you flinch and pulled you from your naughty reverie – about her ex-husband no less.

Had you mentioned how much you hated small towns?

“Hey, Carla,” you greeted her with a flushed smile, hoping you hid your blushed cheeks and fluster well. You definitely felt caught with your hand in the cookie jar, although it was thankfully impossible for her to read your mind.

Was there no safe place to quietly get coffee in this goddamn village?

“Listen, Y/N, again, I’m so sorry about yesterday,” she apologized and nervously fumbled with her coffee cup in her hands, her gaze focusing on her heels.

Carla was usually confidence personified. She was strong-willed, assertive, and dauntless – all the traits that made her a fierce and excellent lawyer and a force to be reckoned with in court. It was rare for her to lower her head, so you knew she must really be trying to make amends.

“No, don’t be. Like I said, we’re good,” you assured her and swallowed the lump of embarrassment down your throat. “I get it. I really do. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry, too. I never meant for any of this to happen, you know?”

You never had gotten a chance to say it before. You had always felt bad for the way the two of you had left things. Carla was by far not your closest friend, but the tight friendship between both your husbands and the nature of your jobs had forced you to spend time together occasionally. You’d meet at barbecues on the weekends, drinks after work, and life events like Emily’s middle school graduation. You never meant to betray her. You never meant to hurt her. And you never meant for your friendship to implode like it did.

“I know. It’s okay, really,” Carla said. “I already told Beau this yesterday, but I want him to be happy. That goes for you, too. I found my happiness after the divorce. At least for a while…”

Upon her sad look, you gave her a sympathetic smile. You knew she wasn’t married to Avery for long, but that didn’t matter. You understood better than anyone what it was like to lose someone you loved.

“Hey, if you ever need someone to talk, call me, okay? I feel like I owe you a whole pitcher of margaritas,” you offered with a chuckle.

She returned your kindness with a soft smile. “Thank you. I’ll take you up on that.”

“Well, if this ain’t interestingly awkward.”

Both you and Carla turned to Beau in surprise as he strolled through the doors of the coffee shop. Leave it to him to voice the uncomfortableness of the situation out loud.

“Hey, uhm… you,” you said with wide eyes and fist-bumped his arm. Obviously, you weren’t equipped to handle awkwardness very smoothly, either.

Beau sent you a tight-lipped smile that barely hid his amusement. “Do I need to pull out the sheriff’s badge here, or are you two good?”

“We’re good,” you assured him.

“Oh, relax, Beau,” Carla told him with an amused laugh and patted his shoulder in passing on her way out of the shop. “Don’t kid yourself. You could not handle either one of us, anyway.”

“Probably true,” Beau quipped in agreement as Carla waved you goodbye.

Beau waited till the door safely closed behind his ex before tilting his head at you, an amused smile tugging at his lips. “You really good?”

“No!” you exclaimed frustratedly.

Laughing, he slung his arms around you and pulled you against his chest. Embarrassed, you buried your face in his shirt, clasping it with your palms for good measure.

“Tomorrow I’m getting coffee in the next town over. I really hate small towns,” you grumbled.

“So, I’m guessin’ you’re not a big fan of staying after the case is over, huh?” he asked carefully and rubbed his beard.

Truthfully, you hadn’t thought about it until now. But Beau clearly had as he nervously chewed his lower lip and waited for your answer.

You glanced up at him through your eyelashes. “Well, uhm… Montana doesn’t have a field office. The next one’s in Utah, and I hate Utah.”

“Yeah, everyone does. It’s Utah,” Beau agreed jokingly. “Could always work here. Sheriff’s Department could use someone like you.”

You snorted. “Yeah, not gonna happen. You’re not gonna be the boss of me. That’ll have to stay a fantasy of yours.”

“Too bad. It was a good one,” he retorted with a cheeky smile and wiggled his eyebrows. Then, he became more serious. He scratched the nape of his neck in an anxious gesture. “But look, uhm, I was about to retire anyway, so I’m just putting that on the table, okay?”

“Alright, good to know. I’ll keep that in mind.”

You smiled softly up at him, thinking it was cute he wanted to follow you wherever you went. He’d never handled your relationship so open and secure before. In the past, everything always dangled in the air – his feelings, your future. Unlike the North Star, nothing was fixed.

You had always been a flag he’d never preferred to wave.

You let out a small sigh and pecked his lips. “But this case is far from over, so we’ve got time to figure it out, okay?”

He nodded, a bit more relieved at your answer. “Okay.”

August 2020

Beau rubbed his face clean as best as he could. His eyes were red and stung, his vision blurry as he stepped out of the church’s back room on shaky bow legs. He had to talk to you and make things right. He felt like he not only failed you but also his best friend. Again.

The funeral guests filtered out of the church one by one as he trudged down the red-carpeted aisle. Beau could feel their stares and judgments on him. He knew he looked like the biggest mess, his suit and tie in disarray, tousled hair, and bloodshot eyes. How many of them blamed him for his partner’s death?

“Dad?” Emily’s voice made his heart ache as his thirteen-year-old daughter looked at him with a mix of worry and disenchantment. He barely resembled the father she’d known all her life and held high on a pedestal.

“Emily, honey, go wait in the car,” Carla told her swiftly, taking immediate note of her husband’s disheveled status.

“But Mom–”

“Now, Emily,” Carla ordered more firmly and watched her daughter quietly leave the church.

“Have you seen Y/N?” Beau asked, trying his best to swallow any shame he felt down. He hated that his family had to see him like this. The disappointment and hurt were visible as clear as day in both their faces.

“You gotta be kidding me…” Carla scoffed in anger and disbelief, a part of her hardly grasping the current state of her husband. “Where the hell were you, Beau? Jesus, you reek! Have you been drinking?”

