❛ my love's deep as the ocean, don't you drown on me ❜
✧˚ ⋆｡˚ 🌅 clara. she/her. french/spanish. 2002. enfp. writer. aerospace engineer. your golden retriever gf !
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𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 CURRENTLY…
… reading the shining by stephen king, the new guys by meredith bagby
… watching footloose (1984)
… listening to you seem pretty sad for a girl so in love by olivia rodrigo
❛ just know any love i gave you's forever yours to keep ❜
featuring oscar piastri, percy jackson au, mutual pining, best friends to ???
word count 2.6k
author’s note okay so i haven't been able to get those summer break pictures of oscar out of my mind and this is the result. just something short n sweet for you all <3 longer pieces (spidey!osc and casa!lando) coming SO soon i promise !! as always, let me know what you think and if you want more pjo au… tbh my inner ten year old would be so happy to keep writing it heehee. title is from riptide by vance joy !!
Out of all the spots in Camp Half-Blood, the canoe lake has always been yours and Oscar's.
Being a son of Poseidon means the water listens to him — curls like a cat around his ankles when he wades in from the shore, parts and smooths under his hands whenever he wants. You've watched him do some genuinely terrifying things with it. A twenty-foot wave during lifeguard training last summer, a whirlpool that swallowed Max's kayak whole with his favorite sword still inside. But right now, sitting on the dock with your Capture the Flag plans, setting sun painting the entire beach golden, he's gentle with it. He always is, when it's you.
"Come in? Just for a little?" your best friend wheedles from the water. He's floating on his back, a serene expression on his face as he looks up at you. The lake is calm, crystal-clear to the bottom. You roll your eyes at the naiads swimming circles beneath him; you can only imagine what they're saying about the daughter of Athena who won't leave their dream boy alone.
It's the same stupid camp gossip you've been hearing for a decade, ever since the scrawny teen version of Oscar got dragged across the boundary by a satyr after a nasty run-in with a hellhound and Chiron assigned you to be his tour guide. You've been inseparable since, and to be fair to everyone else, an Athena-Poseidon friendship would've been the hot topic of any summer. Except somewhere along the way, the whispers graduated from they're always together to they're obviously together, and your friends have never let you live it down.
The teasing this summer has reached a fever pitch. Charles — who, as a son of Aphrodite, considers himself a professionally licensed authority on matters of the heart — has taken to making kissy faces every time you sit together at the campfire. Lando writes you into all his songs, barely even bothering to change the names. Even Alex has gotten in on it, using all the unclaimed kids in Hermes cabin to pull off elaborate pranks that always seem to leave the two of you in compromising positions.
You'd probably find it funny, if they weren't so right about how in love with him you are, and if Oscar would stop making that face.
It's the same every time: someone makes a crack about the two of you, and Oscar freezes and goes red. He'll duck his head, rub the back of his neck, suddenly become very interested in whatever happens to be on the floor beneath his feet. You've learned to laugh it off before he can get too uncomfortable, tossing out some joke about how everyone's obsessed with you or aiming a strategic elbow to the ribs. Oscar always catches your eye after, quick and almost startled, like he can't believe you bothered.
You wish he wouldn't look at you like that. It would be a lot easier to get over this stupid, pointless, seemingly-immortal crush if he'd stop gazing at you like you've just saved his life every time you tell your friends to mind their own business.
Not that you're getting over it. Not that you've ever come remotely close.
"I told you," you sigh, smoothing out another diagram on the worn wood planks, "I'm not swimming until we figure out our game plan for this week. I promised my cabin we'd come up with a way to beef up our left flank by the bonfire tonight and I do not want to sit through another George Russell lecture if it doesn't get done."
Oscar scoffs, making a bubble of water and floating it towards you. "C'mon. George is harmless."
"Yeah, well, you don't have to sleep in the same room as him every night, only child," you mutter, tugging your drafting pencil out from under your bikini strap and popping the bubble as you stare down at your map. The answer's there, you know it is — your alliance didn't become camp champions eight weeks running because you're a strategy slouch. But the solution isn't coming to you no matter how hard you try. You erase your latest idea a little too aggressively, flopping back against the dock and letting out a frustrated huff.
"Hey, smartypants," Oscar says softly from the water. "Take a break, yeah? Stop thinking so hard."
You ignore him, sitting back up. "Okay, what if we reposition the Apollo kids along the rock wall —"
You don't even see him move. One second, you're reaching for your papers; the next, tendrils of water curl up over the edge of the dock, slip beneath the stack and tug them all neatly from your grasp, bobbing just out of arm's reach.
"Oscar Jack Piastri," you warn.
