#i love to write about my problems and make them into a fic

[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.

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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.

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↳ 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

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↳ 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:)

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↳ 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!

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↳ 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.

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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

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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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user has disabled comments on this post.

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[gay-dorito-dust]

Hello! I want to say I love your fics- I've been here for a while- I followed you because of your gravity falls fic and now you write for DC- I love your writing so much ❤️ I just love it how you write for most fandoms I'm in 🥹

I haven't really had the guts to send you an ask or anything- this is my first 🥹

But if you are open to it,

May I request the Batboys + Bruce Reacting to Reader being insecure because of having a plushie they had since birth, it has been with them since childhood and hasn't left their side ever since they were a child, it was old dirty and they didn't like washing it because it was sentimental to them-

I have one exactly like It and I'm a bit insecure about it- I never really dated before because I think people will think it as a childish thing-

My friends told me it's fine and normal and it's human but it's still an insecurity-

I like to blab a lot my bad- I love your works again! Please keep writing ❤️ it's okay if you can't write this too no pressure! Sending love!! ❤️❤️❤️

sweetheart, there is nothing wrong with having a childhood plush. you have your reasons for having them and that is all that should matter. It shouldn't be something you're insecure about just becuase of how other people might interpret it, that's their problem, not yours to figure out. you've got a childhood toy, so what? i have one if i looked deep enough in my house for it and it has been with me since i could remember, so don't ever feel ashamed of having something that means so much to you on a level some narrow minded people won't understand.

It's special to you, holds alot of value to you and your friends are correct, it's perfectly normal human thing to have, i promise you it's nothing to be insecure over at all and it's not childish in the slightest. And if anyone says anything, i'll fight them for you!

Jason isn't one to judge himself as he still had that paperback of the first book he had nicked when he was under Bruce's tutilage, sitting on the bookshelf amongst the other books that he has lying in wait to be read again, yet also perfectly showing the framed familiar photo of his younger self and Bruce.

So Jason knows a thing or two about having things that have sentimental values that you just can't be apart from, even if the memories connecting to that thing aren't exactly ones that he wants to ever go back, instead keeping them in memorium of the boy he used to be and knowing that he'd hate the man he had to become against his will.

Jason could never hold it against you for possessing something that helps you and means so much to you. So seeing you look so small as he sees the plushy on your bed made his heart ache, thinking that he had proven himself as someone who would welcome every part of you, much like you have welcomed every part of him.

'Oh sweetheart.' Jason says softly as he holds your face, caressing your cheeks as he gently tilts your head up from looking at the floor and look into his eyes. 'Don't ever be ashamed of having something linked to your childhood, i don't ever want you to feel as if it's something to be ashamed of, not with me as that's not how i want our relationship to be.' He adds as he kisses your forehead, casting away those negative thoughts as far away from you as he can.

'it's not throwing you off?' you asked, looking at him for any lies you may find that he tried to hide, only to find none as he laughs and brings you in close to his chest, rubbing his hands up and down your back.

'Absolutely not.' Jason replied without hesitation. 'i'm staying here for the long wrong sweetheart so i hope your plush is okay with another person to share a bed with.' He adds as he looks over at the plush that flops onto the bed, almost as if it was giving Jason it's consent and approval for him to take care of you now.

Dick will find it sweet that you've got such a plush, he doesn't care about it's condition and would never make it an issue either, it's not his style.

He would want to know how ans when you got it and why it -above the other plushies you might've gotten in your childhood- was your most precious possesion. He'd love to listen to your stories and love the plushy as much as you did, for he didn't see it as just a plushy he only saw it as an extension of you, and he would treat the plushy with the respect it deserved for keeping you grounded and calm for all this time.

Yet when he saw how much you wanted to seemingly leave the second he saw your plush propped up on your desk, greeting you both with it's button eyes and stitched smile that you've been accostomed to for a long time, Dick can't help but feel as though he had done something wrong or didn't do enough to prove that he didn't care about the fact that you had a plush.

'who's this cutie?' He'd ask, wanting to ease you up again, 'they're not my replacement are they?' he adds jokingly as you began to find humour in the idea that Dick was comparing himself to the worn plush you've had since you were little.

'no, they're my childhood toy, hope that's not weird or embrassing.' you tell him.

Dick moves towards your plush and gently grabs their paw as though greeting it as though it was a sentient thing. 'it's actually an honour to see the plush that has kept you protected and secure for a long time, keeping you grounded and providing you a sense of calm when things get too much.' Dick then lets go of it's paw ans looks at you with a warm smile and even warmer gaze. 'it's nothing to be ashamed of, it's perfectly normal and shouldn't have to be hidden to make others comfortable at your own expense.' He finishes as he makes his way towards you and hold your hands in his.

'you're not freaked out? or disgusted?' you asked, still not certain of the whole thing.

'no. my opinion shouldn't matter becuase it doesn't, only yours and if having a childhood plush helps you, then that's all that matters.' Dick tells you as he kisses the tip of your nose.

Damian is going to ask questions but they are purely for learning purposes only.

He would never ever insult you for the fact that you carry something ever since you could speak your first words, so when he is satisfied with the awnsers given to him, Damian finds it honourable that you have something that keeps you grounded and reminds you of home.

He does his research on the pychology behind having a plushy, followed up by the benifits of having one are in order to fully understand why some people would keep their childhood stuffed toys, and making sure that Ace and Titus stay away from your plush at all times in case they mistake it as something they can play with.

He might make a face when he first sees it but it's mainly one of curiosity, tilting his head to the side as he tries to figure out the conection between you and this worn out but heavily loved plush, wheras you were regretting putting it away and out of sight and were about to when Damian keeps you from doing so by putting his hand on yours. 'why are you trying to hide it?' he would ask.

'It's weird of an adult to have an toy from their childhood, it's not soemthing that i should have anyways.' you tell him, pulling your hand from his grip as the empty feeling within you seemed to only worsen as your throat tightned with emotion that you'd let out when you were alone.

Damian furrows his brows as he looks at you and realises that his reaction was taken a you thinking he believes your weird for having a plush, and he was quick to correct this misunderstanding by holding your hand, intertwining your fingers together to prevent you from running away. 'There are research behind this sort of thing, you shouldn't feel regret or shame for having something that helps you and offers support with it's weighed attributes for a more grounding affect.' He begins as he tugs you to his side as he sits you both down on the bed, his thumbs caressing the back of your hand in silence reassurance.

