#bc it's not about a right to be creative; it's about a right to be creative without having to answer to them.

[cheftsunoda]

HIII omg i love your work!! you lwk made me an alex albon stan (i alr love lily, she’s so iconic) with the wag x 3 fic.

i was wondering if you could please write a poly!fic but with isack hadjar and oscar piastri? i know it’s a weird pairing but they’re two of my faves. it’s ok if not!! 💗💗

mentor or more? — op81 + ih6

smau + blurbs

oscar piastri x reader x isack hadjar

they were the couple no one saw coming. yn—loud, radiant, effortlessly magnetic. a globally adored model with a laugh that turned heads and a presence that owned every room she walked into. and then there was oscar—quiet, sharp, always a little awkward in interviews but impossibly endearing. somehow, the two of them just worked. they were happy. solid. untouchable. until the new season arrived—and with it, isack hadjar. fresh faced and full of ambition, isack comes looking for guidance, and oscar—ever the reluctant mentor—takes him under his wing. it is harmless. friendly. until isack discovers feelings for oscar and then lays eyes on yn and finds himself completely undone.

there’s only one problem— they only just belong to each other…right?

fc : isabelle mathers

(a/n) : omg hiiii. glad i could help bc everyone needs to be an alex albon stan. thank you for the love and i am sorry this took so long- i am behind on requests and i had to be real creative with this pairing- but i do not mind!! i like to be challenged. hope u love!! loveuuu

—

yourusername

france📍

liked by oscarpiastri, lando, hattiepiastri and 5,010,553 others.

yourusername : paris + cannes w my man before the season begins 💋

tagged : oscarpiastri

—

view 187,090 other comments.

charles_leclerc : the city of love looks great on you both! (pls stop making the rest of us look bad)

liked by yourusername and oscarpiastri

olliebearman : when i grow up i want to be just like oscar.

liked by yourusername and oscarpiastri

↳ oscarpiastri : only 4 years older than you mate.

↳ olliebearman : still old.

liked by yourusername and oscarpiastri

georgerussell63 : give us a travel vlog or we riot

liked by yourusername and oscarpiastri

↳ yourusername : was oscars mukbang with french pastries i sent not enough???

liked by georgerussell63, oscarpiastri and carmenmmundt

↳ georgerussell63 : the audience has spoken and they want MORE.

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hattiepiastri : you are sooooo hot and then there is oscar.

liked by yourusername and oscarpiastri

↳ oscarpiastri : can't even argue. she is stunning.

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↳ yoursername : my hattie 🥹 my oscy 🥹

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lando : that is the face of a man who knows he is winning in life 😏

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nicolepiastri : since oscar is about to go into full race mode and ignore me...weekly pilates where we gossip about him?

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↳ yourusername : weekly pilates AND i will get him to call you at least once a week.

liked by nicolepiastri and oscarpiastri

↳ nicolepiastri : my god, i love you. i always wanted a daughter in law who keeps my son in line and wants to be my best friend 😘

liked by yourusername and oscarpiastri

↳ hattiepiastri : one thing oscar did right

liked by yourusername, nicolepiastri and oscarpiastri

↳ oscarpiastri : yet again, surprisingly not insulted. it's true.

↳ username000 : god yn's relationship with oscar's family is the cutest.

↳ username0 : did you see the video from the race where nicole hugged yn before she hugged oscar???

↳ oscarpiastri : i tend to lack importance with my family when yn is around.

liked by yourusername, hattiepiastri, username0 and nicolepiastri

—

The first Monaco morning after the off-season always hits different. The windows are cracked open, letting in the early sun and the sounds of the port—distant engines humming, boats clinking in the water, birds that clearly didn’t get the memo about your need to sleep in. But you don’t mind. Not when you’re wrapped up in his bed, limbs tangled with Oscar’s, skin still warm from sleep. He’s curled around you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go—one arm under your head, the other draped lazily across your waist, fingertips brushing the curve of your hip under the blanket.

"You awake?" he mumbles, voice gravelly with sleep.

"Mmm. Kind of." You stretch against him, pressing a sleepy kiss to the underside of his jaw. "We should stay here forever."

Oscar laughs, low and soft. "Tempting. Very tempting. But I did promise I’d meet up with a new rookie today. Isack. Doing some training together—get him settled in, you know."

You blink up at him, amused. "Oscar Piastri willingly doing social interaction? Who are you and what have you done with my boyfriend?"

He rolls his eyes, but there’s a hint of a grin. "I can be social. When absolutely necessary."

"Right. You just happen to prefer doing it in gym clothes and under the guise of cardio."

"Exactly."

You trace little circles on his chest with your finger, pretending not to notice how he shivers slightly at your touch. "Isack… that’s the...French one? Racing Bulls? Almost ran someone over with a scooter?"

Oscar chuckles. "Yep. That’s him. Kid’s fast though. And a bit chaotic, but in a good way. I think he’ll be fun to have around."

You hum in response, already picturing Oscar trying to wrangle a hyper rookie while also trying to pretend he’s not as soft as he actually is.

"What about you?" he asks, shifting so your faces are closer, nose brushing your cheek. "What’s on your Monaco agenda today?"

You grin. "Brunch with some of the girls. Carmen, Lily, maybe Kika. Haven’t seen them in ages. And we’re probably doing a little shopping after—someone said new collections dropped in that tiny boutique on Rue Grimaldi."

Oscar groans dramatically. "So I’ll come home to you with ten new bags and an ‘oops’ face."

"Exactly. Consider it my version of training for the season."

He leans in and kisses you—slow and sleepy and so full of affection it makes your chest ache. “Just don’t fall in love with a handbag while I’m out bonding with the rookie.”

You smile against his lips. “Could never love something more than you.”

“Good. That's what I like to hear.”

You giggle and pull the covers tighter around both of you for just a few more minutes of quiet before the season chaos begins.

—

You sip your oat milk latte as you walk down Rue Grimaldi, arms linked with Carmen and Lily, the three of you gliding past boutique windows like you own the place. Your sunglasses are oversized, your sneakers are overpriced, and the breeze smells like sea salt and money. Monaco in pre-season is the calm before the storm, and you’re soaking up every second of it.

“I’m just saying,” Carmen starts, pointing at a display window, “if you wear that to the paddock, Alex is going to crash into the pit wall.”

Lily snorts beside you. “He is going to crash anyway, but sure. Let’s blame the dress.”

You laugh, taking another sip of your coffee. “You two are menaces.”

“And yet,” Carmen says sweetly, “you are friends with us.”