"What?" He blinks at you innocently. You're going to kill him.
"You know what," you say, crawling to the edge of the dock. "Give them back."
He grins at you, warm and cocky, and your stomach flips. "Come get 'em."
You lunge, and the ribbons of water dart away just before your fingers can close around the stack, too far away now to grab. "Show-off," you pout, watching the papers dance above the surface. "You know, I'd already be done if you'd just helped like you promised you would."
Oscar dunks his head below the water, flipping over before he comes up flicking his hair out of his eyes. "Loop the archers up the east ridge and station the shield line behind the creek bed so I can back them up," he says casually. "George gets the extra help he wants on the left and Apollo cabin gets to be the heroes, so Lando'll stop complaining about how you don't let him do anything fun."
"That's —" you pause, running it through in your head, and frown. "That's really good, actually."
Oscar shrugs from the water. "I know."
The papers drift back towards you and flutter down to the dock, bone-dry. You stare at them for a moment, then back up at him. You know it's a mistake as soon as you do: the late-afternoon light makes him look lit from within, skin glowing, eyes bright, hair pushed back except for one stray piece, dripping on his forehead. Suddenly, you find yourself wishing you were blessed by the Muses; you could probably write some great poetry about Oscar Piastri's biceps in the setting sun.
Gods. You are so completely and utterly fucked. "Fine," you huff, pretending you're not pleased about the whole thing. "Fifteen minutes."
The way his face lights up would be worth losing every Capture the Flag game for the rest of the summer.
You shimmy your shorts down your legs, tossing them with the growing pile of clothes on the corner of the dock before dipping your toe in the water. The second you feel it, you let out a hiss through your teeth; it's bracing, despite the August heat. But then, little by little, it warms up until it's almost bath temperature.
You can't stop yourself from smiling. "Did you just —"
"Don't know what you're talking about," Oscar says, eyes cast to the sky.
"You warmed the lake for me," you beam, sliding cautiously into the water.
"Well, you always complain that it's too cold," he grumbles, but he's gone faintly pink from his cheeks to the tips of his ears.
You swim over to him, paddling carefully, because even if you've got the son of the sea god on your side, your mother's told you enough times to make it stick that for you, water is never completely safe. When you reach him, you hook your chin over his shoulder from behind, arms wrapping loosely around his torso. "Thanks for making me come out here," you sigh dreamily. "It really is beautiful."
His hand finds yours under the water, resting carefully on top of it, thumb grazing over your knuckles so lightly that your entire arm erupts in goosebumps. "'Course," he says softly, almost shy. The lake has gone dead still around you, like the water itself is holding its breath. "It's always better when you're here."
You tuck your face into his shoulder and thank every god in the pantheon that he can't see your face; you're sure it's doing something transparently, embarrassingly lovesick right now. His skin smells like coconut sunscreen and the sea, and underneath that, the familiar sun-warmed Oscar smell that you've never really been able to identify but that your brain has unhelpfully decided is the best scent in the universe. You think you could probably stay here forever, swimming in this perfect water with your best friend not-quite-holding your hand, and never need another thing as long as you live.
"Osc?" you murmur before your brain can think up something even more pathetic and stupid.
He hums contentedly, face pressed to yours, cheek to cheek. "Yeah?"
"Do the thing," you say, pinching his side.
"Children of Athena," he sighs dramatically, but you can feel him smiling. "Always so bossy."
"Shut up," you giggle, pushing off his shoulders to float next to him, looking over expectantly. Oscar raises one hand, palm to the sky, and the water lifts around you, a little cushion six inches off the surface. He promptly swims over, resting his elbows on the edge and gazing up at you with the soft, intent look he only ever seems to aim at you and that you have to try very hard not to read into.
"Alright, scoot over," he says. "You're taking up the whole thing."
"It's a water platform that you're controlling, you know," you tease. "Just make it bigger."
The surface extends, just slightly, and Oscar takes a deep breath before he hauls himself up next to you.
It's smaller than he usually makes it, noticeably so. You could swear last time you did this there was room enough to starfish, but tonight you couldn't fit a drachma in the space between you. You're pressed together from shoulder to ankle, hands woven together, his knee knocking into your thigh, his torso a warm, solid line against your own. He's so close that you can see the drops of water caught in his eyelashes.
"Thought I said make it bigger, fishboy," you say, trying to keep your voice level and failing miserably.
"I did," he says, and it almost sounds breathless.
He's tired, you remind yourself. After all, he's been entertaining you with water tricks for the better part of an hour. That's the only reason you don't ask him to make it bigger. That's why you lie there and watch the sunset and pretend that you're not excruciatingly aware of every single place your skin is touching his.