'If anyone choses to raise their voice agaisnt you. Let me know and i shall have them delt with swiftly, for no one should ever spout words of venom at you, not for something that makes you feel safe and secure and in such cases allow me to be another source of reassurance and safety.' Damian continues in the way he knows how, defending your honour by using the methods he was raised to use to his advantage against those who claim it's childish.

For to him they were simply too childish if they couldn't understand themselves.

Bruce will find the plush cute as well, fully understanding the whole sentimentality that comes with having something from a young age, so he's not going to hold it agaisnt you for having a plush as an adult.

He knows the benifits of having a childhood plush and how it can reduce stress and or anxiety and bring a sense of comfort for you that he might not be able to give himself. He recagnises your childhoos plush as a source of calm in your hectic life, something that brings you back to better memories and moments that are attached to the plushy you kept.

So when he does first see the plush he doesn't show much of a reaction, acting like it's the most normal thing he's ever come across in his life, but he could see the hunch in your shoulders and the clench in your jaw that his lack of a reaction was only making your intenal thoughts even worse then before.

'If you think i'm going to shame you for having a keepsake from your childhood, then i haven't done enough on my part to do what your plush has been doing for twice as long.' He says as he looks at the plush and could easily envision you cudiling it agaisnt your chest, easily envison how it brought you down from the most stressful moments of your life thus far. 'You shouldn't have to stress about what i think about it for it doesn't matter, there's psychology and science that backs up the reason for keeping ahold of something from your past, so please don't think i'm against it when i'm actually all for it.' He adds with a small smile.

'you're not wierded out or find it silly?' you asked, still a little unsure of his acceptance of your childhood plush, thinking it to be too good to be true.

Bruce brings you into his side, kissing your temple once, twice as he squeezes your side. 'of course not, this is your anchor, your friend who has been a constant in your ever changing life, something you can always rely on to never change when it seems like eveything is moving at a faster pace for you.' He kisses your temple a third time, pratically cuddiling you to his chest now as he felt you burry into his chest.

'I would never ask you to give up your comfort for me, to put you to in a constant state of discomfort. So please don't feel as though you have to change yourself to appease others for no one is ever appeased, so you're best to staying true to yourself against it all.' Bruce finishes as the plush on your bed seemingly watched you both, happy that you had found someone that was more then accepting of you and everything you come with.

[ao3commentoftheday]

I don’t seem to know how to write fic without being mean to the characters. There was a time when I could write fluff, non-angsty slice-of-life, and so on, but now I don’t seem to be able to tell a story without SOMETHING that hurts them.

I’ve had a lot of mental health issues in the intervening years, which I’m sure is related to the why, but doesn’t answer the what or how. It’s a problem because it’s led to me no longer being able to show my partners hardly any of my writing (a lot of dead doves hanging about, which isn’t something they can really stomach). It bothers me that I can’t share my creativity with people I care about.

Do you have any tips for lightening up, or where to find nice wholesome ideas that might spark some joy?

I don’t want to stop writing fucked-up stuff entirely, I just want to find my “nice voice” again.

*hugs* I get it, anon. Sometimes the things that we want to write aren't things we want to share - or at least, not with certain people.

I think a good first step to branching out from your current writing focus is considering what it is about this type of story that's appealing to you right now.

Do you want to make someone else experience a kind of pain or suffering that you've suffered? Pain is a lot easier to manage when you aren't doing it alone.

Do you want to feel a sense of control over someone else's fate? This can be a big comfort when you either didn't have control of your own or you feel as if control is currently slipping out of your grasp.

Do you want the catharsis of seeing someone survive the impossible? It can be extremely satisfying to watch someone claw their way out of the worst situation you can imagine. They get to be the hero in the end. They get to survive.

Do you want to feel a different kind of catharsis? Like the release of emotion that comes with a character's death? Whether they find peace in that moment or whether it's also a torment, it's still a release in the end.

These are just a handful of reasons why you might be writing these kinds of stories right now, and I'm glad you don't want to stop. They are important to you, and even if your partners don't have the same interest that's okay.

You might still be able to share your existing stories if you give your partners a version with the particularly dead doves removed and replaced with a summary, like [Character is tortured until they reveal the secret location. They are left beaten and barely alive.] Then they can pick the story back up after that point.

Of course, if you're writing shorter works then that might not be possible. One way to get back to "nicer" stories that are also on the shorter side could be to write hurt/comfort. You could still get some of what you need by hurting the characters, but then your partners would get the wholesomeness you're looking for when another character takes care of the one you've hurt.

I'll leave it here for now and open it up to ideas from the blog. I know how tough it can be when you want to share something you love with someone you love, and I hope we can get you back to being able to do that.

[pomegranatepip]

@mythblossoms thank you for tagging me :3 see now my wip names are either ridiculous or very straightforward because i only come up with titles after I'm done writing so it pulls a laugh out of me sometimes when I open up a doc xD ALSO YOUR WIPS HAVE ME VIBRATING IN MY SEAT I'm so stoked for your agape series and i see a bunch of fics for gojo too 👀 who am i kidding they all sound so good and i love your writing i just know they're gonna eat

Rules: make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! And then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

(no pressure tags) @hellinistical @lvndei @luvzayne and anyone else who wants to join <3

1. rafayel x goddess of death!mc

2. figure skater raf

3. rafmc liner drabble

4. mydei armor drabble

5. pirate! aventurine and hostage sunday lol

6. selfship with aventurine

7. selfship with anaxa

8. figure skater sunday (i have a problem) <- yes the bracketed sentence is part of the title xD

9. zayne valentine fic <- old draft for a fic i did for an event on here

Tagged by @irandial 💖 I'll just...list my LADS wips only, because my writing folder have 724 files, and 3/4 of those are wips from every fandom I've ever interacted with.................. 🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠

Rules: make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! And then tag as many people as you have WIPs. 👁👄👁 I'm sorry idk 61 people, let alone writers, but.....no pressure tags to these lovelies 💖 @deepspacenova @vesearlee @iraot @solifloris @aeyumicore

5 times you ask zayne for food suggestions + 1 time you ask sylus

5 times you hide your relationship with sylus + 1 time you told the truth

darling can i be your favorite

father's day

foursome because i lack shame

risky pregnancy ask - 03 - mc dies baby lives

risky pregnancy ask - 04 - stillbirth-miscarriage

ZayneMCCaleb - one bed three of you

brat tamer caleb

build a city that dreams for two

if you're a worm, then i'm a worm

is it that sweet (i guess so)

kiss me hard, kiss me good

k-i-s-s-i-n-g

phone sex with caleb

playing tic-tac-toe for my x and o's

post-baby lovemaking

Report

Return To Eden

Rotten Apple

Time for Takeoff

Violet Eyes

you can be my lover girl

got me playing with fire (and it's all I desire)