You chuckle and the three of you walk into the boutique. Inside, the boutique smells like fresh leather and delicate perfume. You let your fingers skim over silk dresses and tweed jackets, the kind of pieces that look like they belong in a Vogue editorial—not an F1 paddock. But Carmen’s already in the back holding up shoes that could kill a man, and Lily’s trying on sunglasses in the mirror like she’s about to walk a red carpet.

You snap a few mirror selfies, mostly for yourself, but you know Instagram will get them later. The three of you float from rack to rack, gossiping, laughing, indulging. It feels easy. Familiar. Normal in the way your life never used to be, and yet somehow is now. There’s brunch after, on a little terrace tucked away from the main street. You order fruit and flaky croissants and something bubbly. Lily tells a story that has Carmen spitting orange juice, and for a moment, everything feels suspended in sunlight and friendship. You’re happy. Settled. Loved. What you don’t know—what you can’t know—is that across the city, your boyfriend is meeting someone who’s about to turn all of that upside down.

—

third person pov

Oscar had almost forgotten how loud training facilities could be when rookies were involved. He spotted Isack immediately—chatting animatedly with one of the trainers, all restless energy and too big ambition packed into a very fast, young driver.

“Piastri!” Isack called the second he noticed him, practically jogging over. “Hey, man. Thanks for doing this.”

Oscar raised a brow, amused. “Didn’t know I had a choice.”

Isack laughed, and Oscar noted the nervous edge to it. The kid was eager—not in a bad way. Just... hungry. The kind of energy Oscar remembered having himself not too long ago.

“Seriously, I appreciate it,” Isack continued. “It’s been... a bit overwhelming. Everyone’s either too busy or too intimidating.”

Oscar handed him a water bottle. “You’ll get used to it. The key is pretending like you belong until you actually do.”

“Fake it till you make it?”

“Exactly. And don’t crash. That helps too.”

Isack laughed again, this time looser. “Noted.”

They began the session with light drills, a bit of cardio, some quick coordination work. Isack was fast, sharp, and relentlessly chatty, peppering Oscar with questions about car setups, simulator quirks, and pre-race routines. Eventually, during a break, Oscar leaned back against a bench and took a sip of water.

“So,” Isack said, stretching his arms behind his head. “You live in Monaco with your girlfriend, right?”

Oscar nodded. “Yeah.”

Isack gave him a look that was half curiosity, half admiration. “She’s the model, right? YN?”

Oscar smirked. “That’s her.”

Isack let out a low whistle, eyes wide. “Damn. She’s... she’s amazing.”

Oscar chuckled, not unkindly. “Yeah. She is.”

And that was it—just a comment. Harmless. But something flickered behind Isack’s eyes. Something curious. Something that hadn’t quite formed yet, but would. And Oscar—cool, composed, always two steps ahead—missed it completely.

—

your pov (2nd)

By the time you get back to the apartment, the sun has dipped low enough that the buildings outside are tinted pink and gold, and your heels are in your hand because you gave up on the idea of suffering five minutes ago. You open the door with your hip, already smiling.

“Oscar?” you call out, voice echoing softly down the hallway.

“In the kitchen!” comes the reply, muffled, cheerful, followed by the sound of cabinets opening and closing in that way he insists is not chaotic.

You kick off your shoes fully, drop your bags in the entryway, and pad in barefoot, finding him exactly as expected-in a McLaren hoodie, socks half off his feet, hair slightly messy from wherever he flopped earlier. He’s standing in front of the fridge like he’s forgotten why he opened it. He turns when he sees you, face brightening instantly.

“There’s my favorite person.”

“You say that,” you grin, walking over to press a soft kiss to his cheek, “but you haven’t even asked about my day yet.”

“I’m just assuming it was amazing because you were in it,” he says, smug, before wrapping his arms lazily around your waist. “Was it?”

You hum, leaning into his touch. “Carmen and Lily are a terrible influence. I bought a pair of shoes that might require their own seat on the flight to Australia.”

He laughs, pulling back slightly to look at you. “How much damage did you do?”

“Enough to boost the economy.”

“Sounds dangerous.”

“Sounds necessary,” you shoot back.

You move over to sit on the couch as he grabs two glasses of water, joining you a moment later and kicking his legs up beside you like he hasn’t trained all afternoon. You take one look at him and raise an eyebrow.

“You look like someone who ran five miles and answered rookie questions for three hours straight.”

Oscar groans. “Pretty much. He is quite special.”

Your interest immediately piques. “Oh?”

He nods, passing you the glass. “Kid’s fast. Like… Max-level fast. And talks more than Lando after too many Monsters. But he’s cool. I think he’s nervous, but in a charming, I have no filter way.”

You take a sip, smirking. “You made a new friend.”

Oscar frowns dramatically. “Don’t make it weird.”

“Too late.”

He nudges your knee with his. “He asked about you, by the way.”

You glance over, surprised. “Me?”

Oscar shrugs, casual. “Yeah. Just asked if you were the model. I said yeah, that’s her. He looked kind of stunned.”

You laugh softly. “Well, that’s flattering.”

Oscar grins, leaning back. “Yeah, enjoy it now. Wait until he sees you in person. He might short circuit.”

You roll your eyes and rest your head on his shoulder. “Don’t be dramatic.”

“I’m not,” he says, kissing the top of your head. “I’m just preparing myself for the moment my girlfriend becomes a rookie’s emotional support fantasy.”

You chuckle, eyes fluttering shut. “If he’s anything like you were your rookie year, he’ll be too busy trying not to throw up before races to flirt with anyone.”

Oscar hums thoughtfully. “Fair point.”

You both fall into a quiet, comfortable silence after that. Outside, Monaco glows. Inside, it’s just the two of you—legs tangled, matching heartbeats, the season creeping closer by the minute. And somewhere in the distance, fate takes one small step forward.

—

several weeks later...aus gp...rewriting history bc in my mind osc won his home race (im delulu)

yourusername

liked by oscarpiastri, nicolepiastri, isackhadjar and 7,001,008 others.

yourusername : oscar doubted me when i told him that i bought new heels bc the universe said he was gonna win his home race if i bought them...he made fun of me...but he won and i looked great in the heels. never underestimate the power of a good shoe. also i love australia.

tagged : nicolepiastri, oscarpiastri and lando

—

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oscarpiastri : okay fine. i’ll never question the shoe gods again.

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↳ yourusername : mhm mhm that's what i thought piastri.

liked by oscarpiastri

↳ oscarpiastri : how about i buy you 5 new pairs to make up for it?

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↳ yourusername : deal.

nicolepiastri : australia LOVES you. i missed you so much, my pretty girl.

liked by yourusername and oscarpiastri

↳ yourusername : love you moreeee

lando : can you tell the shoe gods that lando needs help too?