"Can I ask you a question?" you say tentatively after a while, still staring up at the sky. It's gone all pink and gold, the first stars starting to peek through.
"Think you just did, smartypants," he deadpans.
You halfheartedly shove at his shoulder, heart thumping in your chest. "Seriously."
He must hear the nerves in your voice, because he rolls onto his side, water cradling him as his eyebrows knit together. "Yeah," he says softly. "Anything."
"Does it bother you?" you blurt, biting your lip. "You know, all the jokes about us."
The water shudders beneath you, platform listing so sharply that you have to press your palms flat against it to stay steady. Oscar doesn't answer right away, tongue stuck in his cheek, gaze cast out over the water, and you feel something cold and awful settle in the pit of your stomach, because it's the exact look he gets when he's choosing his words carefully, trying to spare your feelings.
You're going to kill Charles. You're going to double-kill Lando. Or maybe you should just throw yourself in the lake and let Oscar's dad smite you and save everyone the trouble.
"No," he says finally. "No, it doesn't bother me."
"Cool," you reply, too fast. "Great. Same, obviously. Like, it doesn't bother me either, because it's just, you know — people think it's funny because we're so close, and it is funny because we're not —" your voice breaks off helplessly. Evidently, the wisdom of Athena does not extend to telling a boy you like him. "I'm just glad it's not making things weird for you. Or, like, messing up our friendship."
You're not exactly sure when it happened, but the lake's gone properly choppy, angry little whitecaps forming and crashing against the edge of the platform. "Right," Oscar says flatly. "Our friendship."
"I mean, it's sort of nice, I guess," you add quickly, your mouth running faster than your brain can catch. "That they think we'd be good together. And like, it's a compliment to me, actually, because you're —" You wave your hand through the air, gesturing vaguely at him: the jawline, the eyes, the water running in rivulets down his collarbone. "I mean, you're you. Anyone would be lucky to be with you."
Oscar stares at you, eyes wide and stormy, lips slightly parted. "You think so?"
You let out a weak laugh. "That you're a catch? Osc, I think the entire camp would back me up on that one."
"I'm not asking about the whole camp," he says urgently, voice rough. The water eddies around you, tiny riptides you can feel buzzing against your skin, and for maybe the first time in your entire life, your brain has gone terrifyingly, catastrophically blank. He's so close, all of a sudden, gaze fixed on your face with an intensity that makes your skin prickle. You nearly forget to breathe as his eyes drop unmistakably to your mouth.
Then the conch horn blows from the pavilion, loud enough to make you both flinch. The platform dissolves beneath you without warning, unceremoniously dumping both of you into the water with a massive splash.
You resurface, spluttering as you push your now-soaking hair out of your eyes. "Oscar!"
"Sorry, sorry," he apologizes immediately. He's blinking rapidly, disoriented, like he was having a really nice dream and someone just shook him awake. "Got distracted."
You raise an eyebrow, trying to ignore how fast your heart is beating. "Distracted. You, the only son of Poseidon, lost focus in the water."
"It happens," he mumbles, not looking at you. His face has flushed a violent shade of crimson. "C'mon, we should go. That's dinner."
You swim back to the dock side by side, and the silence between the two of you feels charged like a live wire. He gets out first and turns back immediately, offering you his hands. When you take them, he pulls you out of the water easily, and neither of you mentions the way his fingers linger against yours before he lets go.
By the time you've wrung out your hair, Oscar has already gathered your diagrams into a neat stack, rolling them carefully and tucking them under one arm. His towel lands over your shoulders a minute later, tugged snugly around you before you can protest.
"Thanks, Osc," you breathe, looking up at him. "I mean, not just for the towel. For the strategy, and the swim, and —" you cut yourself off, cheeks burning. "For all of it."
His eyes soften, a shy smile tugging at the corner of his mouth before he wraps his arm around you. "Anytime, smartypants."
You take a deep breath, and just this once, let yourself lean into his touch as you start the trek back to your cabins, pressing closer into his side and resting your head against his shoulder.
Behind you, the lake goes perfectly, sparklingly calm.
you are the very first person i thought of!!! i hope you had the most gorgeous sky, lovely <3
x, kae (tsunodaradio)
i had the most fun day eeeeee!!!! the sky truly is something so fascinating... what a privilege it is to be able to witness it (*´ω｀) i didn't get to see the planet alignment as it was at around five am, but i did see the perseids and, of course, the solar eclipse !! undoubtedly the most awe-striking experience i ever got to see. there's a primal shiver that overcomes you when you gaze at this unblinking, immobile black pupil staring you down from where the sun should be. so so honored you thought of me <33
A few years ago while trying to find ways to commit suicide as painlessly as possible, I came across a PDF of Dr. Paul Quinnett's The Forever Decision. Thinking it might go into actual methods of suicide (I read an article once that actually did that and was trying to find it again) I started to read it, and I think I only got about two pages in before I was crying too much to actually see the words.
