#making this instead of working on my fic

[aelswiths]

Alfred & Aelswith & Mildrith in 1x04

[imclou]

can't believe fnaf brought me out of art hibernation man what a turn of events

[such-a-daydreamer]

Hey, here are some more of my Chill Bill Au slop

First of all, I figured out this AUs Stan and Ford yaaayayyyayay!!!

I'll be reffering to them as CB!Stan and CB!Ford

More about the au under the cut

Lil comic on their relationship and how CB!Bill finds CB!Ford

Fidd and Ford work with each other at Bill's company! The company is essentially a big as tech company that makes anything from glitter pens to interspace travel.

Fidd and Ford are both quite low in the ranks when it comes to their work, so they only get to do boring stuff. But don't worry! They have a plan to catch the higher ups attention...

Bill has gotten closer to CB!Ford after meeting him. Even going as far as venting to him (mainly complaining about og ford and saying how much better CB!Ford is)

Fiddleford still grew up catholic in a world where everyone praises a triangle, so he's not kissing the floor Bill walks on (much to the triangles annoyance) like Ford is.

Bill is trying really hard to appeal to these people! He's offering them a free ticket back to their own dimension, yet they throw it in his FACE! Seriously, what's their deal? Just because 98.7% of every single dimension and alternate universe EVER has Bill as the bad guy doesn't mean HE'S one as well!... y'know, from a certain point of view.... BUT STILL

It's gotten to the point where Bill isn't even trying to get the anomalies back home, he just wants them gone. They're a threat to his dimension's stability, so they need to go one way or another...

Essentially how CB!Stan met Og Stan and Ford. Despite Og Ford telling CB!Stan that if he comes in contact with himself (accidental or not) the entire dimension with collapse and delete itself. CB!Stan does not care.

"if I can't hang out with MY brother, I can at least hang out with a cooler Ford. What was that? If I come into contact with myself the whole dimenion collapses? Damn. Skill issue."

First post

Third post

[anistarrose]

TBH the Wonderland twins could've gotten over all their unspoken narrative-haunting grief about their third dead sibling really easily if they'd just ever met Magic Brian. They would've loved Magic Brian and he would've loved them. New brother unlocked (evil German edition this time which honestly to them is an upgrade)

[moeblob]

Nines: ... you make a solid case, Sixty.

[duskdrawings]

[choccy-milky]

Hey just wanted to say how much I adore the Raven and The Snake! It kept me sane during some hard times last year screaming at Seb distracted me from my real problems LOL! In fact I love it so much I would love to print the fic and turn it into a book for my own personal enjoyment of course, would it be okay with you if I did that and posted the final product on Twitter? I'd tag you of course! Don't know if it's a dumb question but I wanted to check. Anyways love your work you are SUPER talented!

YES YES YES??? OMG PLSSS I WOULD DIE!!!!!!!

IM HONOURED YOU LIKED IT ENOUGH TO WANT TO BIND IT!!! AND PLS, TAG ME EVERYWHERE WHEN/IF YOU DO IT😭😭 ive considered commissioning someone to bind it myself just to have as a memento bc im the author, but omg the fact that someone else would wanna do it too......im glad sebs dumbassery (and lets be real, clora's too. if not MOSTLY cloras) could distract you from your irl problems by yelling at those two idiots🥰🥰 THANK YOU AGAIN IM HONOURED ARGHHH🧎‍♀️💖💖

LMFAOOO THE WAY I THOUGHT THIS WAS ANON HATE AT FIRST LMAOOO i mean i guess it kinda could still be considered it??? but i love your love for clora BAHAH bc you are so right, let seb drown, this aint about him✋😔...to satiate you heres a wip of her ive had for a while, and maybe ill finally finish it soon JUST FOR YOU🫵🫵💖

[coffeeghoulie]

thinking about swussy at work. as one does.

swiss sitting in aether's lap, his legs hooked over aeth's thick thighs to keep them spread and open. aeth's big hand pressed against his sternum to keep him pinned against his chest, his head tipped back and resting on aether's shoulder.

aether's other hand holding a suction toy to his throbbing dick. he's too tight and tense for anything internal yet. just murmuring an unending stream of filth and praise as swiss can't stop cumming, just shaking and sobbing as he soaks aether's thighs, pretty gold eyes all the way rolled back in his head.

and only once aether's decided he's cum enough, he manhandles swiss onto his front and fucks him deep and slow, uses his weight to keep him pinned. the praise never stops, groaning in his ear about how good his cunt feels wrapped around him. how hot, how wet, how good.

swiss's so keyed up that's all he needs to shudder through another orgasm, nearly choking aether with just how tight he gets.