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↳ yourusername : shoe gods say no...unless you buy me a pair.

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↳ lando : ...what size are you?

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franciscagomes : goddess. kiss me.

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↳ yourusername : on my way!!

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hattiepiastri : the way that oscar literally did nothing to deserve your level of beauty is insane. so fun to see you sista:)

liked by yourusername, nicolepiastri and oscarpiastri

↳ yourusername : love you to the moon and back hattieeeee

isackhadjar : it is insane how beautiful you are in person. so nice to meet you, yn!

liked by oscarpiastri and yourusername

↳ yourusername : haha thank youuu. it was nice to finally meet the man who has been stealing my bf from me;)

liked by oscarpiastri and isackhadjar

—

third person pov

The hospitality suite buzzed with the usual pre-session tension, engineers huddled over screens, press staff darting between schedules. Outside, the sun was bright but not yet cruel, and the paddock was alive with noise—fans cheering just beyond the fences, radio chatter filling the air, tires squealing softly as cars rolled out of garages. Oscar and Isack were tucked away on a low couch in a shaded corner near the back, both of them in their race suits, helmets resting on the floor like sleeping animals. They had been hanging out a lot lately. More than Oscar probably realized. Training sessions, video games back at the hotel, quiet dinners when everyone else scattered after briefings. It had started as a mentor-rookie thing. Now, it was something else—something easier. Something closer. And yet, for the past few days, Isack had felt… off. He couldn’t quite name it. Not out loud.

Oscar nudged him with a water bottle. “You look like you’re buffering.”

Isack blinked. “Huh?”

“You’ve just been staring at the garage for like two minutes,” Oscar said, smiling faintly. “You okay?”

“Oh—yeah. Just zoned out.”

He wasn’t lying, not really. He had zoned out, mostly because Oscar was leaning back against the wall, hair still slightly messy from his helmet fitting, eyes bright and full of that quiet determination Isack was beginning to know all too well. And that was the problem. Because lately, when Oscar smiled at him like that, Isack felt his chest tighten. Not in the normal, adrenaline fueled way. In the oh shit I’m not supposed to think that way.

Desperate to shake it off, he cleared his throat. “Where’s YN? Looking forward to meeting her.”

Oscar glanced up from the schedule in his hand. “Pilates class with my mum,” he said, voice casual. “Something about grounding her nervous system before the season starts.”

Isack blinked. “With your mum?”

Oscar laughed. “Yeah, they’re close. She loves YN more than me, I think. You’ll see her tomorrow. She’s coming with mum and my sisters.”

“Oh.” Isack looked away quickly, a little too quickly. “Cool. That’s… cool.”

Oscar reached down to grab his gloves, then looked over again, brow furrowed slightly. “You sure you’re good?”

Isack nodded quickly, forcing a smile. “Yeah. Just hungry, probably.”

Oscar didn’t push. Just stood and offered a hand to pull him up, his grip firm, warm, grounding. The kind of touch that made Isack’s heart stutter a little too sharply in his chest. He let go as fast as he could without it looking weird. Oscar slung his towel over his shoulder and started toward the garage, talking about the car setup, something about corner exit speeds and throttle response. Isack heard every word—and none of them.

His brain was stuck on one thing- YN. And Oscar. And them.

He’d barely met her, had only seen her on Oscar’s phone screen. But she was magnetic—gorgeous, smart, somehow both intimidating and welcoming all at once. And now she was in Pilates with Oscar’s mum, like it was the most natural thing in the world. They weren’t just dating. They were entwined. And he liked them both. Not just liked—he felt something. The kind of something that made his chest ache and his thoughts scatter. It didn’t make sense. It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

Oscar turned back, grinning, the sun hitting his cheek just right. “Come on, rookie. Try not to crash into the wall this time.”

Isack forced a laugh and jogged to catch up. “No promises.”

But as they disappeared down the paddock tunnel together, something in his chest twisted—equal parts awe and confusion, affection and panic. Because suddenly, it wasn’t just a crush. It was two.

—

2nd pov

You arrive with the sun at your back and Oscar’s sisters clinging to both arms, talking a mile a minute about anything that comes to their minds. Nicole walks ahead with purpose, sunglasses on, carrying a huge cardboard cutout of Oscar's face, her protective energy leading the way through the paddock like she’s still half in mum mode, half in PR mode. You love being here—at the first race, in Oscar’s home country, surrounded by the buzz of something about to begin. The nerves haven’t hit yet, not properly. For now, there’s just warmth and momentum. You adjust your sunglasses and exhale, soft and content. And then you see him. Isack.

He’s standing just outside the McLaren garage next to Oscar, shorter frame half casual in his suit, towel slung over one shoulder. He looks distracted at first—until Oscar nudges him and the two of them begin walking toward you. You’ve seen photos. Heard stories. Watched him ramble his way through press duties with a charm that’s either accidental or scarily calculated. But in person, he’s different. Softer. Quieter in the face. There’s something curious in the way he looks at the world. In the way he looks at you.

Oscar grins and slides a hand around your waist without even thinking. “YN, this is Isack. Rookie. Bit of a menace. You’ll like him.”

You step forward slightly and offer him a smile, already amused by the boyish hesitation flickering behind his eyes.

“Nice to finally meet you, Isack,” you say, your voice warmer than you intend. “Oscar’s told me a lot.”

He stares for half a second too long before blinking out of it. “Only the good stuff, I hope?”

You drop your sunglasses just enough to meet his eyes. They’re brighter than you expected—like he hasn’t quite learned how to hide what he’s feeling.

You smile, slow and honest. “The very good stuff.”

Oscar gives your hip a gentle squeeze, grounding you. And still—still—you feel Isack’s gaze lingering.

It’s not creepy. Not even bold. It’s quiet, observant, almost reverent in a way you’re not used to. You’ve been around drivers for years—used to cockiness, confidence, bravado. Isack is none of that. Or maybe he is, just not with you. And that unsettles you more than it should. Oscar’s joking again—something about Isack being a fanboy—and you laugh, leaning into him, chin on his shoulder for a second. But you feel it. That tension in the air. That something.

And when you glance back toward Isack, you catch him looking again. Like he’s trying to memorize the moment. Like he knows he shouldn't be thinking what he’s thinking. And, god, part of you is thinking it too. Just for a second. You shake it off. Smile wider. Turn back to the girls and let Oscar lead you toward the garage. But the impression lingers. Like the heat of someone else’s stare clinging to your skin.

—

You’re wandering. Oscar’s still caught in media debriefs, and you’re killing time before dinner, hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie, sneakers scuffing along the pavement as the sun starts to dip behind the paddock buildings. The air smells like rubber and champagne residue, like adrenaline that hasn’t quite settled. And then you hear it—footsteps behind you, a shuffle, a clearing throat. You glance back. It’s him. Isack.