“I already went through this today, okay? I don’t need a replay,” he replied flatly, every part of him hating how she looked at him. “Have you seen Y/N or not?”

“Beau, what’s going on with you? Just talk to me, please,” Carla pleaded with him as the anger subsided, concern etched into her brow. “What happened during that shootout?”

Beau ran a hand over his face, his head spinning and his eyes burning. “I can’t do this right now. Just take Em home, okay?” he told her and pushed past her.

“Where are you going? Beau!” Carla called after him, but he stubbornly headed out the door to the parking lot.

Fortunately, you still hadn’t left, but what he was seeing didn’t put him more at ease. He watched as you put a clip into your gun, a duffel bag hurriedly packed with clothes lying in the trunk of your SUV.

You threw your black pumps carelessly into the backseat before slipping into a pair of worn jeans under your black dress, which you discarded next, leaving you momentarily in only a black satin bra. He averted his gaze and tried not to stare, even though you had your back turned to him, and he couldn’t see much anyway. Still, his heartbeat quickened as he approached you, while you pulled a white t-shirt over your head and tied your wavy hair into a ponytail.

“What are you doing?” Beau asked, the feeling in the pit of his stomach and the determination in your eyes already giving him a good guess.

“What does it look like? I’m going after them,” you said sternly and tied the laces on your boots. “DEA is going down to Mexico in a couple of weeks. Cody’s leading a task force. I fought my way in. They wanna scope out some locations tomorrow.”

“Are you kidding me? Y/N, just look at you! You’re not going after them alone in this state,” Beau snapped, throwing his arms up in utter incredulity. His gut ordered him to protect you no matter the cost. He owed as much to his dead partner to look out for you. It was a constant debt in his mind.

“My state?” You cocked an eyebrow and snorted caustically, shaking your head at him. “Have you fucking looked at yourself recently? Compared to you, I’m fine. And I also won’t be alone.”

“You’re not fine,” Beau gritted with anger in his eyes and worry in his heart. “We’re all fucking far from fine. You’re gonna get yourself killed like this!”

“I don’t have time for this right now,” you brushed him off with a roll of your eyes and slammed the trunk shut, hurrying to the driver’s side. But a rough grab of your arm stopped you in your tracks and made you spin and glare at Beau.

“Dammit, Y/N!”

Your features softened when you saw the desperation in his look. “I need to do this, Beau,” you insisted calmly and looked deeply into his watery eyes. Tears filled your gaze and threatened to choke you. “I want them to pay for what they’ve done to him. They can’t get away with it.”

His grip on your arm loosened before he let you go completely. He ran a palm over his face and carded it through his messy hair.

“Fine,” he barked resolutely, the despair replaced by determination. “But I’m coming with you. You’re not doing this alone.”

“What, so you can get me killed, too?”

You squeezed your eyes shut as soon as the words rushed out and pinched the bridge of your nose. Immediate regret flooded your veins.

When you finally dared to glance at him, he looked hurt and averted his gaze to the burning asphalt below. He smacked his lips, head bobbing. It felt like you had just thrown an ax to his heart, whipped him, bludgeoned him with a baseball bat, and shot him in the knee – all at once.

“Beau, I’m so sorry.” You could see in his eyes that your apology already came too late. He was spiraling, blaming himself for Randy’s death. “I know it wasn’t your fault. I didn’t mean it like that. I just-… It’s been a long day.”

“Nope, no, you’re right. Don’t apologize,” he rebuffed your efforts to patch the wound you’d opened with a dark chuckle. You felt like utter shit. “I let him down. If it weren’t for me, he’d still be alive, so…”

“Beau, don’t do this. He wouldn’t want you to. And neither do I for that matter…” You reached out and clasped his hand reassuringly. But it didn’t feel like it was enough, so you wrapped your arms around him, too, and pulled him into a hug.

Beau was frozen for a moment when he felt your body pressed flush against his before he wrapped his arms around you as well and held you tightly. Carefully, he rested his chin on top of your head, the scent of your shampoo winding its way to his nose. And for a mere second, he let go and allowed himself to be comforted, soothing warmth spreading throughout his body.

“I gotta go,” you said quietly as you released him. But Beau held onto your hand with his for a heartbeat before realizing the strangeness of his touch and withdrew his arm quickly with a clear of his throat, fingers ripping apart at the seams.

“Lemme come with you. Lemme help,” he stated.

“Beau, no offense, but you’re a mess,” you said with gentle honesty. “Can you even walk a straight line? Stand on one leg and touch the tip of your nose? Recite the alphabet backwards?”

He actually snorted at that, his lips forming a small smile. “Fair enough,” he conceded. “I’ll get better. Promise, okay? Just please… I need this, too.”

As you stared at him, you heaved a deep sigh. “Fine, get in,” you relented and gestured with your chin to the passenger’s side of your car. “But let’s hit a Denny’s first. Get some goddamn coffee and toast into you. Maybe a shower would help, too.”

Beau chuckled a little at that, nodding. “Yes, ma’am.”

February 2012

Randy groaned loudly as he passed Beau the football, letting his head fall back between his shoulder blades. “Ugh, I can’t believe the Captain agreed to give the case to the stupid FBI. It was our case, man. We almost had the guy!”

“Yeah, I know. But hey, we could still follow our own leads. Solve it before the feds do. What’s Harper gonna do?” Beau suggested with a cocky smirk.

“I don’t know. Suspend us? Fire us? Just to name a few,” Randy quipped sarcastically and threw his partner a raised look.

Beau scoffed playfully and rolled his eyes. “Always by the book. You’re no fun,” he said with a teasing smile.

“Well, I can still bash the feds who are stealing this case from us. It’s probably some dumb asshole in a suit and sunglasses,” Randy joked and laughed, not noticing Beau’s facial expression change as he lowered his gaze to the floor, lips pursing.