I downloaded the PDF to my hard drive and I open it again whenever I'm feeling too suicidal to do much else, but not enough to start booking a ride to the hospital. And every time without fail I only go up to a few pages before backing off and choosing to live another day just because suicide suddenly seems even more unbearable than whatever the hell upset me in the first place.
All the book really does is [I'm pulling a summary from GoodReads here as, again, I've read no more than 5 pages] "discusses the social aspects of suicide, the right to die, anger, loneliness, depression, stress, hopelessness, drug and alcohol abuse, the consequences of a suicide attempt, and how to get help."
But it also starts with the author kindly asking the reader to complete the book before going through with anything, and for some reason I'm compelled to really just try to read it all before finalizing everything. Despite not yet completing it (hopefully never will) I think I can safely say it's saved my life at least a few times now.
It's intentionally legal to copy and redistribute this book to keep it as accessible as possible, and it's very easy to find, but here's a link for it anyways.
nikhil krishnan, are you glad to be in community with the fuckass president who wants english only instruction in public schools. did your three (3) measly sentences, more pandering than containing anything of substance, about it being "a tragedy when languages are killed, especially when they are killed out of malice or bigotry." account for the fact that "putting languages out of their misery" is the exact smokescreen that the bigoted, malicious politicians would love to hide behind as they claim that supporting children birth to five in their home language is a money pit and instead we should force these very children, who often spend majority of their day without their home language anyway, to spend their time in a place that refuses to acknowledge it's existence. that's surely a "natural cause" of language death, right? marginalizing it? in children birth to five? i'm sure that 16 month old is making the active choice to not understand their native language, that three year old is simply exercising their rights by not speaking the language of their family; you are so, so right.
4, 6, 16, and 19 for your f1 asks, if i may <3 love both your silly and intellectual vroom vroom takes <3.
f1 asks 🏎
𝟦. 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘪𝘳𝘤𝘶𝘪𝘵.ᐣ
i don't like barcelona for some reason which is weird because it's the only one i've been to. not a fan of lusail as it has a similar layout but specifically barcelona annoys me. also think imola is a boring track and i'm not sad to see it in rotation (especially if they brought back sepang after everyone realizes how sexy it is this year🙏)
𝟨. 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘳.ᐣ
don't care about sounding like a basic bitch but eau rouge will always be the it girl of formula 1 !! you don't realize just how ridiculously steep it is on tv, nor how much speed they retain when they begin the ascent of that mountain flat out. i love how it is almost impossible to keep the lead into the straight immediately after, i love its name and the reason for it (the iron-red river running beneath the circuit), i love the respect all drivers have for it because they know it has claimed lives and very well may again. i also like maggots & becketts solely because the name is fun to say
𝟣𝟨. 𝘥𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴.ᐣ
i actively dislike max verstappen for a tonnn of reasons i won't get into in depth right now for brevity's sake (i could, if you want me to!), but, in a few words, i don't like his driving style and especially his aggressive & temperamental wheel to wheel, i don't like the leniency with which the fia treats him and his racing, i don't like his attitude (continuously playing the victim and complaining on the radio and in interviews about perceived slights as if the entire world were out to get him when he has benefitted MASSIVELY from his privilege in the sport; berating his team and opponents on and off track and never ever second-guessing himself or his personal performance, etc), i don't like some callous comments he has made and i don't like how fiercely misogynistic (generally bigoted tbh) a lot of his fans are. i also dislike lance stroll for being a zio and liam lawson for being an annoying loudmouth with none of the skills or credentials to back it up. other than them, i don't dislike anyone! i may say the odd word against a driver in the heat of a race if they cross my favs but i genuinely don't wish them any harm other than maybe a minor inconvenience the next day. for karma, you know
very hot, because then i can unleash charles 'tire whisperer' leclerc's raw power, and pit stops are the only thing ferrari tend to not fuck up. i did consider rain for my beloved norman boys, and because it gave us the best race in recent history ie. brazil 2024 but it would benefit my opps too much (mv & the mercs)
Languages tend to peak at their word for butterfly. Never seen 2 that are the same, either. Papillon. Mariposa. Borboleta. Fluture. Vlinder. Schmetterling. Pillangó. Babochka. Farfalla. Sommerfugl. Perhonen. Farasha. Titali. Chōchō. Nabi. Húdié. Buom buom. Great job guys, i really mean it.