He’s changed out of his suit, hair still damp from the shower, black t-shirt clinging to his shoulders, backpack half-zipped over one side. He looks surprised to see you—but not in a bad way. Just caught off guard.

“Hey,” he says. “Didn’t think I’d bump into you.”

You smile, casually slowing your pace so he can fall into step beside you. “Oscar’s still stuck with media. I’m avoiding fluorescent lighting until absolutely necessary.”

He laughs softly, glancing sideways. “You look different out here.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Out here?”

He scratches the back of his neck, sheepish. “I mean—not in the paddock. Less cameras. More… real?”

“Is that your polite way of saying I looked intimidating earlier?”

“No,” he says quickly, then grins. “Okay—yeah. A little. You walked in like you owned the place.”

“I walk like that everywhere,” you tease.

And he looks at you again—really looks. Like he's searching for something beneath the joke. There’s a pause, too long to be friendly, too quiet to be normal.

“Isack,” you say, breaking the silence, “are you always this intense with people you’ve known for two days?”

He flushes, just slightly. “Not usually.”

You don’t know what possesses you to say it, but you do—soft, playful, and just a little dangerous.

“Must be something in the air, then.”

Another pause. Another look. And then—

“I think you’re kind of incredible,” he says, quiet, like it’s a secret he didn’t mean to tell out loud.

You stop walking. Just for a beat. Not because you’re shocked—but because of how genuine it sounds. Like he doesn’t even want anything from you. Like he’s just saying it.

You meet his eyes. “You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough,” he replies, steady now. Bolder.

The tension curls between you like a wire pulled taut. And somewhere deep in your chest, you feel the twist of it, the ache of curiosity you’re trying hard to ignore. But it’s there. And it’s growing.

You break the moment with a smile—cool, composed, the way you’ve trained yourself to be. “You’re trouble, Hadjar.”

He shrugs, smirking faintly. “Only on weekends.”

You walk away before either of you can say anything else. But you feel him behind you. Still watching. Still wondering. And the worst part? You are too.

—

You’ve been flying for two hours, and Oscar is asleep. Not just half-asleep, either—fully knocked out, mouth slightly open, arms crossed like he’s trying to convince himself he didn’t lose consciousness mid-movie. You glance over your shoulder from your seat, already biting back a grin. The in flight light above him glows soft against the corner of his jaw, casting him in a kind of peaceful shadow. You’ll tease him about this later. You always do.

Isack chuckles from the seat across the aisle. “Out cold?”

You nod. “He made it exactly 27 minutes into Heat before he gave up. Record breaking, honestly.”

You turn back around, letting your head fall gently against the plush leather of the seat. Your legs are tucked beneath you, one of Oscar’s hoodies drowning your frame, headphones still tangled in your lap even though your playlist ended twenty minutes ago. Across from you, Isack shifts. Not fidgety—just restless in the way of buzzing with energy and nowhere to put it. He has one AirPod in, but you’re pretty sure he hasn’t played anything for a while either. He’s been stealing glances at you ever since Oscar fell asleep. And you haven’t stopped noticing.

It’s not weird. Not really. You’ve spent the past month getting closer. Training days. Dinners. Stolen jokes in the paddock while Oscar gave interviews. You three have become a unit—something unspoken and unlabelled. Something tight-knit. But it’s also not not weird. Because sometimes, Isack looks at you like he’s trying to commit you to memory. And other times, you catch yourself looking back. Right now is one of those times.

“You ever get tired of traveling?” he asks suddenly, voice low.

You blink yourself out of the haze. “Of planes or of never really being anywhere?”

“Both,” he says, eyes soft but serious.

You think about it. “Sometimes. It feels like living in between places, you know? Like you’re always packing a suitcase, but never fully unpacking one.”

Isack nods slowly. “Exactly.”

You shift a little in your seat, pulling your knees closer to your chest. “But then… there are moments like this. Where it’s quiet. Where everything slows down.”

He’s looking at you again. Like you’re saying something important even if you’re not.

“You make the in between feel kind of… okay,” he says quietly.

You don’t know what to say to that. It’s the kind of thing you should laugh off. The kind of thing that should sound like a compliment and nothing more. But it lands heavier than that. Like he meant it more than you were supposed to hear. You glance back toward Oscar. Still asleep. Still peaceful.

And then—“You’ve gotten close to him lately,” you murmur, eyes on Isack now.

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t look away. “Yeah.”

You raise an eyebrow, inviting more. You’re not sure why.

“He’s... calm,” Isack says. “In a way that makes you want to be better. Not louder. Just… better.”

You nod, understanding in your chest like a pulse. “Yeah. He does that.”

Silence settles again. But this time it’s not awkward. It’s charged. And when you meet his eyes again, something shifts. There’s something fragile and curious hanging between the two of you, held together by the sound of the engines and the soft rhythm of Oscar’s breathing. Not quite guilt. Not quite tension. Something else. Something like possibility. You’re the one who breaks the stare first, heart hammering a little too loud in your chest. You tug your hoodie sleeve over your fingers and look down at your hands.

“We’re landing in about an hour,” you say.

Isack doesn’t move. Doesn’t say anything right away. And then—

“Okay,” he says. But it’s not just an answer. It’s full of things unspoken.

Things that won’t stay quiet for much longer.

—

yourusername

liked by isackhadjar, oscarpiastri, lando and 9,997,005 others.

yourusername : spain just got an oscar piastri masterclass

tagged : oscarpiastri and isackhadjar

—

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username000 : everyone say thank you, oscar. and also… hello, isack?

oscarpiastri : the pre-race kisses from someone as beautiful as you really tends to help

liked by yourusername

↳ lando : kissing is banned from the garage. oscar cannot win anymore.

liked by yourusername and oscarpiastri

↳ lando : did you even talk to the shoe gods after i bought you those manolos???

↳ yourusername : you won monaco, did you not?

liked by lando

↳ lando : good point. ok. proceed. not in front of me tho.

liked by yourusername and oscarpiastri

nicolepiastri : my favorite chaos. my babies

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isackhadjar : photo credits for the boat pics??