The Fish That Loved a Cat

21 Steps

birdie bully boxing

devastation salvation

Evermore - Elysium - dragon au

grassland au

grassland sylus forever in my heart

grinding on sylus

Little Parrot

love is all i feel, my dear

No Man's Land

omegaverse

Sylus bet

Sylus- Breeding dream

Sylus hurtcomfort

The Crow and the Kitten

The Dragon's Gifts

untitled sylus ruin

up all night playing kitty cards

xoxo

fall into your arms

I Do (I Do Not!)

my universe, my everything, my sunset

xavier potatoes

Delirium

Emergency Surgery

eyes closed, dreaming of each other

Surprise Dinner

zayne brainworm thats my fault but also lowkey nova's fault too (see discord chat)

zayne i want a baby

from osmanthus to snowdrop - 02 - first trimester and oh by the way

from osmanthus to snowdrop - 03 - second trimester and craving carrots (and more carrots)

from osmanthus to snowdrop - 04 - third trimester and

from osmanthus to snowdrop - 05 - you and me and baby make three

03 - love you more

Bride of the Dragon King

08 - Xavier - every time i look into those angel eyes

[zyafics]

i have a question (please don't misinterpret im JUST JUST JUSTTTT ASKING PLEASE DONT KILL ME)

why are you trying to stop people from writing canon rafe? its fiction, so not a gloification. im sure since we're all adults we can tell that men who act like rafe are DICKS irl. but... fanfiction is writing. witing is an art. art is an interpretation. rafe is... not a good person, but he IS an interesting character tho. writing fanfics isn't about being all about bad behavior but you're looking at stories and emotions from different perspectives. when one writes canon rafe even if its smut you're not excusing him being a horrible bitch. ppl write what's fascinating to them and it's a good way to understand very nuanced characters.

perhaps... you should know how to separate fiction and art from real life (NOT BEING RUDE.)

everyone is technically allowed to interpret a character how they want and you're knda trying to shut that down which just limits creativity and community.

if you or others don't like how rafe is portrayed in canon fics, thats cool and you can avoid 'em! but trying to shame others and telling them to only write fanon rafe is just unfair and not nessecary.

hi! i never try to kill anyone who comes in with genuine curiosity and open-mindedness so do not worry, you're off my list (for now... hehe)

why are you trying to stop people from writing canon rafe? its fiction, so not a gloification.

i'm not! i love writing canon!rafe. i love writers who explore the complexity of his nuanced characterization. i admit, here and now, and over and over again, he is a bad person. his subtext is filled with prejudices—classism, racism, sexism to his own sister—but i never excuse that behavior. i never hide behind the veil that just because you're writing canon does not mean you're not subjected to criticism. additionally, just because you write canon!rafe does not mean you have to romanticize the attributes of his character.

fanfiction is writing. witing is an art. art is an interpretation.

you're right! fanfic is writing. fanfic is free. but that doesn't make absolve it from its problem. that's the beautiful thing about complex topics. two things can be right at once. you can write whatever you want. but that doesn't mean you're free from the criticism of your own writing. i strongly stand by that.

you should know how to separate fiction and art from real life (NOT BEING RUDE.)

i do. fiction and art are separate from real life. if you were here a while back, i even wrote a thought piece on rape and non-con in fanfic. i was advocating for people to have the right to write them. i explained, in explicit detail why people write it the way that they do. but i still stand by what i believe: just because you write a taboo topic, and you're in a fanfic space, does not mean you are absolved of the consequences and callouts of the interpretation of your fics by your audience. intents ≠ actions. and to completely disassociate those two, if you really want to be nuanced, is impossible. i remember reading an article where a serial killer admitted that he got some of the ideas for his murders from a skywars movie: the scene where leia was held up in chains. it was meant to be misogynistic and demeaning; so art and media do have an impact on real life.

everyone is technically allowed to interpret a character how they want and you're knda trying to shut that down which just limits creativity and community.

the thing is, i'm not. never once did i told them to stop writing it. i said to address it. the problem i have with it is the inherent romanticization of the characters. i have read dark, dead doves do not eat fics with rafe cameron, and i never called out those writers. why? because they never framed it as something readers should want. the audience should like. the audience should accept. it was narratively framed as wrong. that's how you go about writing a nuanced character with taboo topics. when you're putting misogynistic!rafe into a setting, and you framed it through a rose-colored glass, where it's actually acceptable, endearing, and romantic, that's the problematic aspect of it. you didn't do your due diligence as a writer to address that.

if you or others don't like how rafe is portrayed in canon fics, thats cool and you can avoid 'em! but trying to shame others and telling them to only write fanon rafe is just unfair and not nessecary.

i do avoid them. i don't read them. i didn't even @ any of the writers. this was something said in my own blog, in my own space, using the general rafe tag as anyone else. you coming onto my blog to tell me to avoid this was unnecessary. i did. if you're applying the same logic of your argument to me: you're coming into a space where you should've avoided my words. you should've "avoid" me. you wanted to come on my blog to let your feelings be heard, and i'm hearing them. but don't ever say that i didn't do my own due diligence. i did.

[nebrasska-alasska]

This is but isn’t a question LMAOO

Okay so, I’ve been inspired by you and many others to write a sonadow fic, and I have the general outline or idea of what I want to do with it, but the only problem is I have absolutely no clue how to start it 😓

Any advice? ( also I love you and hope your doing great!)

AWWWWW HELL YEAH JOIN THE CLUB BOIIIIIIIII welcome to the wonderful world of making gay hedgehogs kiss ;)))

As for advice, I've never had like, a formal education in creative writing (literally this whole account is just vibes), but I can try! Beginning is tough, but I would focus on a scene or exchange from the first chapter that you really want to write and start there! Don't feel like you have to write in order. I personally write chunks of different scenes and then stitch them together at the end. Once you get scenes and a general framework down, filling in the gaps between them becomes infinitely easier imo.

If you're like, super-DUPER stuck, I will write out a script-like dialogue exchange, and then go back after I'm done to fill in the blanks to flesh it out. I don't do this every time, but I do it when there's a conversation that is being stubborn about being written!