You cleared your throat behind the chuckling detective, causing him to turn around and blink up at you.

“Well, I’m an asshole. I can admit as much. Definitely not dumb, though. I hate suits, and I don’t wear sunglasses indoors. Only douchebags do that,” you quipped and sent him a complacent smile upon his wide-eyed stare. Then, you arched a brow at the guy. “And stealing, really? You guys haven’t made progress on the case for weeks. Probably because you keep playing football instead of working.”

“Whoa, hey!” Beau threw in, furrowing his brow. “It’s a brainstorming technique, okay?”

“Yeah, for dumbasses,” you retorted. “Did you already get a concussion? Would explain a few things, mainly how you screwed up this case so much. It’s not rocket science, boys.”

“Okay, listen, missy. We did not screw up this case. We have leads, alright?” Beau argued fervently and took a step closer to you, his shoulders tensing as he was only inches away from your face.

You had the urge to tiptoe just to keep up with him for a proper face-off. He was tall, gigantic really, and now you were left to glare more or less into his chest.

“Who? The buyer for the jeweler? It wasn’t him. I already checked him out,” you said dismissively and could tell by Beau’s frown that it indeed had been his only lead. You then glanced at his partner. “Is he gonna say something or just stare? It’s not helping to refute my concussion theory, you know?”

Beau knitted his brow and shot his partner a look. As soon as he realized what was going on, he rolled his eyes and sighed. His best friend was running hot for Agent Hostile. Granted, you did look very sexy with all that fire burning in your eyes.

“Ey, Randy!” Beau snapped his fingers in front of his partner and hauled him from his surely naughty daydream.

“Uhm… I’m Randy,” he told you, dumbfounded.

Your eyebrows shot up to your hairline, your mouth itched to smile in amusement. “Wow, okay… Does that come with a last name?”

Randy still gave you that same vacant and infatuated stare in his hazel eyes. “You can call me whatever you want.” He sent you an insecure smile with a halfway shrug.

“Oh, can I call you a moron?” you countered snappily.

Amused, Beau actually snorted into his shoulder as he dipped his head, but then decided to step in for his best friend. “Okay, c’mon, leave him be.”

“Look, just gimme the file, and I’ll be outta your hair,” you submitted your peace offering, which Beau accepted, handing you the folder.

“Uh… drinks?” Randy looked up at you hopefully, like a shelter puppy waiting to be adopted. You honestly found his fluster quite endearing.

“Is he asking me out?” you checked with Beau, a smile playing on your lips.

“I think so.” Beau chuckled and nodded. “Look, uh–”

“Y/N,” you provided, noticing him fumble for a name.

“Y/N,” he repeated with a warm smile that reached his green eyes. “Maybe we got off on the wrong foot here. We could help you with the case. We know it better than anyone. Could save you some work.”

You smirked slightly, recognizing what he was doing. First of all, he wanted in on the case, clearly having a hard time letting go. You knew the type all too well. Sometimes people in law enforcement behaved like bratty toddlers when it came to cases – they all hated sharing their toys, but you knew how to play nice. And secondly, Beau wanted to ensure you got to spend more time with his partner – the perfect wingman. He deserved a medal for his efforts.

You lifted a knowing eyebrow at him. “Didn’t your captain already say no?”

“But what d’you say, darlin’?” He shot you a mischievous grin.

“You’re a troublemaker,” you noted and received an acknowledging shrug in return. “Are you gonna behave, Ferris Bueller?”

“Yes, ma’am. Hand on my red-blooded and beating heart,” Beau promised charmingly and did as advertised, placing his palm on his chest like he was swearing a Boy Scout oath.

Rolling your eyes, you groaned and caved. “Fine. I’ll talk to your captain. You guys can come along, I guess.”

Beau handed you their card with their numbers on it before you disappeared out of the station again. Comfortingly, he patted his partner’s back as soon as you had left, Randy still staring after your goddamn shadow.

“I wanna marry her,” Randy sighed dreamily.

“Whoa… Moving way too fast here, buddy,” Beau tried to rein him in. “Maybe try speaking a straight sentence to her first.”

“I can’t. I’m in love with her. She’s the one.”

“She called you a moron,” Beau countered and crossed his arms over his chest, although he kind of understood where Randy was coming from. If he hadn’t been married, he would’ve given you his best shot as well.

“That only made me love her more,” Randy insisted.

Sighing theatrically, Beau rolled his eyes back. “Dear Lord, help me…”

Randy then went on a long tangent about everything he loved about you. The words he’d been missing when you were around suddenly spilled out of him. And while Beau acted annoyed, he smiled internally for his friend’s happiness. He’d never seen him before like this.

June 2013

“Oh God, I think I’m gonna puke,” Randy said and swallowed what felt like bile in his throat. With his hands on his hips, he took a deep breath, but it did nothing to calm his nerves. “Can you give me that trash can?”

Beau handed him the bin next to him with an amused chuckle. “Alright, but just remember – no matter what you do, don’t puke on the suit.”

Randy scowled at him, panic taking over as he nervously paced the fancy dressing room. “Not in the mood for jokes right now, man,” he huffed.

Beau laughed heartily and raised his hands in surrender. He got up from his seat on the small and uncomfortable sofa and patted his friend on the back, squeezing his shoulders encouragingly. “Okay, calm down. Everything will work out fine. Why are you so nervous anyway? Is this you having cold feet? Should I do somethin’? Start a getaway car?”

Taken aback by the suggestion, Randy’s brow furrowed, close to offended. “What? No! I love Y/N. I can’t wait to marry her,” he stated with absolute certainty. “I just-… I don’t wanna stand up there and, you know, look like a moron. I want today to be perfect for her.”

Beau snorted a laugh. “Alright, you won’t, okay? That’s what I’m here for. If you do somethin’ stupid up there, I’m gonna distract everyone with somethin’ stupider. That’s basically my duty as best man.”

