EViE. ☏- @evangelineish. 𓂃🪶- @eviesjournal (non f1 fics.) || she/her, queer. full time student, part time poet. proud willow byers variant. probably listening to clairo !! hopelessly unromantic. vieclairo/eviesjournal on ao3. anti ls18 and ln4. currently blasting? i know it’s over, the smiths. (not jeff buckley !) next concert: harry styles 🤍
olivia rodrigo.. when i catch you. i’m so unbelievably overwhelmed and impressed, this is a truly perfect album 🪽. i haven’t appreciated an album in its entirety like this for nearly two years now, thank you for blessing the music world !! what do you guys think about it?
hiya!! just wanted to drop in and say regardless of if it takes me six days or six months, my next fic will be ‘nomad’, my aa23/op81 atla au :,). i currently have very little time to work on it, but it’s already got such a special place in my heart. here’s one of my favourite lines so far !!
“It’ll heal, with time. I find that most things do.”
also.. reader x oscar dynamic reveal !! anyway can everyone get reaallllly firebender!oscar and rebellious airbender!alex pilled soon.. thanks ! and if anyone has any questions about this fic PLS ask cause it fuels my motivation 😭😭
to date to date to date to date to date to date to date to date to date to date to date to date to date to date to date to date to date to date to date to date
hi everyone! sorry i’ve been so inactive… between school and work, ive been super unmotivated. i don’t want to promise ill be writing again any time soon, but hopefully in summer ill work on some old wips 🥹 don’t be a stranger !!!
'you're obsessing, just confess it 'cause it's obvious. i'm your number one.'
summary: your co-worker, oscar, is annoying. he's also annoying in class. he's also annoying on track, not that you realise the man under the orange helmet is him. is there such a thing as rivals in every universe?
warnings: crashing/violence, racing, swearing, arguing, but no serious injury and light angst. guess what! I gave up at the end, so this just. doesn't end. if anyone enjoys it maybe I'll write a part two, but this is so bad so I doubt it lmao.
word count: 6.2K
notes: hi my loves! I know it's been a long long time.. im sorry. I've been going through Some Stuff recently, and I lost nearly all motivation to write (byler kept me going), so this is very delayed. as always, this is not proofread, and makes me want to rip y hair out. THANK YOU FOR 1K OMG I LOVE YOU ALL!!!
You press your lanyard against the scanner once, waiting for the beep and for the door to swing open. The sound never comes, and you frown, trying again. Nothing.
You flick your wrist, eyeing the time, cursing to yourself. You’re going to be late, it seems. And you already know that Sophie will reprimand you about setting a good example for the kids, and how you can’t show them that you can be late and get away with it-
“Are you just going to stand by the door, or go in?” comes a snarky voice, low and teasing, and you flex your knuckles instinctively.
“Piastri.” you spit, turning to him and giving him an exaggerated grin. He gestures to the scanner with a practiced boredom, and you almost leap at his throat.
“S’not working.” you mumble, with an aggressive demonstration, and a smile flickers over his face. He leans forward, arm stretched in front of you, pushing his own lanyard and nodding as it beeps to life.
As the door opens, you both shift backwards, but he keeps his arm out, barring you.
“Move, Oscar.” you frown, gesturing forward, but he gives you a look of pure disgust.
“You think I'm going to let you tailgate? It’s against company policy. You know this.”
His patronising tone makes you wonder if there are any security cameras around. You don’t wait to find out. Giving him a hard shove, you rush through the door, pulling the handle as hard as you can.
He gives you an exasperated look. “It’s an automatic door.”
“Can you blame a girl for trying?”
You wait, eyeing each other up for a second. Then you watch his foot shift slightly, and you begin to run, sprinting down the corridor. You feel a yank on your arm, dragging you back, but you’ve already got a grip on the strap of his bag, pulling him with you.
He stumbles, and you nudge him into the wall, chuckling at the quiet grunt to your left.
You have to slow to push open the next door, and to your disgust, he catches up.
“Hey, pushing me into the wall is uncool. Immature. What kind of an example is that?” he complains, rubbing the side of his arm theatrically, and you bark out a laugh.
“You’re just mad you didn’t do it first.” you argue, and he shrugs, like you’ve got him all figured out.
“Yeah. Yeah, I am.”
And then he actually does shove you into the wall, and you have to stop yourself from yelling. By the time you’ve caught up, you can see the kids through the half-open door, and you have to settle with glowering at him, smoothing the front of your top.
“I win.” he declares, leaning next to your ear, and you try to ignore how the hum of his words seem to go through you.