HOWEVER, with all that being said, I also wouldn't start with a scene from a later chapter in your outline. This is just my personal experience, but whenever I write, the story kind of forms itself as I go along outside of what I have planned on my outline. Jumping ahead to write a future chapter makes it so that the flow might turn out stilted and unnatural, but again, that's just my personal preference! I tend to focus on the fic chapter by chapter and build it that way, but everyone is different so you might find that other approaches work better for you!

[cameliawrites]

ranking all 32 of my kanej fics lol

I’ve never seen anyone do this, and the idea of ranking all my own fics kind of cracked me up, so here we go. (I’m excluding the 2 collaborative fics I’ve written on because that doesn’t feel fair.) I also think it’s valuable to be able to take a step back and be self-critical about my work. I would LOVE to see other people do this with their own fics.

Are these going to be hot takes? They definitely aren’t going to match the order of my most popular fics on ao3. I’d be curious to hear if anyone has wildly different opinions or thinks I’m dead wrong. It’s always interesting how a writer’s personal favorites or the stories they think are “best” don’t necessarily track with what an audience thinks. I have a hard time believing that very many people have read all 32 of these fics, let alone remember most of them, so I think it would be hard for anyone else to have a super in-depth opinion on this lol. But do reply and let me know if you DO have a favorite fic of mine, and if so, which one! (Also, all of these fics are linked if you click the title.)

Without further ado…

Going from the bottom (my worst or least favorite) to the top (what I think are my best or favorite):

32.) let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments - Literally the first fic I ever wrote, so of course it’s going to be flawed. This one makes me cringe and I hardly ever look back at it because I just want to heavily revise it. It’s one of my most popular, but I think age has a lot to do with that, because it’s had more time to garner hits/kudos/whatever. 

31.) see it in your face, i'm relief - It’s pretty short, so in hindsight, it should’ve just been shoved in the Sea Glass anthology. I think Kaz is a little too sappy in this one, and nailing characterization is always hard, but I hate when I feel like I’ve made the characters cringy.

30.) Sea Change - The first multichap fic I wrote. I hardly ever revisit this one. I feel like it’s definitely a bit overwrought and could use some harsh pruning. But it’s kind of the blueprint - a lot of the metaphors and themes are ones that I’ve continued to explore over and over again in the last three years of fics. Everyone has to start somewhere, but I wish it were better executed.

29.) Minor Miracles - Again, it’s short, and should’ve just been added to Sea Glass. And it’s too saccharine. But I still like the detail about the bonelight fish - I think the imagery of that is really pretty. Otherwise, nothing in this ficlet is treading new ground, nor is it treading old ground particularly well.

28.) Something Tender - Overly soft Kaz strikes again!! I know it’s a little out of character; I just can’t help it, apparently. Also, there have been a million kanej hair brushing fics, and many of them done much better than this.

27.) Second Chances - It’s short and plotless, which cuts against it. But I do like that it’s a glimpse at older kanej, which we don’t see enough of. I think it’s hard for me to write kanej at an age I haven’t reached.

26.) In the Wild Soft Summer Darkness - I think it’s a little disjointed. Like, it didn’t do a great job toeing the line between silly and serious. It starts off with ridiculous thirsty Inej, but tries to end on a more sincere note, like it’s trying to have a deeper meaning than it actually does. I should’ve just let it remain silly. I think this fic WANTS to be what “honey, let me be your bodyguard” ended up being. 

25.) secretly, between the shadow and the soul - I think I was trying to be a little bit more poetical and whimsical in this one and experiment more with tone, but again, not sure the execution was great. It ended up a little bit too saccharine and overwrought as well. A frequent problem I have!

24.) someone to watch over me - Another super old one that could certainly benefit from some editing! I think I managed to keep this one light enough for it not to be too cringy now, but I’m not sure. Haven’t revisited it in a while.

23.) Fear Talking - It’s an interesting enough premise, but I think I ended it a little hastily and didn’t explore the issue as fully as I could have. It could have been darker and deeper, but I was just skimming the surface of the concept. And I’m not very satisfied with the ending.

22.) and there’s a drawer of my things at your place - It’s cute, but it’s trying to reheat the “softly sleeping” nachos. Can I say it? Can I say it? Maybe a little too saccharine. Overly. Soft. Kaz. Strikes. Again. Damn me!

21.) Lingers Sweetly on the Lips - I do love a fade-to-black moment. Call me a tease.

20.) in hope, yours - Baby’s first historical au! I’m proud of myself for branching out and trying something new. And it was fun to play in someone else’s sandbox. Unfortunately, it’s got nothing on the fic it was inspired by, so it’s always going to have to live in its Better Older Sister’s shadow.

19.) the heart heeds helplessly - Can I say it? It’s the blueprint for “collision course” that nobody wants to acknowledge. I think this is the first time that I really got into my prose-poetry bag. It’s not amazing, but it absolutely walked so “collision course” could run.

18.) Dirty Talk - I like the premise, but I do have reservations about the execution.

17.) Mirror Talk - The characterization isn’t perfect, but I think the topic is important. Newer fics (this one and the last one) are hard to rank since I haven't had a lot of time to reflect on them in comparison to the rest of my catalog.

16.) Sea Glass - It’s an anthology fic, so it’s a huge mixed bag of things! Some of them are super cringy. Some of them are pretty decent. But I love having this be my perpetual soup of a fic. It puts less pressure on me to publish certain things when I know I can just throw them in here. 

15.) A Proposition - I give it points for being pre-canon, which I don’t usually write because I worry too much about getting the pre-canon characterization right. I don’t think I fared too badly with the characterization here?

14.) Devotion - Another historical au! Points for creativity. I was being lazy and trying to capture a vibe while glossing over the nitty gritty details of the setting, so it loses points for that.

13.) To Give, Then to Receive - Am I allowed to say that it’s a little overrated? Still, I think it has some unique and memorable moments that a decent number of people have adopted into their own personal headcanons. I like when I’m able to come up with specific cute details to flesh out a fic rather than the more generic “they kiss, they hug, they pine over each other.” This fic is all about showing love through action, and “show rather than tell” writing is always a step up from merely telling, so it sort of succeeds on that front. Not perfect though! I think it should’ve been one single oneshot instead of split into 4 chapters, but I was posting as I wrote it, and I was too impatient to wait lol.

12.) give me more than just some butterflies - It’s a silly good time, just like its predecessor. I did like the DeKappel bit, but otherwise, it’s nothing too groundbreaking. 