[asliceofzosan]

i've seen figure skater sanji and hockey player zoro before. idk if its been explored but i'd love to put it out there:

hockey player sanji (specifically goalie bc he desperately wants to avoid being checked) and then pairs skater zoro.

pairs skater zoro's long time partner has been nami. though many people ship them together a Lot, they just know each other super well. Well enough to try dating and both of them realized they don't swing that way. in fact, it makes them a really good team. they fought long and hard to claim top spots in competitions because they portray a chemistry that's separate from the rest. plus zoro can carry nami like she weighs fucking nothing. so their lifts are so much more dynamic. they even have a whole next to impossible combination that they're trying to get the ISU to name after them officially.

sanji plays for the East Blue Straw Hats in the Grand Line Hockey League – a formidable rookie group that took down lots of big names in the preseason. they want to make it all the way to the postseason playoff finals but always seem to fall short. but theyre so determined. they reignited a lot of old sparks that were no longer there for old fans and brought in new and curious fans. sanji is the starter goalie and a damn good one at that. it makes sense bc goalies are often doing splits on the ice just to make a save. he's perfected the technique that utilizes just his legs to make saves that make the crowd go fuckin insane.

we have the usual "i booked the rink to practice before you did" trope but a little more spice. in actuality, sanji loves watching pairs skating competitions. his favorite pair rn is franky and robin (mostly for robin). and he adamantly does not want to admit to anyone that he watches zoro and nami's routines much more frequently. (and if anyone asks, he always says its bc of nami. its never just bc of nami.) and zoro's besties with luffy so he always watches their matches even if he barely understands the rules. and he definitely does not stare at a certain blond starter goalie most of the match thats fucking ridiculous

one day zoro and sanji are invited to do one of those comparison videos between hockey players and figure skaters. both get to laugh at the other even Attempting to do their sport. zoro frankly looks ridiculous in all of sanji's usual goalie get-up. and sanji couldn't land an euler to save his life. the video producer suggests they try a simple pairs skating routine. sanji is like "oh i couldn't do that–hEY WHAT THE FUCK MOSSHEAD PUT ME DOWN" because zoro lifted sanji and had him sat on his shoulder like it was normal.

zoro smirks, "you might be lighter than nami, actually. wanna be my new partner?"

sanji knees him in the stomach before skating away while blushing so hard he could melt the ice beneath him.

[spicyet]

Victorian Fantasy AU

Crown Prince of Wa, Nakamoto Toshiro; Still struggles to make allies, even after learning Western customs and changed his way of dress... But, his western teacher, Laios, doesn't give him much room, nor time to feel like a failure. So things aren't too bad.

[kerryweaverlesbian]

Cas stitching up his trench coat in one of the motel chairs while Sam and Dean are asleep and quietly talking to Jack about how to him the coat feels as part of himself now as his blade is. That it reminds him that he wasn't always aware of just how deeply humans could feel. How deeply angels could feel. How putting care into something can make it meaningful. The stars were mere pricks of light before humans decided to name them. The more he cares for his coat, the more of his perspective and memory gets sewn into it. The more it becomes his.

"And the pockets," he confides with a deep wink, "Are good for keeping snacks in."

Later, when Dean is asleep again, drooling over an open book of research in the bunker, Jack watches as Cas tucks his coat over Dean's shoulders and sees how he hesitates for a moment before brushing his hand softly through Dean's hair. Dean is transformed, through Cas’s careful attention, from the man who was the gatekeeper of acceptance and goodness to just a man, vulnerable and in need of care.

Jack wonders whether Castiel cares for everyone like they are a precious object. And he wonders what Castiel would transform him into, if he had to be repaired. Jack isn't sure that he likes the idea. He already has a hard time understanding his own morality, how can he also be expected live up to the idea of himself in Castiel's head? The object that Castiel loves? Does he need to be changed in order to become his?

"I could get him my pillow?" Jack suggests, swallowing against the cold mass in his throat when Cas smiles gently at that. He does like it, then, when Jack acts against his own interest.

"That might wake him. We should let him rest."

"He's precious to you."

"He is." Castiel reaches out and puts a hand on Jack's sleeve, expression sincere, "And so are you."