“You got lucky that my card wasn’t working.” you argue, but he just grins, waving at the kid closest to you as you both walk in.
You’ve been working at the kid’s club with Oscar for the better part of a year now, and in some ways, it is hell. You love your job, that much is obvious. Oscar? Not so much. He’s a pain in the ass, and he’s not shy about it.
You’re halfway through a game of Jenga when he comes over, pulling a block out for you.
“You idiot. Why would you pick that one?” you groan, watching the tower wobble and the boy opposite you give you a toothy grin.
“Have you revised for class tomorrow?”
You pause, turning to him carefully.
“Don’t mess with me.”
He shrugs. “I’m not. We’ve got that exam tomorrow. Y’know, thermodynamics. The module we’ve been doing for weeks.”
You grit your teeth. “That’s on the 9th. That’s next week.”
He laughs, that quiet chuckle that curdles in your gut.
“Today’s the 8th. Good luck.”
With a groan, you drop your head into your hands, cursing as the wooden blocks spew out in a million different directions.
You slide into the seat beside him in the lecture-hall, grumbling under your breath, and he looks around suspiciously.
“You’ve never chosen to sit next to me before. What’s going on? I mean, Maddie is literally waving at you, stop pretending you can’t see her.” Oscar mutters, leaning a little too close, and you huff.
“Maybe I just wanted your company?” you suggest weakly, giving Maddie a curt nod and a look that says ‘I’ll explain later’, but he doesn’t budge.
“I’m not going to let you copy my answers.”
“Godamnit, Oscar.” you groan, all in one exasperated breath, and he tries not to grin.
“You could’ve studied. Like I did.”
You whack his arm angrily, holding back from cursing at him, and instead you begin to pack up.
He frowns as you stand up.
“If you’re not going to let me copy you, Maddie and I will just struggle through it together. But I’ll remember this next time the kids want to make glitter bombs.” you mutter ominously, discreetly rolling your eyes at him as you make your way towards the back of the room. He hesitates, as if cheating might be a good enough reason to keep you next to him, but he thinks better of it, and lets you go.
“He’s so annoying.” you complain, pulling out a pen from Maddie's pencil case and scouring the paper. She coughs, giving you a slightly judgemental stare.
“I mean, I hate to take his side here, but we’ve known about this for weeks. It is kind of cruel to just use him for answers. You could’ve at least sat with him afterwards. Bet he feels like crap now.” she mutters, and you scoff.
“It’s Oscar. We know we’re not friends, it’s fine. I doubt he’s even thinking twice about it.”
You both crane your necks to stare at him, how he’s scribbling away with such a determination you’re surprised the paper hasn’t torn to shreds.
“God, he’s such a dork. It hurts.”
Maddie shrugs. “Maybe he’s secretly interesting. Any clue what he does when he’s not here?”
You hum, tapping the pen to your chin.
“I know he has at least two friends. I saw them in a pub once. That’s not something I ever want to see again. But other than that, I guess he just studies? He can’t be doing so well if he’s not.”
Maddie pauses, frowning at you.
“You beat him on the last test. And you didn’t study at all.”
You chuckle, and you swear you see Oscar tilt his neck a little.
“Yeah, but I’m cool. He’s not. I doubt he has anything better to do.”
Oscar’s calloused fingers grip the wheel with a practiced ease, letting the rubber slide through his palm. The tunnel lights blare as he pushes the engine harder, daring it to give up on him. It roars instead.
“Rusty, where are we?” he mutters, teeth gritted, waiting for the radio to crackle to life with a hopefully quick response.
“P2. You know who is in front.”
He catches it now- the flash of hot pink, the sound of a slight skid from where a drift when wide.
“Fuck.”
‘You know who’, officially registered as ‘Von Dutch’ in the league, is the bane of Oscar’s existence. They only popped up about a year ago, but they’ve been trading wins ever since.
He’s pretty sure it’s Max Verstappen hidden in that dramatically pink Nissan Skyline, but without proof, he sticks with acting like his competitor is just as evil as Voldemort. Maybe he’ll try out ‘He who must not be named’ next.
“Y’know, we could just ask him in class if he drives. Or take a look at his palms- if he’s got those ugly blisters, we’ll know.”
Oscar huffs. “He rows with me. Not enough evidence. What am I gonna do anyway? Report him? We’re both going down.”
Lando hums thoughtfully, but he knows Oscar is right. They can’t afford to be caught again. After the crash nearly two years ago, they’d both been unofficially banned from the league, but also by their family. So it’s not worth blowing up their low profile to try to get in the Dutchman’s head.