11.) Sorrow in Company - The philosophy major in me loves having a chance to explore Kaz Brekker’s dubious ethics and the inevitable friction between Kaz and Inej on that front. But I think “the muscle cut from the bone” is the better angsty offering from me. 

10.) (and you know that I'd) swing with you for the fences, sit with you in the trenches - The most personal fic I’ve ever written, so it’s hard for me to rank. I’ll just say that I really needed to write it, and I think maybe a few people needed to read it, and I’m thankful that they did.

9.) love is not love which alters when it alteration finds - A rare case of a sequel being much better than an original lol! I wrote it a year later, so I think my skills had sharpened by then. It’s still in the “tooth-rotting fluff” category, but I think it’s less cringy and tropey than the first installment.

8.) softly sleeping, here in the deep end of someone who loves me - It loses points for an overly long lyric title. It wins points for spanning a timeline all the way from pre- to post-canon and showing the relationship developing gradually over time. It’s super fluffy, but I think it’s fluff done pretty well. I think this is my most popular oneshot by hit count!

7.) sea to the shore - The shortest little follow up to “collision course,” but I think she’s UNDERRATED. Sometimes succinct and purposeful is better than long and meandering (and I’ve certainly done long and meandering my fair share of times). 

6.) The Demon Under the Bridge - Another instance of me challenging myself to write an au! One of my more experimental creative ventures with a dark fairytale aesthetic. I’m proud of this one!

5.) the muscle cut from the bone - Baby’s first breakup fic! A little angstier than my usual fare. I think I’m biased toward it because I love the title (and the poem the title comes from). 

4.) what a mother wants - So proud of this one, and so proud of the longfic it inspired. Kanej kidfic isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, but this fic was really more about Inej's relationship to herself than anything. I did some research on post-partum depression for this one, and I hope there’s someone out there who reads this and maybe feels less alone in their own experiences.

3.) honey, i could be your bodyguard - This might be the most fun I’ve ever had writing a fic, so that makes me partial to it. Is it super in character? Probably not. Was it super fun to write this version of Inej? Oh yeah. I hope it’s fun to read too. I think I'm hilarious sometimes.

2.) what a mother was - My underrated fave. The longest fic I’ve ever written, and I am SO proud of this one. Mostly original character work, which was totally new for me. I’m so glad I took up this challenge, because it really stretched me as a writer, and it made me believe that if I ever wanted to write an original novel someday, I might be able to. 

1.) collision course - My magnum opus, I fear. Deserves the hype. Writing this was like capturing lightning in a bottle. I was like a woman possessed as I wrote it, and I still don’t know where the words came from. I almost feel guilty taking credit for it, because I feel like I was more of a vessel than an agent writing it. And maybe that sense of separation I have from it is why I’m able to appreciate it more than other fics. However, I also have a complex about being considered a “serious” writer and not just a silly little fluff writer. Because of course genres that traditionally cater to women (romance, fluff) can’t be taken as ~seRiOusLY~ as more literary fiction. I wish I didn’t feel pressure to analyze my own writing through that lens. But regardless, I am really proud of this fic.

If you've made it to the bottom of this list, thank you for indulging me!! This was a fun little reflective exercise. As always, more fics coming soon. :)

[spacejip]

you’ve been awake since 4 am.

you decided to go to the bathroom and when you came back, pulling your blankets over you and trying to relax in your dark but warm room, it was already too late. you weren’t gonna fall asleep any time soon.

you started to think about everything: from the final you failed last night; to your current friendships... can you even call it that? the same friendships you’ve poured so much effort into, yet somehow it never felt like enough; how much you miss talking about your concerns with someone... wait, you’ve never actually done that; and the list goes on.

4 hours swiftly went by... now it’s 8 am.

you sigh and get off bed. "i guess it’s a reasonable time to get up now" you thought to yourself while putting on your slippers.

you get out of your room and make your way to the kitchen, hoping not to wake jisung, your roomate, up. you bet he was as drained as you, knowing he stayed late at uni just like you had to.

you grab your favorite hello kitty mug and when you turn around to pour some coffee, it slips from your fingers. you look down just in time to see how it shatters right next to your feet, a loud noise along with little ceramic pieces spreading everywhere. you chuckle bitterly and crouch on the ground looking at your mug now turned into dust.

jisung gets out of his room hurriedly. "are you okay? did you get hurt?" he runs to you, grabbing your shoulder ever so gently. "i didn’t mean to wake you up" you say quietly without taking your eyes off the mess you’ve made.

he chuckles softly, admiring your ability to care about him even at this moment. jisung follows your gaze "that was the hello kitty one, right?" you just nod, your chin trembling at this point. "come here" he says standing up and dragging you with him.

jisung hugs you, holding your head to his chest. the difference between your height and his being too obvious now. he interrupts your thoughts "this is not about the mug, isn’t it?".

and as he says that you just let go. crying to your roomate about all that has been bothering you for a while now. gripping his now-wet-with-tears shirt.

"you can tell me whenever you’re ready, okay?" he says caressing your hair in a soothing manner.

[simcardiac-arrested]

ur probably sick of seeing posts like these but i just want to sit here and muse about how, well, i enjoy tumblr #mytumblr not just because of all the obvious stuff like how it’s not run on an algorithm, and because it’s one of the only social media that i don’t have to jump through hoops to use and that isn’t phone-exclusive (for me)

but i think my favorite thing has to be the askblogs, and running one. which is weird, because if you asked me as little as 3 years ago what i loved most about tumblr, i’d probably say “uh, looking at owl house posts, i guess?”, it’s weird because i never actually planned to make one and created it on a whim based on a few random people’s tags, and even then it was made mostly as a joke. i just never thought about it before—i grew up with askblogs, an era of tumblr that was truly as magical as it was catastrophic (as all things that get vaguely popular), but i never thought about making one because: it’s a commitment, it seems like a lot, i’m inconsistent, how would i draw for it every single time, etc etc all that good stuff

but then i just made it. and fuck me is it the most fun thing ever. it doesn’t have to be consistent. it doesn’t have to be perfect, or polished, or anything really. it just has to be. to exist out there in the world and be open to messages. the most it has to be is loved by me and by u guys.

