hi! i'm grace. i use any and all pronouns, including whatever neos you want!
i'm a massive tangotek enjoyer, and i love ranchers, ethubs, desertduo (in doses) and clockduo!
i usually write for the life series/hermitcraft folks, but i often use other medias to influence aus! i write on occasion but don't expect frequent writing posts, i get distracted so easily and forget that i actually can write for fun š
i'm also @melllohigrace on ao3 and twitter
here are my tags:
#grace writing <-- anything i write
#grace asks <-- any asks i answer
(i don't have many cause i always forget i can add tags to reblogs... oops)
...
and here are some links to some writing i've done :)
curses never fall far from the tree
live now, think later (also on ao3)
the fence blocks bloodlust
smiling at a falling moon
don't you see the starlight? (also on ao3)
i'm getting tired (also on ao3)
please feel free to send me asks! i like answering them and most of the time they make me think lol
today there was a āflash mobā set up by the seniors because it was their second to last day so they blasted the macarena over the loud speaker and did the dance in the main lobby but our headmaster knew about it so it wasnāt even funny but whilst walking past the elevator i found out why they really did this so called āflash mobā
51, sitting on the otherās lap, george/alex, ~1250 words, also on ao3
George isnāt feeling well.Ā
Actually, George has been feeling like heās coughing up a lung for a couple of days now, but at this exact moment, heās really not feeling well.
On a more positive note, he isnāt coughing up a lung anymore! No, heās coughing up hairballs, because heās a fucking cat.
He tries to paw at his phone, to do literally anything about this situation, and he canāt, because his phone operates on Face ID and/or a beautifully complex swipe code that his cat paws simply canāt operate.Ā
Alexās cats made it look so easy.
Alex. Now thereās a thought. If thereās one person who he can explain his situation to without speaking and blackmail into never mentioning it to anyone else, itās Alex.
He gets out into the paddock without too much trouble, shaking himself away from all the people saying oh, look, a cat! and here, kitty! and psss, psss, psss.Ā
Itās surprisingly easy to find the Williams motorhome, and he makes a few rounds, rubbing up against the legs of the people he recognises, the people he built a points-scoring, no-longer-dead-last-in-the-constructorsā car with.Ā
After that, and after a momentās thought, he simply plops down inside the door and begins to neatly brush his fur. He ignores that one itch down near his bum. Heās not grooming there in public, thank you very much.
Predictably, Alex appears within minutes, doubtless summoned by one of the many, many mechanics who know his reputation. George deigns to look up at him when he crouches downāheās bloody tall, is Albonoābut decides that there isnāt anything interesting coming his way and returns to his grooming.Ā
āArenāt you lovely,ā Alex murmurs, and the part of George thatās still 14 and looking up to a 16-year-old Alex Albon preens.Ā
The part of him thatās unconcerned cat doesnāt react.Ā
Large, warm hands slide around his belly, and then heās being lifted high into the air and cradled to a nice-smelling Alex chest. When he looks out, itās this view that looks odd, rather than the catās-eye view heās been getting used to.
Maybe George doesnāt want to be human again. As a cat, he doesnāt find the idea of being a sick human in a roaring, fiery inferno of metal and carbon fibre particularly appealing.Ā
āCome here, sweetheart,ā Alex says, cupping his head and protecting it from the loud noises all around him. George tucks his head into Alexās chest and gets scritches in return. Itās an excellent deal.
He barely registers being walked away, out of the noise and into a room thatās quiet and smells entirely of Alex. Alex sits down, legs spread out, and deposits George into his lap.
Itās comfortable there. George is going to curl up and have a nap, thanks.Ā
Turns out he can purr.
āIāve got to go, sweetheart,ā Alex says, and itās all the warning George gets before heās lifted and unceremoniously dropped into the warm spot Alex was sitting in.
Well. Alex was very gentle about putting him down, really, but heās also abandoning George so he doesnāt deserve the benefit of the doubt!
Alex doesnāt react to Georgeās full-body, open-mouthed hiss, just runs a hand firmly down his whole body, just the way George likes it.Ā
āI wonāt be long, promise.ā
Heād better not be. George curls up grumpily, flicking his tail over his body to imply that he is not accepting further pets, and very nearly falls asleep again.