“Alright, Rusty. How am I going to catch him?”
“Head down, Jack. Take the next corner faster. Brake less, pussy.”
Oscar smiles to himself, even though he ought to switch off the radio in anger, and presses the pedal further down.
He catches up to the back of the car, but he realises he’s not going to make a move in time.
“He’s got me again, hasn’t he?”
“Confirm, mate. You’re ass.”
Oscar groans, as both cars slow. He watches carefully, as the door swings open. Max steps out, helmet firmly on his head.
“Y’think Max is banned too? Is that why he’s not showing off? I had him pinned as the ego type.”
“Only idiots shout about street-racing.”
“Hey, I used my name.” Lando murmurs, and Oscar laughs.
“Point proven.”
“He’s very pink. I had him pinned as the not-pink type too-”
Oscar switches off the radio, stepping out.
“Hey, good job, Dutch. You’re going to be beating me on wins soon.”
It pains him to admit, but he sticks his palm out nonetheless. Their hands meet with a satisfying clap, both bowing their heads a little.
“Yeah, thanks, Jack. Also, I took your spot on Fast and Furious.”
“You look aggravated.” you bemuse, leaning against the side of the arcade, arms folded.
Oscar is glowering at the screen with disbelief.
“How did he do it?”
Then he turns, looking straight at you.
“Did you see him?”
You frown, shifting towards him, peering at the leaderboard.
'New high score: Von Dutch.'
“Nah, not a clue who that is, mate. Why, you wanted to go for it? I’ve never seen you play this before.” you mutter, eyes narrowed.
Oscar doesn’t admit that he knows your shift schedule. He doesn’t admit that he only comes when Logan is working instead, so you don’t tease him for spending a nearly embarrassing amount of time on Fast and Furious.
He shrugs.
“When I’m around. With Lando, usually.”
He gestures to his name, sitting third, behind the new champion, and ‘Jack’.
You give him a wide-eyed stare.
"I should've known you were the Oscar. I never even thought to ask.”
You point to your own name, down in fourth, and he smiles to himself.
“Alright, warm up, Piastri. We’re not moving until one of us takes it from these idiots.” you decide, moving over to the bar to grab two Cokes and half a tub of Nachos.
“Are you allowed to do that?”
You scoff, scanning the room. “We’re half-empty. It’s a Tuesday night. Actually, why are you here? Shouldn’t you be getting your beauty sleep?”
He looks up, intrigued.
“You think I’m beautiful?”
You shrug. “Sure.”
The sarcasm rolls off you effortlessly, but he grins, and he watches your bored expression break a little. He decides that’s another thing he should try to do again. He likes the surprised smirk that's settled on your face instead.
You take turns in the seat, watching each other race. Oscar’s expression never changes- same straight face, same cool determination.
You’re more expressive, biting your lip to concentrate, cursing if you slip even a little wide.
He watches his own fall from grace, as Jack slips down to fourth. And then Von Dutch follows, until your name stands first, and he slots into second.
“What’s stopping them from just, I don’t know, taking it again?” he smiles, bumping your shoulder as you stand beside him, staring at the new score on the screen.
“N’thing. Guess we’ll need to stay on guard.” you shrug, turning away from him.
Then, you pause.
“Or, we could check in. Y’know, every Tuesday. Like a little tradition. If we’re still leading, it doesn’t matter. But nachos are on the house if we get beat again.”
You’re only offering because you feel bad about class. Maddie got to you. Still, he doesn’t need to know that. So you give him your kindest, ipromiseiactuallydolikeyouandwanttohangoutonatuesdaynight smile, and wait. When his own signature half-smirk stretches across his face, you take it as a yes.
“And I thought you were sick of me.”
Just like that, your smile evaporates, and you’re back to hoping he crawls into whatever hole he came out of.
“Way to ruin it. Is it too late for me to take it back?”
He nods regretfully. “Far too late. Already cleared my calendar for the next seventeen Tuesdays.”
You wonder if you might actually get sick of him after this. Between classes, and work, and now this, you realise you’re going to be seeing Oscar an obscene amount. You almost expect him to announce he’s moving into your dorm next, or that he’ll show up on track next week.
“Alright, be serious. Who’s tree is better?” you ask, deadpan, staring at Emily. You’ll never admit it, but you know Emily is horrifically obsessed with Oscar, and you’ve been trying to win her over ever since you realised.