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↳ yourusername : oh yes my b. isack is now my professional photographer everyone ;)

liked by oscarpiastri and isackhadjar

—

Oscar’s still flushed from the podium. Gold champagne dried into his collarbones, hair messy from the cap, medal still in his backpack. You barely made it through the hotel room door before he had his hands on you. Before he kissed you like the win still hadn’t fully hit him — like he needed you to ground it. To feel it. To come down from it. His mouth is on your neck now, slow and warm. His hands memorizing your waist like he hasn’t touched you a thousand times before. Your shirt is somewhere on the floor. His is tugged up and bunched under your palms, and the laugh that leaves his mouth when you whisper something smug. You pull him down on top of you, tangled in the hotel sheets, everything a blur of skin and warmth and wanting. It’s not rushed. It’s crackling. That kind of need that comes after months of tension and three back-to-back podiums and one long plane ride where you didn’t touch once. Oscar kisses you like he’s starving. You’re about to slip your hands into his waistband when the door opens. Not knocked. Not warned. Just… opened. You don’t register it at first. You think it’s room service. Or housekeeping. Or maybe your head’s just too foggy to care. But Oscar freezes. You glance over your shoulder. Isack.

He’s standing in the doorway, a bottle of champagne in one hand, wide-eyed, stunned, and completely silent. His mouth opens like he’s about to say something—anything—but he doesn’t. He just stares. At Oscar’s hand on your hip. At your lips, kiss-bruised and parted. At the space between your bodies — charged, half-naked, completely unbothered. You should panic. But you don’t. You just stare back. And something about the way he doesn’t look away — something in the way he’s still there, not leaving — twists deep in your stomach. Oscar looks at you, then at Isack, then back at you again. Waiting. Reading. Wanting. You reach down slowly, tracing your fingers up Oscar’s chest, your gaze still locked on the boy in the doorway.

“Are you just going to stand there,” you ask softly, voice like velvet, “or are you going to come in?”

Isack doesn’t move. Not at first. But then— He does. One step inside. Then another. The door doesn’t close. Oscar’s hand finds your thigh again. Yours slides to the waistband of his sweatpants. Isack lingers at the edge of the room, like if he breathes too loud he’ll wake up from something. You sit up slightly, hair falling down your back, pulse hammering behind your ribs.

“You don’t have to,” you say gently. “But if you want to…”

Isack’s eyes flick from your mouth to your hands to Oscar, who is watching him now with a look that borders on something between challenge and invitation.

“I—” he starts.

Then stops.

You tilt your head. “You trust us, don’t you?”

His breath catches. “Yeah.”

Oscar nods once, his voice calm but electric. “Then come here.”

And just like that, the space between you vanishes. Not hesitation. Not shame. Just three people— buzzing with want, burning with something unspoken, and no longer pretending it isn’t there.

—

The first light of dawn slips through the curtains, casting gentle gold stripes across the room. You stir awake to the steady rhythm of two sets of breathing—Oscar’s arm draped protectively around you, and Isack lying just a little apart, eyes closed but peaceful. The quiet morning feels like a warm, soft blanket after the intensity of last night. Careful not to wake Oscar, you slip out of his embrace and move toward Isack. His eyes open the moment you settle beside him.

“Morning,” you whisper.

He blinks, shyly smiling. “Morning, YN.”

For a long moment, you both sit in silence, the comfort of each other’s presence filling the space. Then he speaks, voice low and sincere.

“I wasn’t sure how to say it last night,” Isack admits, eyes searching yours with nervous honesty. “But... I think I’ve been feeling this way for a while. About you.”

Your chest tightens with warmth.

“It’s not just the moment, or the surprise of last night,” he continues steadily. “It’s you. The way you laugh, the way you care. I’ve admired you from afar, but being here... like this... it feels right.”

You reach out, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “Isack... that means more than you know.”

He swallows and smiles, the kind of smile that lights up his whole face. “I was scared I’d mess it up, or that it was just a fantasy. But now... I want to see where this goes. With you. With Oscar too.”

Your heart swells at his honesty. This isn’t just a fleeting moment—it’s real. Messy, complicated, but beautiful. Oscar stirs then, rubbing his eyes, his gaze falling on you both. His smile is soft and knowing. “Morning, loves.”

You lean back between them, feeling the steady warmth of two people who fit perfectly with you.

“Good morning,” you say softly, wrapping your arms around them both. “Let’s figure this out together.”

Oscar stretches and grins. “So… I take it last night wasn’t just about the champagne and celebration?”

Isack chuckles nervously. “Definitely not.”

You smile, warmth spreading inside you. “We all surprised each other, didn’t we?”

Oscar’s gaze turns gentle but serious. “I want to be sure this is what we all want. It’s new for me, but I’m willing to try if you both are.”

Isack reaches out, taking Oscar’s hand. “I’m in. I don’t want to lose what we started.”

You squeeze both their hands. “Me too. I think this could be something really special.”

Oscar leans in, forehead resting against yours. “We’ll take it one day at a time. No rush, no pressure. Just us.”

You close your eyes, breathing in the moment and the quiet promise of something real and new. “One day at a time sounds perfect.”

Isack’s smile brightens. “This might just be the best race I’ve ever been part of.”

The three of you laugh softly, a laughter full of hope and tenderness. Together, in the soft morning light, you begin writing the first chapter of your story.

—

It wasn’t planned—none of this ever really was. But somehow, that made it better. Oscar had mentioned it offhand, leaning over the kitchen counter that morning with his hair still wet from the shower. “There’s this island off the coast. McLaren used it once for a shoot. Barely anyone knows about it. We could go.”

You’d looked at Isack, who was already perking up. “A secret island?” he asked, eyes gleaming. “You’re joking.”

Oscar grinned. “Completely serious. Private beach. No media. Just us.”

And just like that, you were packing sunscreen and a couple of towels, grabbing whatever food you could find and piling into a small rented boat. The sea was glassy and blue, the sun already high, and Isack leaned against you the whole ride, humming softly to the playlist Oscar had thrown on.

The moment your feet hit the sand, it felt like another world. The island was wild and quiet—nothing but dunes, stone, and open sky. Oscar dropped the bags onto the beach with a satisfied sigh.

“Told you it was real,” he said, casting you both a smug look.

You rolled your eyes. “Okay, fine. You win.”

Isack was already barefoot, running up the slope toward the ruins like a kid. “This place looks like something out of a dream,” he called over his shoulder.

You spent the day tangled up in each other. Exploring barefoot along the cliffs, your hand in Oscar’s while Isack lagged behind, taking photos of the way your fingers fit so easily together. He caught up to you eventually, sliding his arm around your waist as you both leaned into Oscar’s side, three shadows falling across the rocks in the warm afternoon light. At one point, you all ended up lying on a blanket that Oscar had miraculously remembered to bring. Isack was curled against your side, his head on your stomach, while Oscar laid beside you, feeding you grapes.

“You’re ridiculous,” you told him, laughing as he popped another one into your mouth.

He grinned. “Say that again after I feed you strawberries later.”