And then he realises that Alex has left his phone behind.Ā
Score.Ā
Itās quick work to turn it on, and Alex has a very simple four-digit pin that he changes once every two years if he changes it at all. Itās not hacking if Alex told him it, drunk in Monaco the week after the last change. Even in his cat brain, George knows this.
There isnāt really much he can do right now, like send a message, but Alex has a few iPhone games downloaded. George goes for Subway Surfers, because Alex has everything unlocked after that one incident with Lily.Ā
Turns out that he is, as a cat, still acceptable at this childrenās game.
āIām back!ā Alex announces from the doorway. George doesnāt look up, which turns out to be the wrong decision because oh, what would he have given to see the face that went with that squeak.Ā
The door bangs shut, and then George has a large, hulking Albono crouched down very close to him and staring.Ā
āThis isnāt normal,ā heās muttering. āItās not normal for a cat to be on my phone, cats donāt play Subway Surfers, Sushi couldnāt play Subway Surfers, Iām probably delusional, thereās a magnet coming upānow Iām talking to the cat whoās playing Subway Surfersāā
Heās so distracting, actually, that George crashes, ending what was a damn good run, considering that George doesnāt currently have opposable thumbs.Ā
He meows his frustrations at Alex, who startles.Ā
āGood kitty?ā he says tentatively, reaching out to brush his fingers along Georgeās head, and oh, that feels good. George throws caution to the winds and headbutts his hand, purrs erupting through his whole chest. āOh. Good kitty. Very weird, very good kitty. I didnāt realise cats played Subway Surfers, my bad.ā
George huffs. It comes out as a sneeze, one that makes him shake his whole body out to get rid of the feeling. At that point, he decides to step back, to look around the room and find a way to explain the situation to Alex.
A-ha! The latest George-poster-in-Williams is him doing his first ever T-poseānot very recent, but heāll take it. He skids across the room to it, tilting his head to better assess.
He points. Alex laughs. āThatās Georgie,ā he says fondly, proudly, and oh. Itās not what George was looking for, but itās all he can do to stay where he is and not bowl himself straight into Alexās lap.Ā
Instead, he lifts himself up as straight as he can go and stretches out his front paws in what he hopes is a passable imitation, given the restrictions of his current anatomy. Alex laughs again, strangled.
āArenāt you clever,ā he says, delighted, and walks over to him, looming like some kind of Thai giraffe. āHow would you feel about a trip to England, old boy?ā
George would feel amazing about that, but he does have a race to win first. Alex is so thick.Ā
He does the cat equivalent of a sigh, and then, resigned to his fate, recreates the failed somersault that Alex has never, ever let him forget.Ā
Heās splayed out on his back, belly exposed, when Alex kneels next to him, eyes wide. āGeorge?āĀ
George meows.
Alex scoops him up, zero regard for personal space, congratulations, Albono, and drags him back to the couch.Ā
āGeorge?ā he repeats. George fixes him with a singularly unimpressed stare. āYeah, sure, youāre the paddock cat. Makes sense. Always did know how to cause a stir, didnāt you?āĀ
George nips, gently, at his thumb.Ā
āOkay, then. Do you know how this happened?ā
George shakes his head.
āRight. Or how to change back?ā
That doesnāt even deserve a headshake.
āYeah, yeah. Think we just have to wait this out, then?ā Alex asks, and George is so grateful he has an Alex, because what other friend would immediately make it a we?
He sighs, cat-like, and settles himself more firmly into Alexās lap, kneading impatiently when Alex doesnāt immediately start stroking him.Ā
27, pulling the other one towards them, and 36, lifting the other one up, max/oscar, ~700 words
Itās Thursday. SpaināBarcelona, because they have to clarify nowā, the first proper European race of the season. Monaco doesnāt count, because Monaco is Monaco.Ā
Oscarās feeling pretty good about the season, actually. Not amazingāthereāve been some adjustments, moving to Red Bull after three whirlwind years in orangeābut pretty good. Heāll get there.Ā
It almost helps that the Red Bull this year is kind of shit. Itās frustrating, sure, but itās mutual frustration thatās being channeled into getting upgrades and set-up fixes and an engine that doesnāt start smoking after thirteen laps.Ā
Anyway. Itās Thursday, in Barcelona, which means that Oscar canāt actually do anything about the car today, and is mostly just trying to hide from anyone who thinks that media day means free to do an unscheduled bit on TikTok.Ā
Someone taps his shoulder. He gets a whiff of generic deodorant and Red Bull, which means itās Max.Ā
āHey, mate,ā he says tiredly, turning, and gets an eyeful of slightly frazzled Max Verstappen.