Your tree is better. It’s actually no debate. You even added glitter, to secure the win. But you can see the way her eyes dart to Oscar’s messy leaves and half-assed trunk with that adoration, and you wonder if your ego might take a blow.
“Yours, obviously!” Tiggy beams, giving you a determined side-hug, and you ruffle the kid’s hair affectionately.
“Thanks, Tiger. But Emily said she wanted to judge the competition, so I want to give her the deciding vote. Although, it is pretty obvious.”
Emily turns to Oscar, half-pouting.
“I’ll still be your favourite if she wins?” she asks quietly, and Oscar gives her a heavy sigh, crouching to eye-level.
“I mean, legally, I don’t have a favourite. But yeah, I won’t mind. Don’t tell her I said this, but it is better.” he whispers, giving her a high-five, while you celebrate your victory by spinning Tiggy around.
“Do you guys just hear that? Even Osc knew it was better.” you beam, punching the air, like you’ve just won something much more serious than a tree-drawing contest to impress some nursery-kids.
“Osc, huh? That’s new.” he murmurs, leaning by your ear.
“Watch it, Piastri. Y’know the kids like it. Trying to help keep you popular, after Emily turned.”
“Came to the dark side, more like.” he mutters, shifting away from you, and you cough.
“I have the high ground, Oscar.”
It’s quiet, but he catches it, trying to mask the smile that’s slowly spreading on his face.
“Are you and Oscar friends? When you’re not here?” Tiggy asks, rather suddenly, and you give her a confused look.
“We go to school together.” Oscar yells, from across the side of the room, like that’s a good enough answer.
Tiggy beams, but you’re not letting him win that so easily.
“Well, Tiger, are you friends with everyone you go to school with?”
Tiggy pauses to think, before shaking her head.
“Well, there we go, then.”
There’s a nearly awkward silence as all the kids turn to face you, looking between your cold stare and Oscar’s awkward face.
For a second, a look of hurt flickers over his face, before he fixes it. But it makes you feel bad again, and you shake your head, grinning.
“I’m kidding. Me and Oscar? We’re best friends.”
He gives you a dry laugh, and then the whole room is full of giggles, and everyone begins to talk about their own best friends, and how they share their lunchbox snacks.
“Nice save.” Oscar nods, and he’s too close again, but you don’t move. You figure one misstep and his lips might actually make contact with the side of your face, and you do not want to take that risk.
“Yeah, I didn’t want you to lose any more street cred. Anyway-”
“-Are we still on for Tuesday?” he asks, a little suddenly, glaring at his phone. You straighten.
“Oh, yeah. We can be- unless you’ve got something on.”
Your phone makes an undignified ding! too, and you flick the screen to face you. It’s Ollie.
Ollie: New pop-up race on Tuesday. Tunnels are open again. You in?
Ollie: Impacts the league, by the way.
You: obviously???? did you get the new tires
Ollie: Obviously. See you then, Dutch.
You: bro stop trying to seem cool and do your homework
Ollie: Yes ma’am
“Assignment. I have an assignment I forgot about. I’m sure our scores are still leading, so-” he mumbles, and you narrow your eyes.
“You? Late on an assignment?”
He nods. “I know. I’m surprised too. Must’ve slipped my mind.”
“Too busy thinking of me, I suppose.”
You watch him bite back a grin. “Sure, let’s go with that.”
“Fuck, they changed the course.” you groan, flexing your knuckles as they grip the steering wheel. “How does he know it?”
The only car in front of you is a scuffed, gold and green Honda Civic, but it’s rare that you’re behind it. You grit your teeth.
“Ollie, talk to me. Where can I pick up some pace?”
Ollie murmurs something in response, but he sounds a little panicked.
“Police. Shit, police.” he warns, and you kick the pedal in frustration. “Keep on driving, and you’ll come out the other end. You’ll know where you are, then. First left, then first right.”
“Okay, got it. Are they close?”
“Catching the back of the pack. They’ll realise there’s only two ways out soon, so you need to get going. Don’t do anything stupid, though.”
You nod. “Copy. See you later.”
Jack is still pushing ahead of you, his tires kissing the brick-sides of the tunnel, and you scoff. With a loud push of the horn, you blare past him, brushing the wall yourself. Neither of you want to get caught, but something about the race feels unfinished.
You wait until he’s looking and throw up your middle finger in the mirror, staring back in front of you before he can reply.
He tries to weave in front of you, but it’s not wide enough, and he drops back.
It’s only when the first siren starts that you begin to panic.
“Shit.”