“Yeah, Y/N’s gonna love that,” Randy quipped sarcastically and chuckled. But the lighthearted distraction didn’t last long before his nerves burned through him again. “You think I can make her happy?”

Beau smiled at him warmly. “The way she looks at you, you already are. Trust me.”

“Okay, good.” Randy nodded in relief. “‘Cause sometimes I really wonder how I got so lucky. I swear I didn’t speak in straight sentences for, like, the first three dates.”

“Oh, I remember.” Beau snorted.

“Man, were you this nervous, too, when you married Carla? I swear this is killing me,” Randy asked with his wildly beating heart in his throat. “I think I’m having a heart attack… Or a stroke. My head keeps spinning. Is that normal? Doesn’t feel normal…”

Beau hesitated for a moment before he nodded with a light swallow. “Yeah, sure. Everyone’s nervous,” he assured his partner, although the truth was a little different.

Carla was already pregnant when they tied the knot, so they did the right thing to appease their parents. But sometimes, Beau wished they would’ve waited. He could tell Carla did, too. They were both young. She had still been in law school, chasing her degree, and Beau had barely finished police academy and had still been working patrol.

Sure, he was nervous on his wedding day, but it wasn’t a puking-your-guts-out-and-jittering-to-your-bones kind of nervous. But Beau loved his family more than words could say and wouldn’t trade his daughter for anything.

“Hey, uh, can you ask Y/N about the marriage certificate? I’m supposed to give it to the officiant or something,” Randy said with a confused brow, scratching his sweaty neck.

“Yeah, of course. Be right back,” Beau replied with a saluting gesture and strutted to the door, encouragingly patting Randy’s shoulder once more on the way out. “Try not to soil yourself,” he teased, chuckling.

Beau then strolled down the lavish hallway of the five-star hotel and stopped in front of your dressing room door. He knocked twice and heard a “Come in!” bounce through. But when he opened the door and peeked his head carefully inside, he wasn’t prepared for the sight that greeted him.

“Wow… uh…” Beau’s forest-green eyes went wide as he blinked at you. He was rendered completely speechless. How did he turn into Randy so quickly?

As you sat in front of your vanity, you glanced at him over your naked shoulder before you stood up and greeted him with a bright smile.

Your white dress hugged your curves perfectly, strapless but with a bit of cleavage, giving a perfect view of your clavicle and shoulder blades. It wasn’t one of those puffy princess dresses. It was smooth, uncomplicated, and delicate just like you.

You looked absolutely stunning.

“Wow,” Beau repeated and felt like a moron. He cleared his throat to haul himself out of his shameless staring and tried to recover his composure. “You look beautiful, Y/N.”

“Thanks.” You beamed with blushed cheeks. “You think Randy’s gonna like it?”

Beau smiled kindly, unable to take his eyes off of you. “Yeah, he’s gonna love it. It’s gonna make him even more nervous,” he replied, chuckling.

But your brow creased in concern, your lips parting. “He’s nervous?”

“Yeah, but don’t worry,” Beau swiftly brushed your concerns away, “He’s nervous in a good way. No cold feet or anythin’ like it. He might just pass out and puke at the altar when you walk out. That’s all. Maybe some stuttering, too.”

You laughed softly, nodding. “That’s all, huh?” you teased. “Kinda like when we first met then,” you remembered fondly. “Or our first three dates, too, I guess.”

Musingly, Beau pursed his lips, his head bobbing in thought. “Hey, uh, can I just ask… Why did you keep going out with him? I mean, like you said he didn’t really speak for the first three dates. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a good-looking guy, but, you know, you’re, well… you.”

You snorted lightly and cast your gaze down as your cheeks flushed even deeper red. “Thank you, I guess? But, uhm, to answer your question – I kinda liked that he was so flustered. It was endearingly sweet,” you replied and smiled to yourself at the memory. “‘Sides, every time he did say something, it was oddly complimenting. He’s also the only guy who ever bought me flowers after our first night together. It came with an extensive ‘thank you’ card.”

“Oh, Randy, you sweet little idiot…” Beau sighed affectionately.

“He never told you that?” you asked curiously.

“Ha, no. For obvious reasons.” Beau laughed. “But hey, it’s great material for my best man speech later.”

“Oh God,” you groaned playfully and laughed. “Just so you know, though, I’m gonna cut you off after fifteen minutes.”

Beau threw his head back, laughing loudly. “Alright, I hear ya. Your loss, though.”

You watched him for a moment when your laughs quieted down. He scratched his bearded chin, gazing down at his feet and making no efforts to move.

“Beau?”

“Hm?” His eyes found your arched eyebrow.

“Did you come here for a reason or just to chitchat?” you asked with curious amusement. He seemed obviously lost.

“Oh, uh, right! I’m supposed to ask you about the marriage certificate and the officiant thingy,” he remembered.

You smiled. “Tell Randy it’s already taken care of. He doesn’t have to worry about anything, okay?”

“Alright, I’ll-, uhm, I’ll do that,” Beau said and awkwardly cleared his throat, walking to the door.

“Oh, and Beau?” He spun on his heel when you called his name. “Make sure Randy doesn’t puke on his suit.”

An amused smile shaped on his lips at that, and he nodded. “Oh, I’m on it. Trust me.”

When Beau left your room and wandered down the hallway again, a weird sting plagued his heart. Deciding it was a feeling he didn’t particularly care for, he pushed it deep down, not even admitting his true thoughts to himself under duress and torture.

He’d feel like an ass if he ever did.

Beau looked up from his files on his desk when a knock ripped him from his reverie. It was already getting dark outside, the sun setting behind the mountains. He smiled up at you from his chair when you peeked your head inside.

“Hey, Jenny and I are back from the crime scene,” you informed him as you stepped inside his office, closing the door behind you.