āOh, thank God, you too?ā Max rushes, halfway between a smile and grimace. āGreat. Come with me, I have a place but I need a hand to get there.ā
What, Oscar thinks, but he follows Max anyway. Is dragged, really, a hand closed around his bicep like heās being arrested.Ā
He loses track of the route theyāre takingāsue him, itās his second day in the Red Bull motorhome for real, heās got approximately eight races to get used to it before theyāre back to flyawaysābut they stop in front of what appears to be a fairly nondescript wall. He thinks theyāre pretty high up.
āUm.āĀ
āRight, you see the ledge up there?ā Max demands, gesturing with the hand that isnāt still holding onto Oscar.Ā
Oscar squints. āKind of?ā
āYeah, so thereās this half a room with a view on the track, really lovely up there, very quiet, nobody will disturb you if you want some time on your phone.ā
Oscar laughs, incredulous. āSounds too good to be true.ā
āNo, itās true,ā Max assures him. āJust, itās up there, so of course it takes two people to get up.ā
āRight,ā Oscar says dubiously. āAnd thatās perfectly sane, obviously. Climbing into a secret room that you canāt get into on your own. Does anyone even know itās there?ā
āGP does,ā Max says dismissively. āMaybe Hugh too, I donāt know. You wonāt tell anyone, yeah?ā
Oscar sighs. He could really use a minute. He can hear someone pointing out the corridor they came down. āYeah, sure.ā
āGreat. Help me up, then I pull you, okay?ā
Oscar nods, looking Max up and down consideringly. He can make this work. Max barely weighs more than him, they fit in the same car. He squats halfway, grabs Max around the legs, and heaves.Ā
Max laughs above him, making a stupid whee! noise that has Oscar giggling and nearly losing his balance. His load lightens suddenly, and then Max is pulling out of his grasp. He waits, watching Maxās arse disappear over the ledge, and again until his head reappears, grinning down at Oscar.Ā
āHope you have socket strength, mate,ā he says, reaching down. Oscar laughs again, stupidly excited. He puts his hands in Maxās and braces his core.
Max lifts him with ridiculous ease, all the way up until he can get his elbows braced on the āgroundā of whatever space theyāre in. He hauls himself the rest of the way up and collapses into Maxās shoulder, laughing.
Max shoves him off, nearly sending him back out, and then theyāre just lying there, faces inches apart, and staring at each other.
Oscar swallows.
Max moves first, yanking Oscar forward with a fist in his Red Bull polo. Cool air brushes over the bared skin of his back, only part of the reason he shivers.Ā
Maxās mouth is warm and wet on his, and the angle is absolutely rubbish but itās still a halfway decent kiss.Ā
They hear voices. Max reacts lightning-fast, real athlete reflexes here, sliding backwards and dragging Oscar forwards. The space opens up until itās the half a room that Max promised, and yeah, thereās a decent view of the track.Ā
Crucially, Oscar canāt see any people, which means they canāt see him, either.
The logic might be flawed. Heās not going to overthink it.
prompt: fangs
pairing: oscar/george
word count: ~950
So thereās this guy.
Oscar sees him all the time. On the bus home from work, in the park, at his favourite bakery (their chocolate tarts are crumbly, mouth-watering delight), in the gym.
His name, Oscarās come to understand, is George.Ā
If Oscar had to assign him a namesake king of England, from his brief but intense love affair with Horrible Histories, heād probably go with George V. Something about this guy gives off the vibes that he has, in the past, led a war against two of his cousins and been the only survivor.