Getting caught isn’t an option. You’d kept your hobby a secret for long enough now, and you knew you’d get caught eventually. But you were hoping it wouldn’t be because the police busted you, and it would ruin your chances later on. Also, if the racing didn’t kill you- you knew your mother would.
The end of tunnel comes with a sigh of relief, and you follow Ollie’s instructions.
By the time you’ve made it, half-parked in an empty garage, something jolts you forward. The car door is opened with some force, and you march to the back of your car, glaring at the scratch from Jack’s headlights.
“What the fuck is your problem, freak?” you shout, knocking on his windshield. He steps out, but neither of you take off your helmet. You hope he can feel your glare through the visor.
“S’accident, clearly. What are you doing in my garage?”
You scoff. “Your garage? I’ve been using this for months. Look.” you seethe, gesturing to half-used pink wraps and discarded tires. Jack pauses.
“Ah. Okay, might’ve gone in the wrong garage.” he admits, raising his arms innocently.
“You’re stupid. Get out of my way.”
He folds his arms, squaring a little. He leans a little closer, and you brace yourself, but he shrinks back.
“What, you too scared to hit a girl? ‘Cause you’re more than welcome to try.”
Oscar-Jack, even- falters. He hadn’t really looked at you before, and now he feels like an idiot for thinking you could’ve been Max. Still, he blinks.
“You’re- you’re a girl?”
You cackle, the sound echoing around the room.
“Wow, you’re even slower than you race. Obviously. Anyway, can you back up, and get your pile of crap out of here?” you spit, gesturing to his car, and he inhales.
“I would’ve won it tonight. We both know it.”
You shrug. “I dunno, I got out the tunnel first.”
“You were slow. I let you go ahead. And your horn distracted me.” he argues, but you shrug again, firmer this time.
“Sure. Whatever makes you feel better.”
He pauses. “By the way? I’ve got the top score back.”
“Bullshit. I checked before I came here.”
“Check again.” he murmurs, and then he’s gone, and his engine is revving to life.
When you arrive at the arcade, tugging your employee shirt over your vest, Oscar is already waiting by the counter.
“I thought you had an assignment?”
He nods. “Yeah, I did. Do. But I’m mad, and want nachos. And you promised me some.”
“Also,” he begins, narrowing his eyes at you, “where were you?”
You shove your hands into your pockets. “Alex asked me to swap shifts with him. He takes the later Tuesday one, but he had a date, so-” you explain, and Oscar nods, clearly placated.
“How come you work so much, and yet you’re still nearly beating me in class?”
“Nearly?” you scoff, swallowing a laugh. “I am beating you.”
He angles his phone towards you, and you notice his grade average is less than 1% higher than yours. You shoot him an incredulous glare.
“How is that even possible? You fucking the teacher or something?”
His eyes widen a little. “Mr- you think I seduced Mr Button?”
You raise your shoulders with indifference. “I mean, I don’t know what you’re into, but he’s not an unattractive guy. The extra marks are jus’ a bonus.” you joke, but you make sure your tone stays serious enough that a careful pink creeps up his neck.
You flounce over to the banged-up sim, pushing a token into the slot. You hiss when you see the leaderboard.
“Fuck, he was serious.”
“Who was serious?”
You run a hand through your hair. “Some- some idiot told me that his friend had taken the top score again. Didn’t realise his friend was this douche.”
Oscar tries to hide his slow grin. “Jack? He’s pretty good, isn’t he?”
You shake your head. “Lucky fluke. He has no skill. Logan won’t even tell me who he is- apparently he’s someone we go to college with.”
“Well, that’s probably a good thing. You’d probably trap him in a locker, or something, if you knew him.”
“I’d do worse.” you mutter, but you don’t catch Oscar’s gentle shudder.
Maddie isn’t in the lecture hall when you arrive late, dishevelled, and frustrated the next morning. The nearest available spot is either George or Oscar. You haven’t spoken to George since he made you laugh so hard that ice-cream came out of your nose on an awkward first date. You decide now is not the time to rekindle that bond. So, with as much grace as you can muster, you sit down next to Oscar, shrugging off your hoodie and pulling out a tatty notebook. He raises an eyebrow.
“No test to copy, today.” he remarks, and you nod.
“I know. No Maddie today, either. So you get blessed with my presence instead.” you grumble, and he stifles a chuckle.
“Great. You’re like a ray of sunshine this morning.”
“Oscar. Don’t piss me off anymore. I will hurt you. And I’ll tell the kids the black eye is because you lost a fight with a squirrel.”
He gasps, in faux-shock. “You wouldn’t.”