“And?”

“It’s definitely the woman from the video,” you confirmed sadly.

“We got a name yet?” Beau asked, his face stern, concern and compassion carved into every crease.

“Yeah, Addison Hughes. Husband reported her missing four days ago in Jefferson County. I already talked to the sheriff there. They’re handing us over the case,” you told him and noticed his suspiciously cocked brow.

“Uh-oh, I know what that means,” he quipped teasingly. “Were you nice?”

You gasped in mock-disbelief at his accusation. “What d’you mean? I’m always nice.”

Beau snorted in amusement. “Uh-huh, that means no…”

“Wha-… Anyways,” you continued with a clear of your throat and a playful little glare at him, “Jenny and I talked to Mr. Hughes afterwards. He didn’t wanna admit that he cheated at first, but Jenny and I kinda went in on him till he fessed up.”

“Poor fella…” Beau muttered under his breath.

“Hm? What?”

“Nothin’. I said nothing.” He shook his head and gave you an innocent smile, but it didn’t stop your eyes from narrowing at him.

“Careful,” you warned and ambled over to his side of the desk. He pushed his chair back, making room for you between his thighs. “You don’t wanna defend a cheater. He got his wife killed. I have little sympathy for that.”

“Well, he’s definitely an ass for cheating, but even you gotta admit he didn’t really kill her. That’s still on the psycho running around out there,” Beau argued, placing his hands on your hips and pulling you closer to him. You involuntarily clenched when his face was in front of your crotch.

“Fine,” you conceded with a roll of your eyes, sliding your hands up his arms till they locked around his neck.

“‘Sides, I kinda get how quickly a mistake can happen, you know?” he said thoughtfully.

You arched your brow. “Do you mean me with that?”

Beau’s eyes widened, immediately shaking his head. “What, no! I mean, yeah, a little,” he stammered. Your frown deepened. “Not like that, obviously. Just remembered some stuff today… But we never cheated. I know that.”

“Do you?” you questioned rhetorically.

“I do,” he assured you and took your hands in his, kissing your knuckles in an attempt to soothe you. “Just sometimes feels like I betrayed him, you know?”

“I know. I get that. But you did nothing wrong, okay? You did not seduce me and steal me away from him, nor did you take advantage of me when I was a vulnerable and grieving widow. I’m a grown-ass woman. I make my own choices. And I chose you like you chose me. After Randy’s death and all those months in Mexico, I fell in love with you, too.”

A coy smile clawed at his lips. “Yeah?”

“Yes, you idiot,” you confirmed, your smiles matching.

He then pulled you onto his lap and claimed your lips in deep passion. You straddled his thighs and rocked against him, feeling the blooming erection in his jeans rub against your clothed cunt.

You unbuckled his belt and opened the zipper, Beau pushing down his jeans over his ass a little. Supporting one palm on his shoulder, your other hand climbed inside his boxers and grasped his dick. You thumbed his head and dribbled a few drops of spit down on his cock before moving your hand down his shaft, spreading it like lube on his velvety skin.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his head falling back against the backrest. With hooded eyes drunk with lust, one hand snaked under your shirt and pulled down the cup of your bra, palming and massaging your breast and rolling the nipple between his fingers. Your moan of pleasure was his reward as you pumped him with a tightening grip.

Both of you jerked up, however, as the door to his office suddenly flung wide open. Beau and you froze in your place, your fingers still wrapped around his cock, but luckily, neither of you was fully naked and your back hid most of the explicits. To your visitor, it just looked like an intense and very heated make-out session.

As you peeled your gaze over your shoulder, you recognized a woman in her mid-thirties who covered her eyes and quickly retreated through the door.

“Oh my God! I’m so sorry. I’ll wait outside,” she excused and shut the door behind her again.

Beau gaped at you, green eyes wide in disbelief. “Y/N, did you not lock the door?”

You clasped your mouth with both hands, shaking your head with pupils as blown wide as his. “No, I thought everyone had already left when I came in here.”

“That’s the second time in three days,” he reminded you scoldingly. “Three days, Y/N! Twice!”

“I know! I’m sorry,” you whispered apologetically, still in shock, but a laugh of amusement escaped your throat. “Who was that lady?”

“I don’t know.” Beau’s brow furrowed in the same questioning manner as yours.

The two of you then sorted yourselves quickly, pulling pants back on and smoothing out shirts. You then stepped outside the office, where your female visitor was still waiting in the hallway.

“Uh, so sorry for that little, uhm…” Beau stopped mid-sentence, clueless on how to proceed and describe the scene while still sounding professional. “Anyways, how can I help you, darlin’?”

You threw him a small sideways glare at that and crossed your arms over your chest, Beau giving you one of his charming “can’t be helped” shrugs. Did he have to put so much flirt into it?

“Oh, uh, I apologize. I should’ve knocked,” the woman replied with a keen giggle, her cheeks blushing in fluster. She cleared her throat and regained her composure, introducing herself. “My name is Diane Newton. I’m the new DA for the Lewis and Clark Sheriff’s Department. I got assigned the serial killer case and wanted to look through your files on it. See what you’ve got so far.”

“Oh, uhm, sure,” Beau spluttered and swallowed the lump in his throat, his mind jumping back into work mode. Of course, it had to be the new prosecutor to find him with his pants down in his office. What a great first impression.

“Hi, uh, Sheriff Beau Arlen. Nice to meet you,” he said and reached out his hand for a shake. He then glanced at you. “This is actually Special Agent Y/N Y/L/N. She’s leading that case,” he introduced you before he nervously chuckled. “She’s, uh, my girlfriend. That’s why we, uhm… Wouldn’t want you to think that we-… I do this all the time.”

“No worries and no judgment here,” she said and waved off his concerns. “What you do after hours is completely your business.”