Itās just something about his eyes.Ā
Which are beautiful. Thereās a lot about this guyās faceāand body, Jesus Christāthat Oscar likes, but his eyes are something else. Theyāre this sort of translucent blue, and heās got eyelashes that just highlight how insanely pretty his eyes are.Ā
Yeah, Oscarās got a crush, but if heās being honest, this is the fittest guy on the bus, fittest guy in the park, fittest guy at the bakery, and definitely the fittest guy in the gym.Ā
All that to say that Oscar never stood a fucking chance.Ā
Heās done some thinking about it. What would be the least weird place to approach George if he did want to act on his crush? Approaching it rationally, heās decided that the gym would make the most sense, even if it might leave the impression that Oscarās more fitness-obsessed than he really is.
Anyway. He makes a little more eye contact with George than normal, and then, wandering over to replace his weights on the rack, nods at a resting George and says, āI could never, mate, nice one.āĀ
āHuh?ā George asks, looking rather like heās never been spoken to in his life. His eyes, when he looks up at Oscar, are sort of red-rimmed.
Well. Oscarās committed now. He scans the bar Georgeās been squatting again, and he nearly chokes. Jesus. ā150?ā he asks, all thoughts of simple but genuine compliment gone. The arse this guy must be hiding, God.
George blinks up at himāfucking hell, those eyesāand, rather than replying, leans over to pick up his stainless steel bottle. His sweatpants slide down as he leans, exposing frankly obscene amounts of pale, lovely skin.Ā
Great. Oscarās a perv now.
He sort of just stands there while George glugs at his bottle. If heās watching Georgeās throat work and also laser focused on the little sigh of relief he hears when George puts it down, thatās nobodyās problem but his own.
āGreat, Iām normal now,ā George says, putting the bottle down and grinning at Oscar. Itās probably meant to be friendly, except, well.Ā
His teeth are kind of red.
āWhat did you say, mate?ā George asks invitingly.Ā
āUm.ā Oscar looks around him, sort of are you seeing this, except obviously no one is because the only two people around are both in the middle of sweaty, grunting workouts. It is kind of late. āSmoothie?ā
George frowns, casting a glance at Oscarās very clearly empty hands. āIf youāre offering?ā
Oscar wasnāt. Oscar meant is that a smoothie in the bottle, please tell me thatās a smoothie, please tell me Iām not smelling literal blood, but now that George mentions it. āEver tried the juice shop across the road?ā
George runs his tongue across his teeth as heās talking. Oscar nearly trips over his own feet.
āI havenāt, no. Are you asking me out here?āĀ
āUm. I think so?ā Oscar says, because his brain isnāt really functioning anymore. āAre you saying yes?ā
āI probably am,ā George says, tilting his head. āDāyou know what, I donāt think I need to finish up here.ā
No, Oscar thinks, looking up and down Georgeās frankly absurd body. You probably donāt.
āCool,ā he says instead. Itās stupid, but he leans down to pick Georgeās bottle up, only to find a hand clamped on top of his.
āAlright, mate?ā George asks, friendly, eyes cold. Huh. Thereās no red in them anymore. Oscar wonders, heart pumping wildly, if that was a trick of the light. He tries, tentatively, to take his hand away. Georgeās grip loosens, no longer bruising, but too tight. He smiles again, and suddenly, Oscarās seeing sharp, sharp teeth poking out at the corners of his smile. āYou look like youāve seen a ghost.ā
āGhosts donāt work out,ā he says through a tight throat.Ā
Georgeās smile widens. He lets go of Oscarās hand, leaving the bottle with Oscar. He nods affably. āShouldnāt think so. Probably canāt grip the weights.ā
āRight,ā Oscar says, eyes on Georgeās bottle. He reaches out, slowly, telegraphing his intent to open the lid, and George doesnāt react. The squeaks of it unscrewing are deafening.Ā
Itās red inside, blood-red, and Oscar would know that smell anywhere. Heās had enough bloody noses, bitten his tongue, chewed off his hangnails.Ā
Never seen it like this, though, in quantity.Ā
āNot a smoothie?ā he asks quietly, screwing the lid back on.Ā
Georgeās eyes are eerily still on his. They flit, quickly, down to the bottle, up to his eyes, maybe down to his lips.Ā
āI donāt know, mate, still up for it?ā he asks softly.
Fuck. Oscar shouldnāt. Itās very, very obvious that he has no idea what heās getting himself into.