“Do you want to test me?”
“Howard. Explain this ionic equation, and stop talking.” Mr Button snaps, glaring right at you.
“Oh, just the last name. You forgot to hand in the last experiment report, didn't you?” Oscar whispers, leaning back in his seat so it looks like he’s simply stretching.
You give him a dignified kick in the shin, grinning as he recoils.
“Piastri, since you want to antagonise her, you can answer instead.”
Oscar inhales. You stifle a laugh. “You also forgot the report, then?’
He nods, before glancing back at the board.
“Both of you, stay behind. Now, who can actually answer this question?”
A dreadful forty-seven minutes later, and you’re hovering by Mr Button’s desk, glowering at Oscar.
“I don’t want to damage either of your grades, but I can’t show preferential treatment by not penalising you for the reports. So, this is your alternative.” he explains, handing you both a thick wad of papers. You inhale, scanning the first page.
“We can’t work together.” you blurt out instantly, and Oscar nods.
“Getting along is not our forte.” he agrees. “But I’d be more than happy to do this alone.”
You agree, but your professor remains indifferent.
“This is an external opportunity for extra credit. I can’t change the rules. And before either of you suggest anyone else, you’re the only two with high-enough grade requirements to apply. So take it or leave it, I don’t care. But your grades are dropping in two weeks if you don’t. The choice is yours.” he explains, a little too cold for your liking.
You huff. “Fine. We’ll get it done.”
Oscar begins to protest, but he stops when he catches your stare.
“Yeah. Okay.”
You barely make it five steps out of the room, before you feel someone tag on the strap of your backpack.
“You shouldn’t have decided that for me.” Oscar grunts, and you shrug.
“You were going to agree anyway.”
“That doesn’t matter. You’re not- if we’re not friends, that's fine. But you’re not the boss of me. You’re not better than me, even if you think you are.”
You pause, looking up at him.
“I don’t think I’m better than you.” you reply quietly, pulling your bag firmly over your shoulders again. He scoffs.
“Right.”
“No, seriously. I don’t. S’cause I know I’m better than you, Oscar. It’s not really a competition.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“I’m right.” you retort, before walking a little faster.
Oscar gets in the car angry, that night. He knows he should’ve calmed down, listened to Lando, but your voice is swirling in his head.
You’re both out front, like usual. He pushes harder than he should.
That’s how his front wheel bumps yours, and you spin around, car lurching over the curb.
“Shit. Shit.” he curses, desperately pulling at his steering wheel, to no avail.
“Jack, what happened?”
“Lan-Rusty- I hit her. She’s- is she okay? Her car is all-”
“Are you okay?" Lando counters, as Oscar shoves the door open, clambering out.
He can see the dents in the frame of your car, the pink scratched to a dull silver. Your door is half open, and your arm is hanging limply out of it. Oscar panics.
“Hey, Dutch. Can you- can you hear me? Let me help you.” Oscar mutters, sitting you upright. You groan something quietly in response, and his fingers fiddle with the bottom of your helmet, trying to pull it off.
“No.” you whisper, batting his hand away.
“What?”
“I can’t- no one can- I’m not allowed.” you reply, but he huffs.
“S’only me, alright? And we don’t know each other. I think. I’m not going to tell anyone.” he promises, but you still don’t let him get too close to touching any skin by your helmet.
“No.” you repeat, a little firmer this time. “Leave me alone.”
“I’m sorry.” Oscar mutters, but you’re already shrugging him off, pushing your way out of the car with a grunt.
Oscar stands with you, slinging an arm under yours, helping you stand. He can feel your glare under your visor.
“I’ve got her from here. Thanks.” says a boy, a little younger than Oscar, but tall. With a kind smile.
“You sure?”
He nods, and Oscar hears a gentle whisper of “Ollie, help.” slip from your lips, before you go limp again.
“Please-”
“Keys are still in the car. Can you drive it back to the garage? You know the one. That’s as much as you can help right now.” Ollie sighs, and Oscar nods.
Oscar hesitates once he makes it to the garage, like he should leave a note, or something. He doesn’t know when you’ll come back, if you’ll come back to race at all, but he needs to apologise more. Needs to do something.
Instead, he grabs the keys, and places them firmly on the pot in the counter by the door, and decides to leave before he does something stupid.
Something catches his eye, though. A lanyard, familiar green straps. That dreaded tree logo of the nursery. He freezes, stepping towards it, threading it under his fingers.
Dutch is someone who works at the kidcare too?