“Well, uhm, how about I show you the files now?” you offered and ushered her to your desk in the main room of the station.

“Oh, that’d be great!”

You threw Beau a wide-eyed look over your shoulder as you walked down the hall, mouthing “Why would you say that?” with a chiding shake of your head.

Beau only twitched his shoulders in a comical apology like a cartoon character and swiftly disappeared back into his office.

Diane stayed for two more hours before finally leaving. You went over every victim in Montana with her, not sparing any excruciating details, and told her a little about the other victims in the other states as well. By the end, you were exhausted and almost fell asleep at your desk, your head resting on the pile of files with closed eyes.

Just a few minutes…

“C’mon, let’s go home. You’re tapped out,” you heard Beau’s deep voice and soon felt his grasp around your arm, hoisting you gently to your feet.

You slung your arms around his neck and tiredly rested your head on his warm, broad chest, listening to his heartbeat underneath. He’d always been the best pillow. “Mmm, I don’t have a home here,” you murmured sleepily.

“Well, you know what they say, home is where the heart is, and I’m going back to my trailer, so…” He shrugged and grinned down at you.

“You’re such a dork,” you quipped. As you looked up at him, you bit your bottom lip. “You introduced me as your girlfriend earlier.”

He licked his smirking lips. “Well, you are my girlfriend.” His brow then creased momentarily. His insecurity was somewhat cute, you thought. “Right?”

You beamed and nodded, giggling. “Yes,” you confirmed and tiptoed up to plant a sweet kiss on his lips to seal it.

“How about before we go home, we finish what we started in my office,” he suggested cheekily and added, “I’ll even teach you how to lock a damn door.”

You snorted a small laugh and gave him another gentle kiss, this one lasting a bit longer and swinging with promise. “Alright. Teach me, Sheriff,” you agreed and smoothed your palms up his chest, smirking up at him.

“Oh, this just took a turn. Now, I know what I’m gonna do with you.” He chuckled wickedly and scooped you up in his arms, bolting down the hallway to his office as you squealed and giggled.

Chapter 5: Illicit Affairs – MAY 29

Will they ever learn? Probably not... 😆 We've had some juicy flashbacks these week... Past scenes that include Randy always make me sad 😭

More murder stuff and flashbacks next week! See ya 🫶

(Also I've been a bit slow with comments these days. It's been crazy busy life things, but I hope I can catch up with everything this weekend 🤍)

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[unforth]

On Friday night, we had a family outing to visit the home of my kids' classmates, my daughter's best friends. We're also friends with the grown-ups - it's nice to have another two-mom family in our social circle. We built a fire! We made s'mores! The kids got glowsticks!

Remember, I warned them: glowsticks last about a day, so don't be upset when it's no longer glowing tomorrow night.

Now, this other family, they've got bucks. They're not rich, not by modern standings, but if their combined income is under $400k a year I'd be shocked. They're both surgeons in specialized fields, and they work hard, but they also have a lot of time too. When they're needed, they gotta be on the clock, but when they're not...they're not. They live in a McMansion facing the woods. They go on lavish annual vacations. They have a fulltime nanny. They spend the winter skiing.

And these fucking glowsticks? THEY ARE STILL GLOWING. IT IS TUESDAY. THEY'VE GLOWED FOR MORE THAN THREE DAYS.

I've never in my entire goddamn life had a glowstick last more than about 12 hours.

And idk I'm just so mad about the inequality of it all. Not at our friends! These ladies are awesome! But why is what they do valued so much higher than the expertise of my mother, who was a high school teacher, or my father, who was an accountant for the military, my wife who is a lawyer for the state, my own ass running my own business and unable to afford to pay myself for four fucking years. I get that I could have made the choices our friends made. I didn't want to. What I don't get is why those choices lead to so much more income than other jobs that also require advanced degrees and specialized experienced-based knowledge to do well.

And again. They're not rich! That's not ~the wealthy.~ These people work for a living. They're fucktons closer to me than any of us are to a Bezos or a Musk. We're all working shmos. So why does our system reward that work so much higher? Why can't more of us have lives like theirs?

Even their glowsticks are better than any glowstick I've had in my entire middle class life.

I'm tired, yall. I'm so fucking tired.

[your-fave-has-munchausen]

I know I've established myself as the Ouma Munchausen Guy, but I was rolling Byakuya around in my head today because like... I already got that request from an anon in the first few days of the blog and made the Your Fave post and everything, but it compels me.

Like here's this guy who has been put on top of the world and has such high expectations of him on account he is to inherit this huge conglomerate and that's literally all he exists for. (Encounter with Gojo got me thinking sue me.) He's stressed to hell and back the man cannot catch a break the grind never stops. Even just to get where he is, he had to go through this whole battle royale-esque competition at 13 just to secure his spot as the family's heir.

The grind TRULY never stops and on top of that I doubt Papa Togami ever really gave his kids all that much attention growing up outside of like. Enforcing expectations, y'know? Then, as if that wasn't enough, it's like. Established that this is so normal for the family that he doesn't even realize how fucked up it is or that it's seriously fucking HIM up in the process.

That is the perfect disaster for him to have a moment where he suddenly falls ill as a kid and is forced to stop, and suddenly it's okay because he's sick and now all these people are tending to his needs because that's what you do when someone's sick, especially when someone important is sick, and just. That unknowable something to just clicks in his brain:

If he wants a break, he needs an excuse.

If he wants a break, he needs to be injured or ill.

Boom. Munchausen Syndrome.

God and like maybe at first as a little kid he tries the whole faking thing, lies that his stomach hurts or something, but under the scrutiny of the Togami name and expectations and shit that would IMMEDIATELY fall apart I think. No, it has to be REAL. Whatever it is, he has to make it REAL, so he'd quickly learn to opt for the inducing flavor, and even then it can't just be ANYTHING. It has to be serious enough that he's literally incapacitated because he's a Togami bro he can't handle a little cold? A sprained ankle? Walk it off, that's pussy shit!