He scrambles to his feet, still holding Georgeās bottle, and offers him a hand up. George takes it, but thereās barely any pressure on it when he stands, light-footed.Ā
āYeah,ā Oscar says, heart pounding. He tosses the bottle between hands, feels the weight of the liquid sloshing. āReckon I am.ā
It takes two hoursānot that Oscarās countingāfor either of them to say the v-word aloud. By that point, Oscarās already licked blood out from behind Georgeās teeth.
falling asleep on the otherās shoulder, max/oscar, ~600 words. thank you for the prompt!! had fun writing this :)
Itās an F1 thing. Formula 1 x Fuckass Huge Cinemas, or whatever.Ā
Maybe theyāre trying to get live showings of races into cinemas, which could actually be pretty cool if they werenāt also forcing the drivers to attend a screening of, of all things, the 1992 Monaco Grand Prix.
Like seriously, Monaco? Why Monaco. Why not Canada 2011, or Brazil 2016? Oscar liked those. Maybe even, pulling from the archives, Spain 1996. That could have been fun.Ā
The turnout is actually pretty big, because theyāve cleared out time on a Thursday for it. Lewis is missing, because of course he is, and probably someone else, but Oscarās honestly not sure who.Ā
Itās not, like, anyone in the top half of the grid. Top quarter.
He makes his way mechanically through smiling for the camera, doing a quick What are you expecting from this screening? interview (Oscarās one of the first, and therefore gets to say The screen looks big without being asked to elaborate), and finding his assigned seat.
Itās right between Lando and Max, alone on their row. Right. Championship drama. Is Max Verstappen a challenger for the 2025 Championship?Ā
Obviously he is. Oscarās not stupid. That doesnāt mean Oscarās going to let him win.
Max seems vaguely interested, actually, right up until the words 1992 Monaco Grand Prix are spoken.Ā
āWhy this, mate?ā he demands of Oscar, who can only shrug. Itās not like heās ever watched this one. He knows Senna won. He thinks Senna won. āSo boring. We couldnāt have had something wet, or Suzuka 2005, or something that is not last-lap bullshit?ā
āSpoilers,ā Lando hisses from the other side of Oscar. Oscar doubles over laughing.Ā
āYouāve never watched this?ā
āYou said it was boring,ā Oscar points out, and Max laughs.Ā
āThe second time, it will be. Maybe you will have fun, I donāt know.ā Max shifts around in the seatāone thing Oscar will say for Fuckass Huge Cinemas is that they have comfortable seatsāand says, āWake me up on Lap 70, okay?ā
What happens on Lap 70, Oscar wants to ask, but Max has already closed his eyes. Oscar wonders if heās allowed to do that.Ā
The race is actually kind of okay to watch. Like, Oscar would never have watched it on his own, but if heās trapped in a cinema without his phone, heād definitely take it over nothing in front of him.Ā
Lando gasps every single time a gearbox fails, which is surprisingly often. It does nothing to wake Max, whoās softly snoring against Oscarās shoulder.Ā
Oscarās got Lap 70 rattling around in his brain. Whatās going to happen on Lap 70 that Max wants to see? On Lap 60, someone spins in front of Senna, and Oscar wonders if Max just made a mistake with the number, but itās over quickly.Ā
Maybe Senna didnāt win ā92, because he just lost 10 seconds.Ā
Lap 61, someone crashes, prompting the commentators to speculate about his Ferrari future. Given that Oscar did not honestly know that an Ivan Capelli had ever raced for Ferrari, heās going to go out on a limb and suggest that the speculations were fairly correct.
On Lap 70, Oscar prods Max gently. He bolts upright, says something Dutch, and blinks at the screen. āWhy the fuck did you wake me?ā he complains, and Oscar isnāt sure whether to laugh or be outraged.
āYou asked me to? Lap 70, mate.āĀ
āOh!ā Max turns back to the screen right as Mansell gets a puncture.Ā
So thatās what happens on Lap 70, Oscar thinks, and settles in for what turns out to be a decent battleāfor Monacoābetween Mansell and Senna.
prompt: witch
pairing: oscar/lando
word count: ~950
āI need a witch.ā
āWhat?ā Oscar asks, staring in bafflement at Lando.Ā
āA witch, mate. Magic shit. I need one.ā
What the fuck, Oscar thinks, because Landoās always been rather suspicious about magic. So suspicious, in fact, that heās never even mentioned Oscarās witchiness.Ā
Clearly he is now.