He’s hesitant, turning over the ID at the bottom. He’s not sure who’s face he’s expecting- he runs through all the options in his head- but can’t settle on a guess.
Maybe Sophie. Or Ruth. Could be Nancy, actually. She’d failed her driving test twice, for speeding.
He hadn’t thought it would be your careful smile looking back at him.
You desperately fumble in your pockets for your lanyard, waiting to feel the worn thread and the cool metal clip. The material never comes, and you frown, trying again. Nothing.
You flick your wrist, eyeing the time, cursing to yourself. You’re going to be late, it seems. And you already know that Sophie will reprimand you about setting a good example for the kids, and how you can’t show them that you can be late and get away with it-
“Are you just going to stand by the door, or go in?” comes a snarky voice, low and teasing, and you flex your knuckles instinctively.
“Piastri.” you spit, turning to him and giving him an exaggerated grin. He gestures to the scanner with a practiced boredom, and you almost leap at his throat.
“Forgot my lanyard.” you mumble, with an aggressive demonstration, and a smile flickers over his face. He leans forward, arm stretched in front of you, pushing his own lanyard and nodding as it beeps to life.
As the door opens, you both shift backwards, but he keeps his arm out, barring you.
“Move, Oscar.” you frown, gesturing forward, but he gives you a look of pure disgust.
“You think I'm going to let you tailgate? It’s against company policy. You know this.”
You scowl.
“Although, if you have this, I’ll let you follow me in.” he muses, pulling out your lanyard from his bag, and dangling it by your face. You snatch it, throwing it over your neck.
“Did you- did you steal it from me?”
He shrugs. “Sure, let’s go with that.”
You’re slow, that afternoon. Every other step is accompanied by a quiet wince. You opt to take the quieter bunch of kids, much to Tiggy’s dismay.
Oscar watches you silently, eyebrows creased.
“Why are you worried about her? Is she okay?” a small voice mutters suddenly, tugging at his sleeve. He blinks, looking down at Emily.
“Hey, buddy. I’m not- she’s fine. See, look.” he nods, pointing over at you, as you give them a pained wave. You’re not convincing anyone.
“You look at her like my dad looks at my mum, did you know that? Worried.” Emily adds, and Oscar freezes.
“What?”
“My mum is awesome. She’s a real life superhero, you know? She saves people. But sometimes, she gets hurt, and she aches around the house, like now. And dad always looks at her, just like that. He says you can’t help but be worried when someone you love is hurting, even if you know they’re going to be fine. Is that true?”
Oscar frowns, a little confused. “Is what true?”
“You can’t help but worry if you love someone.”
He shrugs. “Yeah, I think so. I’m always worried about my family, what they’re up to. About my friends- especially when they do something stupid.”
“And you’re worried about her. So that means-”
“That I’m worried because we’re friends. And she’s hurt. You were worried when Tiggy fell over, weren't you? But you don’t love Tiggy all that much. See?”
Emily nods, considering it.
“Okay. Sure. I like that you know things, Oscar.”
“And I like that you ask me lots of questions. You keep me on my toes.” he replies gently.
You hobble over to him, face a little pale.
“I don’t- I don’t feel so good. I’m going to the bathroom for a sec, are you alright here?”
“Go home.” he replies instinctively, and you straighten.
“Excuse me?”
“You’re clearly- I can’t believe you’re even here after- just go home. I’ll cover for you. Seriously, go.”
“I’m fine, Oscar.”
“Go home.” he repeats, a little firmer this time. “Please.”
You give him a confused look, but he recognises the gratitude behind your eyes.
“Okay.”
You can’t sleep that night. Something isn’t adding up, and your stomach aches, and the bruises on your arm are beginning to purple.
So instead, you do the next best thing- get up, fiddle with a cigarette in your coat pocket, and walk to the worn bench by the cliff-edge, overlooking the city.
This is your favourite spot. Everytime your head gets too loud, the twinkle of lights and risk of splinters quietens it.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” you mutter, as you see someone else sat there, arms dangling over the rusted rests.
They turn, and even in the dark, you recognise his face.
“Oh, fuck right off.”
Oscar tenses. “What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing.” you shrug, circling to the vacant side of the bench and leaning back, grimacing as you try to hide the ache.
“Thanks, for letting me go home. Paracetamol was doing shit.”
“I could tell.” he grunts, and you hesitate, looking firmly forward.
“Where did you find my lanyard, Oscar?”
“You left it the shift before.” he lies, and you commend how smooth his voice is.
“Bullshit. What did you mean earlier, when you said ‘here after’?-” you ask, tone a little sharper. He inhales.