Isack groaned. “God, I’m third wheeling the softest couple.”

You looked down at him with a teasing smile. “You’re literally cuddling us, Isack."

“Yeah, well,” he murmured, grinning up at you, “that doesn’t mean I’m not dramatic.”

When the sun began to dip low, painting the sea in orange and gold, you all swam in the shallows—laughing, shouting, splashing each other until your cheeks ached. Oscar launched Isack into the water at least three times- you tried to help him retaliate, only to be swept up in the chaos, soaked and breathless. By the time the sky faded into pink, the three of you were wrapped in oversized towels, perched against the old stone wall of the villa ruins. Your legs tangled with theirs. Oscar’s fingers laced through yours. Isack nestled on Oscar’s lap, absently drawing circles on your knee.

“This is the happiest I’ve been in a really long time,” Isack said quietly, his voice almost lost to the wind.

You glanced at him, brushing a curl from his forehead. “Me too.”

Oscar rested his chin on your shoulder. “I wish we could freeze this moment.”

You smiled. “Who says we can’t come back?”

Isack tilted his head, giving you a sleepy, sun-warmed smile. “Yeah... we should make it our spot.”

“Our island,” Oscar added.

“Ours,” you echoed.

And in that soft hush of a Spanish sunset, with the waves below and the warmth of their bodies around you, you felt something settle—something whole and terrifying and beautiful. Whatever this was, it was real. And it was yours.

—

oscarpiastri

liked by yourusername, isackhadjar, nicolepiastri and 7,771,025 others.

oscarpiastri : my girlfriend and i found a boyfriend:)

tagged : yourusername and isackhadjar

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[theaskscenter]

Mother I am officially sick of these people thinking we're in Malèna or something and sometimes the laughs makes me question myself when I'm having a bad mood yes I'm not embarrassed to say that .

Since I was a teenager,I always seemed to get attention no matter how basic and low confident I was inside and every body I get out with starts talking about how I almost broke everyone's head and how girls look pissed off but I didn't get it that much ... People scared me

I became confident and more into my looks bc I'm in the beginning of my twenties blah blah but it started to provoke people more especially women which always made it hard for me to have friends or real ones only when I was a people pleaser loser in school.and whenever I visit a doctor or something they think I've a big position here or that I'm a rich girl whose feet never touched the ground . *Had to mention this so you know how far it is going* the bad effect that it also went to the point where they'd start to belittle me by laughing or literally hitting me hard on the shoulders or pushing where there's no one around. I once got hit very hard by this woman I almost felt like my shoulder got broken for days. No exaggeration ~ and yes Ik when it's on purpose. None of them apologized.I'm autistic and I can't even bear that anymore but who doesn't love attention? I want to make it work to my advantage because having that much of a strong presence seems to be my ultimate power what's your advice on that ? I gave up on having friends for now too and I saw that matching my energy to what I appear to be -cocky and all that- is the solution especially while living in a small town, looking pissed off and a total bitch makes them shrink because why would a confident woman behave like that? This much attention bc of the way I walk scares me when I get home and my mind starts playing all that but my major and everything I'm into literally requires that energy and that strong presence and I need to know how to handle it(?)so ai can win . I deserve big and better places and my energy seems to be my golden spoon idc . I got a bit -maybe- paranoid to the point that I now I'm worried about how jealous ppl with strong positions would try to bring me down bc of this too so I really should know how to handle such people bc I don't only have it all but I'm super creative and have a unique mindset that also provokes basic people like them cause damn I'm no Malèna I've angel issues *anger*

First, I think I've said this so much that its beginning to sound cliche and losing its power- women don't like each other. Women hate each other. And its not even personal its socialization and mostly evolution. That girl's girl bs is just that, bs. IF women don't hate you its because you are ugly and not competition. If everyone likes you its because you are harmless. Feminine nature is competitive. Intercompetitive. Think 3 million years ago, what it was like to be female, you'll see its a necessity. When girls don't like you that's normal. Social media sells girl's girl so much you're just ugly and useless. The same way no one is fighting a child. The easiest place to see this is pop culture. For women, beauty is power. Men thrive in community thats why they defend each other like that they needed to be in a pack to hunt. Women have, since the beginning of humanity, needed isolation and power to survive. So while men hype each other up for being rich (For men money is power) women tear each other down for being pretty. Its just how things are fish swim birds fly yada yada all that.

Again. Look at the world around you and think. At least try. See how things work so you don't suffer for nothing.

Second. God, I love you. I love it when people ask the right questions instead of acting like my inbox is a church confessional and I'm selling good nice girl propaganda. I had to read this 3 times to make sure you are asking what I thought you are and yes you are. Made my sunday. I love hot girls amen. Welcome to my page and my space.

SO. HOW TO USE YOUR BEAUTY I can't tell you that because it depends on what kind of pretty you are. Your energy has to be complimented by your looks they have to go hand in hand. If you are the queen energy mysterious pretty like will Lori Harvey you should take the soft power mystery route everything else will be fake. If you are the babyface Tyla Jang wonyoung Selena Gomez pretty you have to take the nice girl pretty BUT people will try to walk all over you so instead of Hailey Baldwin soft power you have to take the Selena Gomez soft power. You have to weaponize your 'innocence'. If you are bad bitch pretty like Rihanna is you HAVE to take the big energy I'm the highest in this room and you peasants bore me path. Like Nicki Minaj does it. The strong outward power. If you have the kind of beauty that's contained like Kendall Jenner or Anok Yai you have to take the I'll mind my business and you'll also mind my business route.

I can't tell you what to do with it because I don't know it. And no I'm not turning the attachment feature for my asks on figure it out. What I can tell you is, for women beauty is power. Whether you use it or its used against you is up to you, but one way or the other it will be wielded by someone against another.

Did I mention that I like you?

Also on the topic, why is it important to you that people like you? Ladies I've said this before, if they don't pay your bills they don't matter. Like, if they did like you, then what? Would you sign a billion dollar deal? Now that they don't like you are you dead? Literally what have you lost that you can't live without? Human approval is so fickle and people don't matter that much. Also, and most importantly- do YOU like them??? Then who cares that they don't like you? This way of thinking is so weird to me I'd get it if they paid your bills but do they? Who even are they that this matters?

Also consider just being a bully to your bullies but don't go to jail.

[sergle]

i feel like you guys only hear about the bad tiktok phenomenon, like Girl Math and stuff like that, bc it prompts more of a reaction. but i want to let you know that i keep seeing one that's called Dinosaur Time, and it's where you SHOVE fistfuls of raw spinach, straight out of the tub, into your mouth and eat it like you're a dinosaur ravenously devouring a delicious tree star. and then you've had a serving of greens. and all it took was 10 beautiful seconds.