"Right," Jack says, then, "thanks," and holds his smile until Cas wanders back to sit perpendicular to Dean, to watch him until just before he stirred. Castiel and Jack, both, were good at pretending not to feel what they felt.

Watching the angel watch the man, Jack feels like a star. Immense and powerful but also distant, removed. Not special until a real person decides that he is. He is between angel and human. Person and object. Precious and disregarded. He is the blade and the coat, and Jack doesn't know which is worse.

[camiene]

old art + drew @pearlescentparade 's phighting oc yum

[altschmerzes]

why do people on my posts about gen fic and platonic relationships in fiction always feel the need to clarify that they Love Shipping and Do Specifically Focus On It Often To The Exclusion Of All Else while reblogging those posts. even when they're doing it apologetically like 'oh oops i don't read/write gen fic.... it's great though, it rules!!' it's still like. interesting choice youve made here with this post.

[unfinishedslurs]

every robin gets a freebie

reverse robins in the aftermath of the death of filipe garzonas

A CD was in the mail within the next week, blank but for a note that slipped out when the envelope was opened. You should really trust in your birds more often, B. Learn from your mistakes for once. 

Jason felt bile in his throat. It was body cam footage, blurry and half obscured, of Robin and Garzonas on the roof. Footage that still clearly showed Garzonas taking a too-far step back, Robin lunging to reach him, and then…

But that’s not what happened, Jason doesn’t say. His tongue feels swollen and thick in his mouth. 

Batman takes off the cowl solemnly. “Jaylad,” he says. “Jason. I’m so sorry for doubting you. I never should have…”

He can’t be here anymore. He can’t be in this cave, can’t stand Bruce looking at him like that, can’t stand to even be in the vicinity of the Robin uniform he no longer deserves. 

He bolts for the exit.

“Jason!” he hears Bruce call, but he doesn’t stop. He can’t. Not even when he nearly runs into Alfred, not when Damian tries to grasp his arm, not when Duke asks him what’s wrong or when Tim yelps in surprise and drops his cane jumping out of the way. He just runs, out the manor door and into the night. 

For a split second the figure on the roof is overlaid with Gloria. Beautiful, resigned Gloria, who was so scared of what Felipe would do to her that she would do anything to stop it. 

Then he blinks, and he’s on the rooftop with the Spoiler. 

“Relax,” Spoiler says, “I’m not gonna jump. I'm only three steps into my five-step plan for world dominance. Can’t leave that unfinished. Imagine the paperwork.”

“I dunno.” Jason’s hands are shaking. “You seem like the kinda freak who would enjoy that.”

Spoiler lowers her mask, and Stephanie Brown smiles at him. 

“How did you do it?”

“Do what?”

“You know.��� His voice wavers. “You know. You know what I did. How did you…why did you…what was the reason?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes!”

“Call it tradition then, I guess.” Steph sounds almost amused. “Robin’s flock together.”

“But you don’t like me.”

“Who told you that?”

No one, but she doesn’t exactly go out of her way to talk to Jason. He just kind of assumed. 

Tim’s awkward around him. Sometimes they’re fine, like when he wandered into the library where Jason was and asked if he wanted to get ice cream together. Other times he wouldn’t see him for three weeks. Jason tries not to think about the nights Tim has had dreams that left him cackling loud enough to wake Jason up the couple times he’s stayed the night at the Nest, or the things he heard Tim shout about little birds and broken nests when he was fear gassed. 

It kind of sucks, being your brother's biggest trigger. 

(Those three weeks may be a case of mutual avoidance, but Jason will never admit it.)

When he doesn’t say anything, Steph sighs. “How much do you know about when I was Robin?”

“Uh,” he says, caught off guard, “not much, I guess?” He knows that it was because something was going on with Tim. That’s about it, really. He asked once, when he was still new to Robin and the Manor. He didn’t ask again after he saw the look on Tim’s face. 

“Bruce didn’t really want me. Damian didn’t think I was worthy of the mantle, and took every chance he could to remind me. Tim was pissed at me for it. None of them wanted me there, and I tried so hard to prove them wrong. To be the Robin I knew I could be.”

That…can’t be right. The few times he had asked about Stephanie Brown, Tim had nothing but good words to say. Bruce and Damian spent so much time wallowing in their regrets it was insane. For her to say nobody wanted her there, when her absence was a shadow that followed them constantly around Wayne Manor, was baffling. 