and that’s the thing! the best thing—i love involving u guys in my writing, pushing the characters in one direction and then the next, seeing where that takes us (because i don’t always know either, that’s what writing is all about babeyyy). i love that i don’t have to just post the most important plot beats one after the other and have the story be done there. i love that i get to weave the development through vaguely connected, sometimes relevant but sometimes completely random joke asks. that i don’t have to write a whole ass novel of build-up or draw everything as one long-running comic just to make my characters feel like they actually exist and react to the things around them, that they’re not just here to get from point a to b. and i love that you’re all part of it. the story seriously just wouldn’t be the way it is without all of you guys who are always so curious to ask something, or call a character out (depending on how much they need to be humbled COUGHHHHCOUGHHHHH)

so yeah, i’m just forever grateful for all of you and for the fact that tumblr allows things like these to happen. i have no idea what other site could possibly offer the same sort of experience, or anything similar, but i am just forever in love with the fact that it’s something you can do here. i wouldn’t trade it for anything. what a cool fucking thing to be able to do

[kaisollisto]

“Are you here?" Ava barely breathes it, there's a tension in the air that she can't recognize, an energy that squashes her. Her throat feels scratchy and she can feel the Halo slotted between her shoulders. Ava's flat on her back head turned to look over at Beatrice. She feels wimpy like a stomped flower, her left arm dangles dangerously close to Beatrice-territory. She wants to reach out, to touch Beatrice to confirm that she's here but something stops her. She feels so silly, she could easily shift over to touch Beatrice, shake her gently and - 

Beatrice slides over, a firm sleepy sister warrior knife wielding badass with frumpy hair poofing from what remains of her low bun. She moves towards Ava, inches away from her but moves to answer her. It’s rare for Ava to see her like this. Beatrice is clearly fighting sleep, rubbing her eyes and doing her best to move in hopes that it’ll shake the sleepy spell. 

She’s dressed in one of Ava’s ugly loose white shirts, a huge bass clashing with faded big blocky lettering that just reads “FISH”. Beatrice had looked at her weirdly when Ava had dug it out of the bins at a thrift store disheveled and ecstatic. 

Ava had spent hours coaxing her into it doing her damn best to hide Beatrice’s laundry when she wasn’t looking. It fills a warm feeling in her chest and Ava wants to burrow further into it. It was a fool proof plan. 

Ava found her shortness made it exhausting to reach up towards the Beatrice-level-cabinets. The halo pulls at her pinching and knotting up the muscles in her back after a long day of training. She feels it alive within her, an uncomfortable reminder sealed inside her back. 

At the end of the day Ava settled on hinging at the waist. She had slowly started integrating Beatrice’s sleep shirts in cabinets that Beatrice had to bend down to reach. Ava always tried to situate herself at the scene of the crime doing her best to seem inconspicuous while she leaned over hungry for Beatrice’s reaction. Ava thumbed her findings down in the recess of her mind, her finger tracing over it in a hurried desperation. The time would pass and she did not want to forget. 

(It helped, the imagery of Bea’s furrow when she would find her sleepwear underneath the sink when Ava would have to tuck her spine into the halo as she placed the shirt somewhere clean.) 

Thanks to her genius planning Beatrice had finally caved and worn Ava’s huge “FISH” t-shirt after weeks of her persistence. She looked adorable, she was drowning in it and constantly tugging at it. She had found Beatrice loved to tuck it into the band of her sleep shorts creating puffy funny creases distorting the text even further to say “FSH”. It looked so ugly and old and endearing. 

She looked out of her depth and it made Ava’s heart thump funny. Beatrice with her weird posh mannerisms combined with the peaceful unguarded look when she slumbered made her feel hot all over. 

It was the prospect of the future, a glimpse into her life with Beatrice, of when they would grow old together. It shakes her, the idea that Beatrice will get wrinkles with her. She takes it seriously, a study that she isn’t well versed in but preparing for. It is a long hard internal debate flipping between what wrinkles will show first. Ava selfishly hopes it’s smile lines, that Beatrice will smile at her as much as she does in secret. She’s happy to be wrong, Beatrice’s forehead crinkles have always been cute. She hopes that Beatrice never stops looking at her, thinking of her. She wants to spend a long time being the source of her wrinkles. And just for right now she can handle the role of being just her friend. 

Beatrice blinks one eye open, the other pressed against the pillow as she stifles a yawn. Her hand blocks her mouth in a delicate way and Ava can see her nails are short and uneven in places. Ava wishes she could touch them, study them in a way no one has done before. She wants to press against Beatrice hard enough to watch her skin fold around hers. Some sort of truth that she was here, that she is here. 

Beatrice scoots over slowly, her elbow tucked under the pillow. She stops inches away from Ava, a frown set in her jaw. Ava mirrors her position albeit more awkwardly and more wiggling than Beatrice’s but she finds a place where the Halo won’t bite her back. 

“I’m here,” Beatrice murmurs it, a quiet thing between them. 

Ava closes her eyes hoping Beatrice won’t notice her shakiness. She blinks a few times before she presses closer, the arm she’s laying on moving to support her head underneath the pillow. 

There’s so much to tell her, anything and nothing at all and Ava doesn’t know where to start. It constricts her throat, the constant stream of consciousness from inside of her heart. It’s horrible and she can’t stop it as the feeling balloons inside of her lungs. Ava wants help, she so desperately wants to feel okay again, to feel anything other than the stupid fucking halo. It grates on her nerves and muscles, a burning hot metal ring poking and prodding at the entirety of her upper torso. It leaves her reeling, a sort of anger that beckons for her to hurt (hurt something, hurt someone, hurt), disregarding the aftermath of tears and shame. 

Ava is sure she’s shaking, a layer of sweat gathers between the space of her shoulder blades as the Halo lights up with her inner turmoil. It’s a faint pitiful thing that Ava would be ashamed of if not for the bone aching tiredness. 

She wants to say she’s sorry the words clawing their way up her throat and it feels wrong to feel anything but that. There’s a sort of unspoken shame that haunts her with the Halo. It’s a thing she’s known long before any of this. 

Beatrice drags her out of her turmoil with her hand hovering near Ava’s pinky. She has a gracefulness to it, like she has practiced it a hundred times over. It’s weird, to be in a bed, a soft and lumpy bed looking at Beatrice. Beatrice with such plain features and subtle cheekbones that Ava can’t stop looking. It pays off, watching Beatrice, Ava knows it when Bea smiles a grin too wide for polite acknowledgement and Ava can see her dimples pronounced. 