[utilitycaster]

The "labor is entitled to everything it creates" leaving people's bodies when it comes to artistic works. like yes yes yes you think the artist is the bourgeois class and the real enemy is capitalism and also it's so interesting how so many self-proclaimed white leftists in fandom specifically are going after a field in which it is famously difficult to support yourself and which has stuff that they want for free, instead of like. finance.

[sunlight-shunlight]

pondering that falon'din is associated with an owl, and those are also messengers of andruil. and he's referred to as "winged death" which is also mentioned to be something that elgar'nan deploys against enemies. and both falon'din and andruil are referred to as venturing into dark places, where no one else can survive/wanted to go.

and ghilan'nain was not initially an evanuris, but was antagonistic towards them and making a bunch of weird creatures. she was given the offer to join them in return for getting rid of the creatures, and accepted. but with "pride stopping her hand" from destroying a few. and when asked about trusting people to share power, solas says "I know that mistake well enough to carve the angles of her face from memory."

solas also has nothing good at all to say about falon'din, mostly calling him a bloodthirsty tyrant who went so far in encroaching onto other evanuris territory that mythal had to besiege his temple and beat him up to stop him.

but he says nothing about dirthamen at all.

dirthamen is described as having gone missing unexpectedly, scaring all his followers, because they were now unprotected. and caught between their own high priest wanting to lock them into the temple forever like a cask of amontillado, and other forces outside that wanted to take their secrets by force. there is one note that a dirthamen follower defied the evanuris and took on a forbidden (probably a dragon) type of form, and was judged by elgar'nan harshly. he apparently also invented the varterral to protect his town from a high dragon? wack, but also could indicate that he had worked with ghilan'nain on making it, since she's the only one who's otherwise mentioned to be bioengineering stuff.

dirthamen has very very few surviving statues or depictions, and is more associated with falon'din than as his own independent figure in the dalish myths. even his own temple includes mosaics of falon'din. there's a few statues that are probably dirthamen, but the most striking is in mythal's section of the fade behind the eluvian, which is a statue of a hooded figure, doubled over with a giant sword sticking out of his back.

[deimosatellite]

like idk it just seems actually nefarious to take one of the very few widely known instances of queerness in older history being a symbol to show queer people that we've always existed and aren't alone for CENTURIES and taking away the queerness from it. like. i know some people say that ''the queerness isnt important in the book" which i mean in my opinion i could go off for 10k words in an essay as to how basil's love for dorian is integral to the story BUT EVEN APART from that its really just. having a real explicitly queer character in such an old and widely regarded classic novel is HUGE for queer history and this is just. literally like. its 2024. why are you doing queer erasure to DORIAN GRAY

[11syrups]

“You believe me like a god, I betray you like a man”

[campbyler]

how are you guys doing?

honestlyyy we have both been going through it for a minute which you guys probably have picked up on from our very unplanned absence on here 😗 our work schedules have just been so crazy and we have had some personal stuff going on at both ends so we have been existing in a kind of default state of complete and total exhaustion for like a month i fear. but we are now 1. medication twinsies which is so silly of us actually and 2. getting therapized on the regular so hopefully we will both feel more normal soon and get our creative energy back and be more active online again 🥳 (thea is also actively being blown away by the hurricane right now so everyone please manifest that she stays safe and dry and doesn’t end up floating away down the gulf because i would miss her and be so sad.) thank you for asking i hope you’re doing well! 🫶🏽

[francisforever2014]

gen ai hate has gone so far that we’re glorifying undergrad term papers . we’ve lost the fucking plottttt

[multiversal-pudding]

Big fan of all the depictions of Mario that have him as a kindly uncle figure guy. Love that for him

[evilkitten3]

au where there's like a paperwork error and sasuke ends up on team eight. but no one else's placement changes. so kakashi has to deal with just naruto and sakura, who isn't filtering herself at all. or better yet, sasuke gets swapped with kiba, so kakashi has to deal with three loudmouth hotheads, one of whom can just track him down whenever he's late.

meanwhile kurenai's first lesson is homicide 101 and sasuke thinks he just hit the team jackpot

[deiaiko]

#27.3 Forming a team

Grace was glad that everything so far had gone as planned. The administrator had changed the winning condition of this second test.

Agni had run him through different scenarios in case this time didn't go as it had before, and it seemed like half of them were not needed anymore.

However, it was not over yet. He needed to get past this next negotiation first, then see where it would lead him.

Though he should've held back even more on the floral piercing butterfly technique earlier. Not that he remembered how high his score was before, but one million seven hundred thousand had stuck up like a sore thumb over everyone's average point. He could only hope that this wouldn't stir up unnecessary trouble in the future.

"Then, Mr. Grace. Choose seven regulars." Love sounded uninterested, like most administrators did when dealing with regulars on the test. But Grace knew better.

Love was hiding his resentment. Not perfect, but it was good enough to be unnoticeable by everyone else. Grace still remembered the reason why he hated FUG, although only after Agni presented him with some available info regarding Love's past to refresh his memory.

The floral butterfly technique, which was known to be used by FUG's slayers, was what would make Grace's identity known once he performed it. Now he knew that it was why Love was willing to change the test.

Looking around, Grace had carefully weighed his options beforehand. He knew he could take the easy way by simply picking his former Sweet and Sour team members. However, he had been observing them the whole time, and he figured that if he were to do that, they wouldn't be the team that he wished them to be.

He noticed how Prince was uncomfortably touchy and bossy toward Ehwa, and even looked down on Horyang. A complete opposite of what he remembered them to be. How Miseng and Goseng still hold grudges against Akraptor, which was actually reasonable up to this point. That would be a problem if he were to choose them now.

Grace had also totally forgotten about Nia's relationship to Wangnan. He didn't even know what exactly had happened to him before. He only remembered that Nia didn't make it through the test, and something about Wangnan being angry at Lurker…had been about Nia, right? He should probably look into it later.

"Mr. Grace?" Mr. Love's voice dragged him back to the present.

Ah, right. He was asked to pick. But before he could even say a word, a familiar voice shouted from the audience.

"Number ten twenty-three! Regular Wangnan Ja! Let me introduce myself to you!" 

Grace wore the mask solely just to hide his wide grin. That's right, this was how it had gone before.

Wangnan inhaled and let out a louder voice that echoed in the room. "Number ten twenty-three! Regular Wangnan Ja! I've got more than just power! The era of the ten great families will end with me!!" He declared with fists raised high.

How bold, for someone that was ranked fifteen out of twenty-seven. In front of Ehwa too, who was from the Yeon family. But that was his charm, wasn't it?