Like god can you imagine him deliberately overworking himself hoping one day he'll collapse from some mysterious Ailment so he can finally rest for once in his goddamn life? You think he's ever needlessly reckless with his life choices hoping that it'll fuck him over later? He can't just stop, he's a fucking Tomagi, he needs something to MAKE him stop.

He needs something to happen so it's OKAY to stop and NOT be okay for a minute.

I wonder if part of why he studies true crime and stuff is to learn about all sorts of ways he could discreetly hurt himself for a break. Those horror stories about poisoned food and the victim slowly gets sicker and sicker? I wonder if he ever thought about replicating that. Not to die, but to take a break. I wonder if being sick like that feels more like a vacation to him than the actual vacations he goes on, so performative and always tangled up in social niceties.

And that's just the precedent I haven't even gotten to the killing game yet like!

Glossing over his history at Hope's Peak the first go-round because that's a tragic-ass character study fic in itself but like. He's suddenly in the killing game where now more than ever he has to lock the fuck in, he's gotta get a grip, but he's stressed more than ever because how the fuck can you not be in a situation like that? You can see it in his sprites, the way he goes fucking blue in the face, but he has to be poised and everyone buys it.

And it's like... he can't induce illness in a killing game that's just going to make him an easy target so what the fuck is he supposed to do?

Or maybe he did and it didn't even work. Didn't he say something or other about finding canned foods in the warehouse? Does he know for sure whether that stuff is good or not compared to the stuff in the kitchen? Maybe he's eating it lowkey hoping to get food poisoning.

Either way, though, he's going to have to get attention another way. Everyone's stuck on the killing game so he just starts stirring up the most inane shit to try to distract himself.

Do you think when the chem lab opened up he had a mini-crisis? Here are all these poisons he may or may not know about because of the true crime stuff. Stuff he might've used before to induce illness in himself, and it's like... if the food poisoning was one thing, that's another thing entirely. That really IS making him an easy target, he can't risk that...

... Or maybe he did, but man this post is long enough.

[that-one-paintbrush]

Paintbrush, don't hurt yourself. Your flame is goddamn BLUE. LITERALLY, BLISTERING BLUE BLAZE!

*Thunder roars outside as Paintbrush lets out a scream of pure rage.*

Are.. are you okie...?

....

Brush, could you let me talk to them for a moment?

Sorry..

Wah!!

..Paintbrush. I-

*The sound of heavy raindrops hitting the roof barely manage to drown out Paintbrush's curses as they storm off with a scowl.*

Wha- err.. whe-- where are you going..?

I don’t know. Away? Away from the anons? Away from the.. torture they've been inflicting upon me?? Away from the kid they brought to life that, mind you, I'm nowhere near prepared to take care of?? Away from whatever you and Backgroundy still haven't worked out?!

Paintbrush... I understand why you're upset. Believe me, I know what it's like to want to distance myself from the stress. I understand-

YOU'D NEVER UNDERSTAND THIS!! All of the bad things that happened to you were your choices!! You made the decisions that led to what your life is now! But me? I haven't done anything!!

I never asked for you, I never asked for Backgroundy, I never asked for Bristles, and I never asked for THIS!!

None of this was from choices I've made! My fate is in the hands of everyone EXCEPT myself!! AND THERE'S NOTHING I CAN DO ABOUT IT!!

....

I'm getting out of here...

W-wait!! Paintbrush, it's raining-!!

..

....

.....

*Outside, the muffled sound of a fire being extinguished can be heard, shortly followed by Paintbrush collapsing onto the grass.*

PAINTBRUSH!!

[docholligay]

Recently on a post about Westerns, you mentioned that the word "damn' wasn't actually used all that much back then. This fascinates me. How DID cursing work in the Old West?

I was probably talking about Deadwood!

Deadwood is, by and large, a very historically accurate show. Off the top of my head, I cannot think of a show that's more accurate, it might even be more accurate than any movie I've seen. The way people talk to each other, the way racial politics work, the way people moved with and against the government. I do not ever ever ever ever and I am not starting now, recommend people watch a work of fiction to learn anything ACCURATE about history, and even in Deadwood, do not assume you know fucking ANYTHING about Seth Bullock or Al Swearengen from the show. But. As far as "The way the American West looked and worked" if you are bound and determined to get it from an entertainment, Deadwood is it.

But.

The creator has talked a lot about how when you make a show, you have to make CHOICES, and those choices affect how the audience sees the work, and are necessarily influenced by the time in which they themselves live.

Historical translation is as much an art as language translation. I've talked about this with movies all the time, how very often female characters are changed to be what we would consider "hot" (But male ones as well. Just more glaring in female characters) and it deeply reflects the time in which the piece is made, which is why we have Keira Knightly running around looking like a fucking 90s bohemian Wet Seal shopper in Pride and Prejudice*. But language is an aspect of that, as well, and one that I do also sometimes talk about, and one that the show creator talked about a lot.

People in the American West would not say fuck NEARLY as it is used in Deadwood. This is not to say it was never never uttered but it was much much much more taboo than it is currently. It was about the frequency with which the average American would say "cunt" in from of her grandmother.

Swearing was very common in rough camps like Deadwood, but it did not sound the way we think of swearing today. Many camps back then had a distinct air of Yosemite Sam to them. So things like "Jumpin Jehosephat" and "What in damnation" and "All over hell and Christendom" were what was used. YOU SEE THE PROBLEM. No one in our time would watch an otherwise unflinching show about the reality of the American Western outposts in the post-Civil War environment, and then watch noted antihero Al Swearengen go, "And THAT'S how you scrub a dad-gummed bloodstain!" with a straight face. But this language would have been seen as VERY rough by a woman like Alma, for example, coming into the camp from the East Coast.