“Uh, someone told me you’d got into a fight. Well, not you- but someone on campus. Assumed it was you so-”
“Bullshit. Twice. Do you want to start telling the truth, or-”
“-Or what?”
You turn to glare at him now, seething a little. “I thought we’d agreed you didn’t want to test me, Piastri.”
He narrows his eyes. “I’ve changed my mind. You have such a problem with me? Let’s solve it. Go on.”
“You can’t solve being insufferable, Oscar. Now, where did you get my fucking lanyard from? Be honest with me.” you reply, glowering at him.
It all clicks into place, now.
“I told you, you left-”
You lunge at him, shoving him. His back hits the cool wood of the bench, and he winces.
“You dick, Oscar! Or, should I call you Jack?”
He inhales, and the world slows.
“You- what?”
“I left my lanyard in the garage, like I always do before a race. Because I always come back to get it. You hit me. My car is fucking wrecked- and I can’t- they’ll take my scholarship away. I can’t go to anyone. You-” you yell, your voice breaking, as you ball your hands into fists against his chest. He blinks, as your head collapses onto his shoulder. He can feel the tears on your cheeks, but he says nothing, just wrapping his arms around your back.
“I’m sorry. I really am, it was an accident and you’d got into my head, and I was angry. Everything I’m good at- all of it- you’re better. The kids like you more. You’r better at tests, and you’re better at the stupid arcade games. And the one thing I used to be the best at, always the best at, you came in and took that too. I didn’t know it was you, but it felt the same. Like constantly losing. I wanted to be number one.”
“Don’t- don’t blame me for this. You shouldn’t have gotten in the car.” you retort, shoving yourself off him. He falters.
“Well, of course I’m not blaming you. It’s my fault, entirely. I’m sorry. And I wanted to help, but your boyfriend told me the best thing to do was bring your car back, and then I saw the lanyard- and figured-”
“-he’s not my boyfriend, Piastri. C’mon, he’s barely out of high school and he looks it.”
Oscar groans. “That’s what you decided to take from that?”
He watches as your eyes gloss a little again.
“I thought- when everything went blurry- I didn't know if it was coming back.”
He pulls you back towards him, a little more careful. You don’t fight it.
“I had the same thing, a few years back. My family- and the doctors- they banned me from racing. S’why I did it in secret. I understand you.”
“You might be the only one.” you mumble, and the sound is a little muffled against his sweater. He chuckles.
wow.... that's just blatant misogyny, no? i never truly liked him, to be honest. I always felt that he was just off — never knew why. you can respect their driving, but you never know how they really are :|
yeah, i think this is the case for a cast majority of the drivers, and it would sort of make sense for them to privileged and annoying as fuck.. 🥲 i never liked him either, so im not taking the loss too hard, cause it’s not like i cared about him before. shame, though. alex’s reaction was good though, i love him 🥹
what'd carlos say? i'm curious and im not so updated on their podcast thing (if it is about that)
yes it is! to summarise, he said that men ‘like a challenge’ and they should pursue a woman, not the other way around. he said it’s ’not good’ when a woman pursues a man. he also said ‘you’re the female, and need to be chased. men are chasers.’ ew. genuinely.
here’s the video! (why the admin thought this was a good idea to post, i’m not sure.)
hi everyone! i want to start writing for different characters (my motivation for stranger things has died a little !!) so if anyone has requests for these fandoms/characters/people, please let me know !
the hunger games (all)
zelda (botw/totk)
harry potter (canon/no marauders)
arcane, (just the show!)
atla/tlok,
spiderverse (not all of marvel, though)
music artists
actors
+ask about anything else 🫶
i’m happy to write blurbs, fics, smaus and headcanons. (as long as they’re sfw).. please send something in (i’m lowkey desperate!) 🪽
I have actually been really good i finished more uni courses and am last year for my bachelors in science. and i got a raise at my part time job.
i also started singing again mostly opera stuff.
but i missed you and your writing, how have you been like what kind of stuff have you been up to.
-your fav garden snail
snail every time you check in i genuinely swell up with pride🥹 i love you so much and you’re doing so amazing !!!!! so glad to hear from you !!
SINGING OPERA IS SOOOOO COOLL.. when you get famous i WILL finna be in the pit (yk what i meant..)
i’ve missed you sooo much too. honestly, this year has been pretty rough so far, but i’m sure brighter days are coming !!! i haven’t been up to much, other than mourning byler and acting like f1 doesn’t exist. can’t wait to write ahain!