"You won't regret it! I'm Wangnan! I can dance! I can sing! I'm the real entertainer of this era!"

The dance and singing that he briefly displayed were awful, but Grace could agree that he was quite entertaining.

"The more you get to know me, the cuter you'll find me!" Wangnan beamed. "My name is…as I said…Waaangnan!"

Grace bit his lip, fighting to keep his laughter contained when Wangnan posed right in front of him. He needed to let this play out first.

Wangnan suddenly bowed down on his knees, "Please choose me! I'll do anything for you if you choose me!" Wangnan begged. "I'll bark if you want! And I'll lick your shoe! Please, choose me!"

Grace frowned. He did not remember this. Or, at least, he didn't remember if Wangnan had ever told him why he was so desperate to pass this test. Desperate enough to be willing to put his head so low.

Prince was the only one in the room that sneered. It seemed like everyone else had a taste of helplessness at some point in their life.

It was sad, when he thought about it that way.

Akraptor walked up to the stage and kneeled beside Wangnan. "Please choose me." He looked up to Grace with teary eyes and wiped it with his palm. "My daughter…is waiting for me. She must've grown a lot. I want to see how much she has grown."

"He's lying! Don't trust him, Grace! That's so unrealistic." Wangnan was already up on his feet and accusing Akraptor. "He's absolutely lying to you! First of all, can you believe there's a girl out there that looks like him?!" 

Grace let his eyes droop, as a memory of a silver haired girl resurfaced in his mind. It was only a brief moment, so he wasn't quite sure if she was related to Akraptor at all, but she did resemble him in some ways that Grace couldn't help but remember.

"Why… Why do you say I'm lying?!"

"Look at yourself in the mirror!"

Horyang came up to the stage and kneeled down, surprising the other two. "Choose me. I've got to find someone."

Cassano Beniamino, Grace filled in the unspoken name. The guy that took Horyang's devil and joined side with Rachel. Akraptor and Prince were killed in their attempt to get the stolen devil back so they could wake Horyang up. He definitely did not want that to happen this time around.

Miseng suddenly ran up to the stage and tackled Grace while crying. "Waaaah! Please take me with you! I miss my mom and dad!"

"That's not fair! Don't cry!" Wangnan scolded Miseng. "Get off my master!"

Grace didn't have the heart to pry her off from his waist, so he just started patting lightly on her backpack, to not let his hand just hang awkwardly on his sides.

"Stop it. You all." Ehwa joined them, walking up to him with the confidence of someone from the great family. "Mr. Grace, I suggest you take me as your teammate."

"What?!" Wangnan yelled.

"Everybody has their own sad stories, but I think we should choose based on strengths."

"Why are you acting as if you're already his teammate?!"

"Isn't it obvious? I'm from the Yeon family, and I'm a fisherman. Who else is he going to choose?"

"Don't overestimate yourself! You kill your own teammates!"

"Wh-what?!"

"Hmph, you don't remember me? I failed the last test because of you!" Wangnan said it in a way that made him feel like he was bragging.

"Ugh– are you…"

"Oh, you burned so many people so you wouldn't remember me." Wangnan smirked and turned back to him, "Lord Grace! You shouldn't choose her! She barbecues everyone, even her own teammates!"

"Wait! That's–"

"So! Other than killing your teammates, what's your power?! Tell me!"

"Argh."

"Hahaha, you've got no words to say."

"You…"

"Now please leave before you kill the rest of us!"

Oh, Grace remembered where this was going. So before Ehwa could say anything else, Grace slid his mask down and declared with the most serious face he could muster at that time.

"Quiet. That's enough." Grace tried to put on his most disinterested gaze to each one of them that was at the stage.

He was met with silence. Good.

"Let me make this clear." Grace manipulated the shinsu in the room to be slightly heavier, just enough to make him more intimidating. "I'm Geu Biol Grace. A FUG slayer candidate. I live to kill Jahad and bring changes to this tower."

Grace could feel Love's eyes bore into him. It unconsciously made his muscles tense, ready to block any attack.

Not letting his guard down, Grace turned his gaze on the audience, especially aimed at Wangnan and Ehwa. "If you're not ready for the consequences of being in my team, then I suggest you go home while you have the chance."

"I-I'm ready." Wangnan gave an immediate answer, though Grace could see cold sweat forming on his forehead.

Everyone else had given some thought to his statement, especially Ehwa who looked very troubled. But he wasn't that patient to wait for everyone to give their answers. It didn't matter anyway, because…

"If you still choose to stay here for a chance to team up with me, then you need to prove that you can work as a team.

But seeing how poorly you're getting along with each other, I could easily foresee that you'll only hold me back."

No one on the stage could deny it.

"In that case…" Grace pretended to think. "Let me just take the next test by myself, administrator."

Silence. He could see the shock painted on everyone's faces.

"Rules are rules, Mr. Grace." Love said sternly. "The next exam is for teams only. You must choose seven others."

"Then how about we play a game? Something for us to settle whether I can take the next test by myself or with a team. And for them to form a team that will take the next test with me if I lose."

Love mulled on it for a bit. "That doesn't sound too bad… I will accept your challenge."

Grace gave him a slight bow. "Thank you for your consideration."

Love looked surprised at that, but he moved on just as quickly. "As the administrator, I will be the one to pick what kind of games we'll be playing."

"Understandable." Grace patted himself on the back for getting through this negotiation.

"Alright. Then, take a break while I prepare for the game." Love gestured with his hand and a gate to the right of the room opened. "Anyone who wishes to participate in the game, go to the dorms through that gate." 

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[frooglet]

Me reading the most heart wrenching, soul crushing, breath taking, gasp inducing, edge of my seat sitting, anger boiling, emotion enraging, panic attack inducing, gut clenching, horrific, awful, terrifying, morbid, disgusting, tear shedding fanfic known to mankind:

[good-to-drive]

It's competitive but I think my favorite Conan anecdote is when he told his therapist "Everyone hates me, they think I have no talent and they wish I would just go away," and his therapist said "That's called negative self-talk and you have to realize it's just the depression talking" and Conan said "Self-talk? I'm just quoting my latest review!"

[theygender]

Thinking about my scifi story idea again and specifically about the alien love interest. And I'm wondering how far I can go in either direction on the non-human spectrum before it stops being a scifi book and becomes a furry/monsterfucker book

[mouse-fantoms]

Thinking about that one comment I got on one of my fics that said it really helped them and it provided them with so much comfort and hope and it still does years later when they go back and read it 🥺 only in my wildest dreams have I ever imagined that something I made would be that for someone… …I guess it just goes to show to keep creating fantoms, your work could be apart of someone’s story 🥺