“Can I?” Beatrice’s finger lingers near her hand, a hovering itch that Ava needs scratched. It’s so wholeheartedly Beatrice that Ava can do nothing but nod. Something inside of Ava aches harder than the rest of the organs inside of her. It’s the unwavering crushing thumping feeling that squeezes around her heart. The sincerity of Beatrice. 

She places her hand over Ava’s and squeezes her gently. Beatrice’s hands are firm and soft. She can feel the callouses on her palms prodding at the back of her hand and wonders if Beatrice has ever had them fade away. If she’s had the pleasure of unscathed palms. Her hands are warm but not sweaty, not like Ava’s.

Ava can’t feel Beatrice’s pulse but she tries her best to match it. She imagines it would be a slow melody playing a duet with a classical track. Some sort of tune that spurs comfort or a feeling of nostalgia. She briefly wonders if Beatrice listens to music, if she seeks out music that has spoken to her. If there was a song that shook her to her core so deeply she had to sit down and digest it. There’s so much she still needs to know and so little time. 

“I admit I’m not sure what you need from me.” Beatrice whispers it quietly, she’s hunched awkwardly, hovering close in Ava’s space but too far away for her own comfort. 

Ava clamps her mouth shut, sure that “come closer” will betray her. That she will reach too far into Beatrice and take far too much. 

Beatrice pays no mind to Ava’s silence and slowly caresses her hand, it’s a small little gesture that seems to have no set course. Ava briefly wonders if it’s the start of a massage or if Beatrice is looking for her joints underneath her skin and touching her tendons in apology. 

It should be awkward, Beatrice and Ava orbiting each other in a lopsided manner. A rotational tilt that is unfamiliar to both of them and yet feels intimate. An unknown dance with their eyes closed and their breaths mingling. (It’s easy to follow Beatrice’s lead, Ava knows love.) 

There’s nothing Ava can say to her, she chokes up at the prospect and they both blink at each other. She’s not sure what she needs, only that it’s nice having someone here. 

Beatrice drowsily blinks rapidly and slowly at the same time as Ava watches swallowing the bits of her smile. Her hand has slowed its pathing, opting to curl on the inside of Ava’s fingers. It’s endearing watching one of her favorite bad ass sister warriors lose against sleep. It softens the edges of Beatrice who is always carrying some unseen obligation. (Here it is only the two of them free of their past and future burdens, just two girls sprawled thinly on hopes and dreams). 

She can feel Beatrice’s grip loosen, she’s going to fall back asleep any minute now but Ava doesn’t have the heart to keep her up. Beatrice is no doubt tired, powered by her own sleeping and eating habits unlike Ava who has the artifact to juice her up. 

She isn’t quite unwound but she feels manageable now. It’s weird to be within reach of Beatrice, someone who cares about her. To be in proximity of someone who will look for her, be in step with her, maybe it’s duty but Ava holds it close to her heart regardless. (It’s all the same to her, devotion, loyalty, love). 

She clings to Beatrice afraid to let the moment go, she had called and someone had answered, Bea had answered. Ava can feel her eyes watering, it almost feels like a distant dream. She tucks her chin closer to chest and thinks, how awful to be loved. 

She can feel her throat closing up and she squeezes Bea’s hand just a tiny bit harder. (She answers in the twitch of her hand, clearly on the cusp of sleep). The Halo still thunders in her back throbbing some fatal fate but here in the hush of night grounded by the touch of Beatrice she has some reprieve.  (Part 1)

[littlelightfish]

I will scream at every non-romantic post I see about these guys. Writers be not afraid. I will love their non-romance fics. I'll blow up your coment section all alone if I have to. I will find you. Artists be not afraid. I will reach tag limit on your artpiece. If I see it at least. And if I don't, I will eventually. Or I'll try. Or @me so I won't fail you.

[thegreatyin]

And thus, with the passing of 24 hours, Caeru's ambition truly comes to an end. Major Nemesis spoilers below the cut- we're talking endgame ambition business here. Mostly on a character RP front.

The Doomed Scientist made quite a few... choice decisions, in the end. Killing Cups once and for all, recording his story as one of grief-

And sparing what little remained of Mr Mirrors, leaving it free to roam Parabola as it sees fit.

Some of them, he can explain. Others, he's still left to feel... discontent.

Cups needed to die. That much was certain from the start. It was a tyrant, as all Masters are, and complicit in the bargaining and eventual destruction of four (potentially five) cities, as all Masters are. It was an obstacle. A murderer. A petty monster that felt no remorse even on its deathbed, and it went out of its way to ruin multiple lives just because it felt owed its own sick and twisted idea of revenge.

It killed his first love. It looked him in the eyes and he knew what it had done and he knew from the start it was going to die.

Perhaps, in the end, it knew too. And yet it still pleaded, and wanted to live, and-

It made a bargain.

A bargain Caeru didn't take.

Not because he didn't want to. Gods, he wanted to. He wanted it. He wanted it more than anything else in the world. To have Greylu back, to give him the gift of life, of love, to show him the wonders of the Neath and the beauty of the correspondence and all of the people Caeru has met and loved and found home with along the way-

But. He couldn't.

Because Cups was a monster. And no matter what, it deserved to die. And he could not, in good conscience, allow it to live.

Even if sparing it meant everything he's ever wanted.

So he's left here, now. With a bloodied traveling coat, and a bloodsoaked knife, and a favor finally fulfilled.

And nothing to live for. No resurrected lover, no charming visits to Helicon, no slow dances in the living room, no memories to rebuild and lives to live and he won't live again-

Nothing. All he has is a coat born of obligation, not to his love, but to people he's never even met. To lives he's never even touched. To a paramour, still alive, with hair of rose-pink, who doesn't even remember her own brother's existence.

Cups didn't die for Caeru's sake. Cups died for the sake of all who wanted it dead. For the revenger's court, and the ghost screaming in his ear, and the reckoning that will not be postponed indefinitely.

And Caeru, who acted as a tool to carry out their wills? Who all but betrayed his own lover, just to satisfy a cause he never knew existed?

All Caeru is left with, is regret. Regret-

-And grief.