Steph looks down at the helmet in her hands. “All I wanted was their approval, and it made me stupid. I overestimated myself. That’s how you get killed in this game, kid. Don’t get too cocky for your britches, and all that.”

Jason is shaking again by the time they get to the Nest. He hesitates at the window, sending a pleading look to Spoiler that she completely ignores ushering him in. 

Tim spins around in his tricked out gaming chair, frown pulling oddly against the wide scars on his cheeks. He flicks his comm off. “Steph?” Then his eyes found Jason. “Jason! Thank God, we were starting to get worried about you. Duke told everyone to give you space, but…”

His mouth is too dry to say anything in response, so he just shrugs. Tim tilts his head, examining him, before looking at Spoiler questioningly. 

She takes off her mask again, lowering her hood and shaking out her hair. “We need some help,” she explains, and nudges Jason forward. 

He stays stubbornly in his place, head tilted towards the floor. Steph sighs. “If you don’t tell him,” she says, “I will.”

He whips his head around. “You promised!”

“My name is literally The Spoiler.” She bares her teeth at him. “I get that you’re nervous, kid, but I do not have time for this.”

“For what?” Tim says. God, Tim’s going to be like a dog with a bone with this. He’s never met a mystery he didn’t want to solve. “Just tell me what’s going on.”

“I killed Filipe!” He blurts out and freezes, moving immediately to hide behind Spoiler. She doesn’t let him, grabbing his shoulder and holding him firmly to the spot. 

Tim gapes at him. “You…” he trails off, slowly turning to Steph, who holds his gaze steadily. “The footage?”  

“I have connections.”

“Of course you do.” He rubs a hand over his face. “How are we playing this?

What?

“We keep going along with what’s been presented to him,” Spoiler responds without hesitation. “B’s paranoid, but he’s also the king of denial. There’s no doctoring on the tape itself, he won’t look any deeper.”

“And Damian?”

“Like he gives a shit.”

“True,” he admits. “Duke wouldn’t care enough to check either way, so that just leaves Cass.”

Steph swears. “Fuck, Cass. Do you think she’ll say something?”

“Yes. Ugh, yes she will. Fuck.”

“Think you can talk some sense into her?”

“Maybe.” He squints at Jason. “I’ll probably play up the ‘ridden by guilt’ and ‘will never happen again’ angle. He definitely reads it.”

“What the hell are you two talking about?” Jason finally says, lungs fighting for air. “I—I killed someone!”

“Not according to Bruce, you didn’t.” Tim tells him. 

“You want me to lie?”

“Yes.”

He looks at Steph imploringly, begging her to explain, but she doesn’t even look at him. “Chill out, kid,” she says, “We all get a freebie.”

“Damian got more than a freebie,” Tim points out. 

“He’d tell you it was his right as the blood son.”

“Stop joking!” He shouts, chest heaving for air. “Just—stop it! Why aren’t you telling Bruce? Why are you making plans to lie to him? What’s wrong with you?”

Tim exchanges a heavy look at Steph, before reaching his hand out to Jason. Jason takes it, trembling. 

“Plenty of vigilantes have to make hard choices when it comes to stopping people the law can’t touch,” he tells Jason gently. “I work with people who all choose different things. When it comes to people like Garzonas, who will keep doing it over and over with no remorse…it’s not a method I recommend, but sometimes there’s only one way to stop them. If Robin made that choice, I wouldn’t blame him.”

He can’t stop the tears from welling in his eyes, because this is Tim Drake saying it. Damian was the first Robin, yeah, and Steph left her undeniable mark with her cheer and wit, but Tim wore the mantle twice. He made it into something new, something a bit brighter in the dark nights. Then, after Steph, he made it into a memory. Bright yellow for her hair. Red for Superboy. Even after they both came back Jason wore their colors, because Robin was persistence, and spirit, and clever words followed by hard punches, and bravery and a million other things, but it was also hope and love and remembrance for the lost. 

He wouldn’t forget that. “Why are you so okay with this?”

“You know I’ve had to make that choice too.”

Jason almost laughs, but refrains. He’s heard the stories. “Never sounded like much of a choice.”

“It was.” His eyes snap to Tim’s at the sudden edge to his voice, and Tim meets his eyes carefully. “I was fully aware of what I was doing. It’s not something I’ll ever do again, but it was my choice, and I won’t have that taken from me.” 

“I don’t think I can be Robin anymore.”