So he decided to make it fuck, cunt, and goddamned, instead, because WE as the viewer are who he is trying to communicate with. He wants us to understand the MEANING, instead of what was literally SAID. There are arguments to be had all over about where the line is with this, but for my money he did the best job of anything I've seen.

*COI: I don't like P&P anyhow, but I particularly think the Knightly version is a special brand of fucking stupid. Send hatemail to: Doc Holligay, PO Box 1621, Billings MT, 59103

(Books I almost certainly got this knowledge from, if no other ones: The American West: A New Interpretive History by Robert V. Hine & John Mack Faragher & Jon T. Coleman and; The World of the American West: A Daily Life Encyclopedia by Gordon Morris Bakken)

[saints-who-never-existed]

Davechella Week 12: Hickey

In contrast to Goodsir's, this one was stunningly easy? I already listen to a lot of stuff that I felt fit the vibe and by the time I'd finished cherry-picking through my existing playlists, Hickey's turned out to be three times as long as everyone else's and needed significant editing down. How very Dave K.-coded of me, I guess?!

Ten Feet Tall - The Devil Makes Three Well, you walk around this town like it's holy land/ You got good-looking friends, you're a sharp-dressed man/ Been gettin' big, makin' me look small/ It don't matter to me, 'cause I'm a-ten feet, a-ten feet tall/ Yeah, it don't matter to me, 'cause I'm a-ten feet, a-ten feet tall Take a look at your foot, does it fit this shoe?/ Did you really ever think I gave a damn 'bout you?/ You ain't no messiah with your fancy friends/ So get your head out of the clouds/ And get your feet back in the dirt, my friend

Blood of Angels - Brown Bird I drank the blood of angels from a bottle/ Just to see if I could call the lightning down/ It hasn't struck me yet, and I would wage my soul to bet/ That there ain't no one throwing lightning anyhow Too many tries at tempting fate to call it over/ And you get to thinking fate's got different plans/ Like maybe, I'm not born to die but to bring darkness to the sky/ Pull that goddamn sun down anyway I can You could be right, they might come for me at night/ In angry mobs with torches bright outside my door/ For all my spite, I might never win the fight/ But I will rage against the light forever more

Ballad of a Prodigal Son - Lincoln Durham Two plus two ain't always four/ And sometimes black ends up white/ And there's a million shades of gray in between/ When you manage to shed a little light Whoa/ In the valley of the bones/ Whoa/ They're gonna rise up and head on home I've been in every patchwork revival tent from here to yon/ So brothers don't you recognize your own kin?/ I have returned like a prodigal son

Loverman - Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds Loverman! Here I stand/ Forever, Amen/ Cause I am what I am what I am what I am/ Forgive me, baby my hands are tied/ And I got no choice/ No, I got no choice at all I’ll say it again L is for LOVE, baby O is for O yes I do V is for loving VIRTUE, so I ain’t gonna hurt you E is for EVEN if you want me to R is for RENDER unto me, baby M is for that which is MINE A is for ANY old how, darling N is for ANY old time I’ll be your Loverman! I got a masterplan/ To take off your dress/ And be your man/ Seize the throne/ Seize the mantle/ Seize the crown/ Cause I am what I am what I am what I am/ I’m your Loverman

Hunt You Down - The Hit House I don't bring forgiveness/ I don't bring peace/ I've come to slay you/ Come to kill the beast I'll search the shadows/ You wear like a crown/ You know it's coming/ And I'm gonna hunt you down You can run/ You can hide/ You can pray/ But I'm gonna cut you down

Paris is Burning - St Vincent Enclosed in this letter there's a picture/ Black and white for your refrigerator/ Sticks and stones have made me smarter/ It's words that cut me under my armor They say, "I'm on your side/ When nobody is, 'cause nobody is/ Come sit right here and sleep/ While I slip poison in your ear"

Cold Bread - Johnny Flynn I can live with dying/ I can chew my bit/ Play panic to my senses/ And hijack my head/ It's the rhythm of moving/ And a rolling and a rattle/ Its a giving instead/ It's a well sprung bed We can roll around forever/ We can pray for all we've been/ We can knock it hell for leather/ We can call it all a dream/ All a dream Cold bread/ Cold bread/ We had

Maneater - Blue Eyed Blondes Then he tried to escape me, but I was far ahead/ I found a knife and took his life, oh god, how much he bled And then I cut him up in pieces, my handsome charming midge/ I sorted him in big black bags, and put him in the fridge/ Now I am a man-eater, in more than just one way/ He tastes like pig, but that's okay, I eat him every day Well, I know I had it coming, I knew I was a fool/ Cause he really made me trust him, and he really made me drool/ He made me feel important, he knew just what to say/ But you can bet your ass I really made him pay

Rats - Sunday Driver You've got an infinite disguise/ You've got the lights I won't believe/ Oh, say it to me again/ I'll watch the wide world working on a wide screen right before my eyes/ Round and around and around and around on the wheel We are the rats that run in the subway/ We are the mice that shoot the revolving doors deep down/ In the bowels of the earth underground/ Licking up the blood on the floor

Blackhole - Rachel Sermanni Even the soul can not resist would swallow the earth just for a kiss/ There's no hope there's no hope there's no hope we'll survive this/ Its a scary place to be but inevitably were gonna have to bite/ We know that we cannot see that we are walking into dark without a light We must inhabit all of the shadows/ We must crawl in to all the caves, we need to listen for the echoes/ For maybe someday, somebody is saved, somebody is saved You cannot stop it You will not stop If there were choices we might step off Its the fly by or a collision not our decision not ours to know/ Not ours to know This is a love song for a black hole/ These are the last remaining words, before we lose all self control