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[eldritchmochi]

folks, dont do this. like, one, my a/n on coping skills thru the last like five updates make it abundantly clear that i am going to Major Medical Bullshit and if there is ever a good reason to put a creative project on hold, its to recover from almost dying several times in a short span

but also, there is never any reason ever at all full stop, to include a line in ur fic comment to this effect. if you assume something isnt going to be updated ever again, you keep that to urself before slapping it at the author is a damned good way to ensure it doesn't get touched again. its passive aggressive and shamey, and while i dont think it was the intent of the commenter to read that way, it still fuckin sucks. the rest of the comment was lovely appreciation for my smut and characterization. it could have easily started with "i gotta say" as the lead in instead of the above and it would have made me excited and joyous to touch this project again now that im starting to feel like a whole human again, after, you know, almost dying a lot

and instead im just frustrated and mad

so dont do this

[quatregats]

Thinking a lot of thoughts about Hornblower's relationships with Barbara and Maria as a metaphor for his larger relationship to social mobility and ambition, and I think there's actually a lot there - not sure if it was intentional, but I do think that whether intentionally or inadvertently, Forester did an interesting job with the parallels.

Quick note beforehand that some of this is based on my constant brief paging through C. Northcote Parkinson's Hornblower "biography", which, while I absolutely abhor his interpretation of Hornblower, gives even more food for thought on this point. I'm also leaning more into his interpretation of Hornblower's background and childhood, as opposed to the TV show's, so it might not work if you're coming from the TV show's perspective.

Parkinson takes Forester's comment that Hornblower was a "doctor's son" to mean that he was the son of an apothecary, rather than a physician like in the show. I'm not a historian of the period, so I would be hard-pressed to actually try to fit Hornblower's father within the 18th-century framework of medical practice, but either way, given his awkwardness around upper-class life and that he seems to have grown up in rural Kent, I think that Parkinson's claim that he was the son of an apothecary, rather than a physician, does have some reasonable foundation, or is at least equally plausible (to me) as the show's.

Hornblower struggles with poverty through most of the series, especially the first half, but even when he is barely scraping by, such as at the start of Lieutenant, this does not seem to be an abnormal state; and when he finally arrives at wealth and success, he constantly wishes to go back to the days when he was a penniless lieutenant, so from this we might also surmise that he did not come from wealth. (I'm also comparing especially to Jack Aubrey, who, while he admittedly makes a hash of coming into large amounts of money, and who also lives perfectly happily on very little, is clearly quite comfortable being the "lord of the manor" by comparison.)

One of the biggest changes in the second half of the series (from The Happy Return/Beat to Quarters onward) is that Hornblower's career comes into fruition; he becomes a decorated Captain, a member of the landed gentry, a Knight of Bath, a Peer, and finally an admiral, and marries into an enormously influential family. He's constantly in conflict about this, until he isn't: he wants to become someone powerful and important, except that he doesn't like the role once he gets it, and constantly wishes about the old days, then feels guilty for wishing for them. Most importantly, he seems to become less and less himself, his mental narrative getting more and more distorted as he tries to mold himself into the person he thinks he wants to be.

I don't think this is a particular novel interpretation, but I think that in light of this, the contrast between his marriage to Maria and his marriage to Barbara is very interesting. If he was an apothecary's son, his and Maria's marriage would make a decent amount of sense - they'd be from similar social backgrounds, and probably a reasonable match, if Hornblower's career had continued as expected. Hornblower feels comfortable around Maria at the start of their friendship and the very beginning of their marriage in a way that mirrors his comfort with the life he's living at that point - which is to say that he clearly knows and understands what's expected of him and how to interact, in clear contrast with later books. But on the other hand, for all that he originally does love Maria, Hornblower comes to find her to be coarse, unrefined, and boring, and feel that she is not good enough for the person he wants to become. It's at the point when he starts to feel that he's moved passed Maria that he begins to take on his new, ambitious, performative persona.

On the other hand, Hornblower feels stiff and uncomfortable around Barbara from the beginning of their relationship, notably for reasons of class, and even in later books, consistently sounds intimidated by her poise and upper-class untouchability. With Maria he doesn't feel enough for her; with Barbara he feels too much, an almost uncouth sentimentality. He craves Barbara's status like a man drowning, but can't hold up under the weight of what it would mean. They have very strong intellectual chemistry, but socially they are a disaster of a couple, and yet nonetheless, Hornblower continues with the marriage because it feels to him like the thing he ought to do, just as he ought to become squire of Smallbridge. He's so viscerally uncomfortable with his position in the later books in a way he wasn't even at the height of his earlier miseries, but he refuses to let himself admit that his ambitions might have led him astray.

I think it's also interesting that the relationship which Hornblower arguably finds the most fulfilling (or rather, it was written very poorly if Forester wanted to make it feel fulfilling for the reader, but nonetheless it was clearly meant to be the most fulfilling for Hornblower) is his relationship with Marie, who sits at a similar odd juncture to him. In the text, Forester says outright that Marie fulfills Hornblower's interest in upper-class women (ambition) while not intimidating him, yet still being a satisfying intellectual partner. Nonetheless, just as Marie and Hornblower can never actually end up together, Hornblower can never actually be comfortable with his position, and no matter how many times he tries to find solace in her, he is eventually forced to continue down the path that he began, making up with Barbara and fully taking up the mantle of Admiral and Peer of the Realm.

In short, I think that watching the way in which Hornblower's relationship with Maria evolves over the course of the early books and the way in which his relationship with Barbara takes up after that ends up being a very neat parallel to his own ambitions and class identity. With Maria he is at home, but bored and restless; with Barbara he gets everything that he wants, but feels like a fish out of water. I think that particular parallel is part of the particular tragedy of Hornblower - he can't ever be satisfied with the person he was, or the person he's become. But I think that adding in aspects of extreme class difference - even more class difference than the general trends of social mobility during this period - also helps to elucidate the fundamental tension which drives Hornblower forward as a character. The world he came from was too small for him; the world in which he moves now is far too big; but there's no in-between option. He has to choose what he wants to be, and sacrifice some part of himself in order to do that, and in light of this reading of him, I think that there's a lot of interesting dilemmas to be raised.

[teh-nos]

tagged by @eek-a-tron and then by @lokiinmediasideblog and the latter of those reminded me that i had this sitting drafts in from the first tag. I am very good at memorying!

bold the trope you prefer:

slow burn or love at first sight • fake dating or secret dating • enemies to lovers or best friends to lovers • there was only one bed or long distance correspondence • hurt/comfort or amnesia • mutual pining or domestic bliss • canon-compliant or fix-it • smut or fluff • angst or crack • redemption or dark fic • reincarnation or character death • one-shot or multi-chapter • arranged marriage or accidental marriage • college romance or middle age romance • time travel or isolated together • neighbors or roommates • oh no they’re hot or monster s.o. • fantasy au or sci-fi au • apocalyptic au or modern au • historical au or isekai fic