“Well, we all have to give it up sometimes.”

“Are we really doing this?” Tim asks, after he thinks Jason has fallen asleep. 

Jokes on him, Jason doesn’t think he’s gonna sleep ever again. 

“Are you seriously getting cold feet now? I thought you loved lying to Bruce.”

“I don’t love lying to Bruce, it’s just—“

“‘—necessary sometimes,’” she finishes. “Whatever. Like you don’t love the thrill of it.”

Tim doesn’t bother denying it. “This isn’t just lying to B, Steph. This is—are we really going to cover up a murder?”

The room drops ten degrees. 

“If you’re not going to back me on this, we can go somewhere else. Don’t want you getting your hands dirty or anything,” she sneers. 

“You know I’ve always got your back,” Tim says. Jason thinks back to what Spoiler told him earlier about her time as Robin, and wonders if that might not be as irrefutable a truth as he’d always thought it was. “I’m worried about Jason.”

“You wouldn’t need to be if you would just help him out—“

“You saw him. The kid looks like a ghost. He looks like I did. Don’t—no, Steph, I’m serious. I’m worried about him. At least I didn’t have to hide that I killed the Joker. You think keeping this bottled up will be good for him? It’s going to kill him.”

“The alternative is telling Batman that his precious Robin killed someone. You remember how that went last time?”

There’s a long pause, and then he hears Tim hiss an exhalation behind clenched teeth. “Don’t bring that into this. Jason’s not me.”

“That’s the fucking problem. You were his golden boy—“

“Seriously? You think I was the golden boy?”

“I’m hardly his favorite,” Tim scoffs. “Jason is.”

There’s a shocked silence. Then Stephanie scoffs. “You can’t seriously be jealous.“

“I’m trying to tell you it’ll be different from me. Have you seen him with Jason?” He waits, but Steph doesn’t answer. “He laughs. He laughs, he smiles, he’s fucking…happy. Jason makes him happy. I never did that. None of us ever—“

“Jesus, Tim,” Steph says roughly. “You made him plenty happy. Damian, Cass, Duke, you all make him laugh—“

“Not like Jason does.”

“You willing to risk the kid on that?”

A beat, and Tim sighs. “No. But it’s different now. Jason has us. All of us. It wouldn’t be like last time.”

“Jason’s not me.” He pauses, almost like he’s debating what he’ll say next, before he says, “He’s not you, either.”

Steph stays silent for so long Jason wonders if she climbed out the window and left. 

Finally, she exhales. “He’s not you, and he’s not me,” she agrees, “but Bruce is always going to be Bruce.”

They sit in silence for a long moment. Finally Steph speaks up. “Are you really jealous of him?”

“No, Steph. Jesus.”

“You’re such a liar.” It’s affectionate this time, though, clearly poking fun. 

Tim sighs, heavier than the teasing warrants. “It’s not him. It’s not him, and it’s not you, I just…I was never able to give up Robin on my own terms. I never…I never got to feel like I was putting it down. It never stopped feeling like—“

Stephanie doesn’t say anything. Eventually, one of the chairs slides back, and Jason hears a cane clacking on the ground. A cabinet opens. “Did you want coffee?”

“What happened to those awful sodas you were addicted to?”

“I assumed you wouldn’t want one,” Tim responds, voice dry. There’s no indication of their discussion in either of their tones. “Considering the first thing you ever did in this apartment was go through all my stuff and make fun of my taste.”

“Fuck it. I’m feeling abominable tonight, I should have something to fit the mood.”

“Shut up.” The fridge opens and shuts, and there’s a quiet thunk like a hand catching something out of midair. Then two drinks crack open. 

“God, I forgot how awful these were.”

(some undetermined amount of time later)

Bruce: Dick you can’t kill Tony Zucco. Batman and Robin do not kill.

Dick: Steph said Robin gets a freebie >:(

Bruce: 

Bruce:

Bruce: STEPHANIE-

[doctorcurdlejr]

honey!! it's time for your dose of beautiful butch firefighter!!

[its-all-papaya]

landoscar + 41? 🧡 maybe fake/pr-dating-turned-real-dating coded, so maybe even + 56? like, they realize the fake wasn't that fake anymore 🙈 (insert i am in love are you in love audio here)

they are both in love, anon.