āWhat do you need me for,ā he asks flatly, flopping back down onto his driverās room couch.Ā
Lando hesitates, turning this way and that. āDāyou know any witches?āĀ
Oscar blinks. Does he. āA few?ā
āGreat! Someone who wonāt say anything?ā
āLando,ā Oscar says slowly, āwhy do you need a witch?ā And have you forgotten that I am one?
āBecause of the fish,ā Lando hisses. āCanāt you smell it?ā
Oscar sniffs the air. āNo?ā
Lando throws up his hands. āOf course you canāt. Itās everywhere, Osc, my room, my clothes, my frickinā race suit!ā
āThereās a fish in your race suit?ā
āJustācome with me, okay?ā Lando grabs Oscarās wrist and, against his better judgement, Oscar lets himself be pulled through the privacy door and into Landoās driverās room.Ā
It doesnāt smell like fish.
āPlease tell me you can smell that,ā Lando says, muffled by the hand over his nose.Ā
Oscar shakes his head. Lando flops to the floor, burying his face in a cushion and then promptly tossing it away. Warily, Oscar picks it up, pressing it to his nose.
Wait.
Itās not fish, heās sure of that much, but definitely magic. Like, thereās something there.Ā
āI think your roomās been cursed.ā
Lando groans. āI fucking knew it!ā He lifts his head from the floor and frowns up at Oscar. āHow do you know that?ā
āI can feel it,ā Oscar says absently, running his hand across various surfaces trying to get a read for the curse. Itās kind of big stuff. āDāyou want to come into mine for a bit?ā
Landoās out of the door before Oscar can finish his question.
āSo, good news, if you keep your clothes out of your room for long enough the smell should wear off.ā
āBad news?āĀ
āBad news is that I canāt break the curse myself, and you should probably tell Andrea about it anyway.ā
Lando sighs. āYeah, because thatāll go down well. āS stupid, right? Got my room cursed to smell like fish, who fucking cares.ā
Huh. Thatās not like Lando. Lando doesnāt normally hesitate to complain, and definitely not when itās something big like this.
And yes, Oscar does think that everything I own smells like something I hate and Iām the only one who can smell it is pretty big. It would drive him crazy.Ā
āWhat dāyou mean you canāt break it, anyway?ā
āItās a big curse. Like, most curses would only make one thing smell like fish, not a whole room. Too big for me, anyway.ā
Oscarās speciality, carefully chosen because nobody could say it gives him a competitive advantage, is cacti. He could grow a tiny house cactus into something huge dripping with citrus scents, but thatās the biggest thing heās learned to do.Ā
Itās kind of a waste, but at least he canāt be accused of using light magic to see better on track, or blind other drivers, or some bullshit like that.
āFor you?ā
Okay, yeah, Landoās forgotten. Maybe he wasnāt told in the first place, and thatās why heās never brought it up?
āLando, you know Iām a witch, right?ā
āWhat?ā Lando stares at him blankly for a moment, and then he laughs. āVery funny, Osc. And youāre the one who made my room smell of fish, huh?ā
Oscar sighs. āNo, but you know those cacti at the MTC?ā
āWhat, the satsuma ones?āĀ
āTangerine,ā Oscar corrects automatically, and then sighs again. āYeah, those. I grow them.ā
āWithā¦water and shit?ā Lando asks tentatively.Ā
Oscar shakes his head, heading to his cupboard and taking out a cactus. Itās just a little one, a race weekend project for when his magic is feeling a little antsy. Heād thought he might like this one to turn out smelling like kumquats, but he can just imagine Lando wrinkling his nose and saying That doesnāt smell like satsuma.Ā
He doesnāt want to get out all his stuff, so he just takes the cactus in his hand and imagines really hard. A single spine grows larger.
He stops when itās the length of his finger.Ā
Lando crowds next to him, shoulders brushing, leaning forward until his curly hair is blocking Oscarās view of that one spine.
āWhoa,ā he says, and then turns to Oscar, eager. āDo that again!āĀ
Oscar almost says no, but he makes the mistake of looking at Landoās eyes for a moment too long. He does it again.Ā
āThatās mint,ā Lando enthuses, reaching out.
āLandoāā Oscar starts, too late.
āOw! Fucking hell, thatās sharp, whatād you do that for?āĀ
āItās a cactus, Lando.ā Oscar puts it back into the cupboard and shuts the door firmly. āSo. Iām a witch. And as a witch, Iām recommending you tell Andrea about your fish problem.ā
Lando sighs. āFine,ā he says, but doesnāt budge.
Oscar canāt help the fond smile that floats across his face. āYeah?ā
āCould I have a cactus for my room?ā Lando rushes, sort of embarrassed. āJust, I figure itāll get rid of the smell, a bit. Magic oranges beats magic fish, yāknow?ā
Oh.
Oscarād been expecting a Lando question, something kind of stupid or really clever and almost definitely insensitive. āYeah,ā he says, smiling, and then, hesitant, āDāyou want to watch me grow it?ā
Lando eyes grow wide. āYeah,ā he breathes. He beams, and Oscarās magic twitches in readiness.
Heās going to grow the best fucking citrus-cactus in the world.
when he pinches the bridge of his nose because heās exasperated (endearingly so)
[tysm for the overwhelmingly positive response to part i <3 truly didnāt realise the full impact of giggly oscar]
before we get started, do not confuse the ever-so-endeared nose pinch with the iām-thinking-very-hard nose pinch because they are Completely Different Things!!
all-neurons-firing-because-heās-thinking-very-hard nose pinch for your reference
the ever-so-endeared nose pinch blueprint: lando says something + oscar takes a second to pinch the bridge of his nose (usually accompanied with some sort of giggle) -> and then he repeats this mantra in his head. i believe itās variations of: istg this guy
lip reading at hungary gp 2025 | via mclaren ig
[the word is āhungaroringā]
oscar: hungā¦
lando: cars?
*gigglefest*
oscar: *pinches his nose in disbelief at this guy*
landoscar give their top 3 dating activities | via sportsbible
[lando gives his top 3 in order of how the night goes: (1) say hi, (2) boat trip under the stars, (3) would rather not say]
*giggle + nose pinch because omg-i-canāt-believe-this-guy*
landoscar create their very own movie posters ! | via mclaren ig
[lando explaining his poster]
āmine is f1 the movie-t movie-t. get it?ā
*exasperated (and ever so endeared) bruh-this-guy nose pinch*
landoscar design custom trading cards | via salesforce yt
lando: *reading the card* oscar, an avid cricket fan, meets the australian cricket team in 2024
oscar: that was me at the mcgā¦ you donāt know what the mcg is do you?
lando: *not listening and already distracted by the next card* aw that is cute !
oscar: *nose pinch because omg-did-he-just-call-me-cute?!*
i love this video sm and have dissected it a thousand times over, yet thereās still so much more to unpack | via f1 yt
[which australian star performed in the legend slot in 2019?]
lando: australian starā¦ are there australian singers?
oscar: come on, you know this. weāve met her before
lando: adeleās australian?
oscar: *god-give-me-strength nose pinch*
this poor guy | via f1 yt
[spell bruce leslie mclaren backwards]
lando: what, me?!
oscar: oh noo
lando: i didnāt go to school!
*nose pinch + lean away because he needs to get away from him but not really*
crying bc i canāt find any context for this photo but i know for a fact that lando said something leading to the giggle + nose pinch combo | via f1mia ig
BONUS
allow me to throw in this random moment
he is endeared byā¦ himself? | not landoscar but important for research purposes
Oscar worries at his bottom lip. While he would love to, his main worry is Pippa. His family is on the other side of the world, and he doesn't actively have a babysitter to watch her.
"Can I get back to you?" He asks. "I need to see if I can get someone to watch Pip."
"Of course!" Charles replies. "There is no rush. Just let us know, yes?"
"Will do. Uh, bye, I guess."
"Bye bye, mon ange," Charles says, and he hangs up the phone.
Oscar pauses then, before he dials his best friend.
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