(because i found it kind of impossible to explain without adding sooo much exposition... oscar is not a driver. he's just... a guy. that mclaren found. to date lando. suspend your disbelief, idk)

send me a ship and a number and i will write a kiss

41. to pretend (or is it?) | landoscar | 1.2k

Lando is in over his head. His aching, pounding, hurts-so-bad-it’s-making-him nauseous head. If he’d known one throw-away trip to the club in Miami was going to complicate his life so irreparably, he would have tucked his P1 trophy into bed next to him and gone straight to sleep like a good, boring boy. Instead, he’d gotten catastrophically fucked-up on any number of things he doesn’t remember and tossed himself dick-first into an entire publicity nightmare. That’s the worst part, probably: Lando doesn’t even remember. He remembers taking shots with Max and Danny and he remembers – barely – stumbling to the bathroom, and the next discernable point on that mental timeline comes at approximately 6:45 a.m., when he’d woken up to go vomit and found his lock screen so full of notifications that it’d made him forget to wonder where the man he’d gone to bed next to had pissed off to so early.

Since then, every minute of Lando’s life not spent in the car has felt full wall-to-wall with interviews, and meetings with crisis management, and saying “I’d prefer not to comment on that” so many times he hears it on repeat like an ear worm when he’s falling asleep at night. And also Oscar. There’s been a lot of Oscar.

He’s waiting in the lobby of McLaren’s hospitality when Lando arrives down from his driver’s room after qualifying in Brazil. Lando wonders how he got in, if their bosses have finally decided he’s trustworthy enough to walk around unchaperoned. It’s funny that he ever didn’t have a pass, actually; he is technically a McLaren employee. Probably. Lando thinks he gets paid. They’ve never talked about the specifics.

Either way, however he got there, Oscar is by himself in the lobby, leaned back in a chair, thumbing at his phone. He looks up when he senses Lando’s arrival, and Lando must look even more pathetic than he even thought, because Oscar’s face immediately goes soft with concern and he leaps up to take Lando’s bag off his hands.

“Hey, you alright?” he asks. He slides the backpack onto his own shoulders and then steadies a hand in the middle of Lando’s back, thumb tracing comforting little circles near his spine.

Lando could lie, but there’s not really any point to that, so he lets his face fold into the grimace it wants to be in and presses his thumb between his eyebrows.

“Head’s killing me,” he says. It comes out weak.

Oscar makes a sad little sound in sympathy, and the palm on Lando’s back shifts to his side so Oscar can tug him closer. Lando doesn’t have the energy to fight Oscar on these things at the best of times lately, so he’s definitely not going to when he’s exhausted and sick with the pain behind his eyes. Even though there’s really nobody around to see them.

“Let’s get you back to the hotel, then,” Oscar says, and Lando has never agreed to anything faster.

Oscar leads the way out of hospitality and through the paddock, fingers linked securely between Lando’s own. It’s baffling that he’s already been around this circus long enough to know the way without help. Nice, though, because Lando’s not really in a state to be of any.

They run into a few people along the way – fans or sponsors or employees. Lando doesn’t get the chance to tell which are which, because every time somebody new greets them, Oscar’s fingers tighten around his own and he talks the both of them cleverly out of the conversation before Lando can even consider what he would say if he was left to his own devices. It feels nearly impossible that less than six months ago, Oscar could barely say two words to Lando without being directly asked to.

“Oscar!” he hears as they’re nearing the exit, and they’re so close to relative quiet that Lando can’t help but groan about it. Oscar squeezes his hand again like an apology as he turns to address whoever it is.

"What’s up?” Oscar asks. When Lando lifts his eyes from the pavement, it’s Max stood before them. Both of his hands are hooked in the straps of his backpack and his chest is heaving just a little, like he’d jogged to catch them up.

“You’ll of course be at the race tomorrow?” Max asks. Lando’s not sure where this conversation is going, but he’s pretty sure it doesn’t have to happen right now. He hopes the look he’s giving Max is sufficiently irritated.

It must do the job, because Max’s eyes brighten and he says “Not pleased about that, Lando?”

Oscar’s hand goes from Lando’s palm to his back again, quick, and before Lando can open his mouth, Oscar’s saying, “He doesn’t feel good.”

“Ah,” Max says. Lando can’t figure out the look he’s being given.

“The race tomorrow?” Lando presses. If they’re going to chat about whatever it was right now, they could at least get to the point.

Max nods, shifting his gaze back to Oscar, “You are staying, yeah?”

“Yeah," Oscar says, "Why?”

It’s taking too long. Lando squeezes his eyes shut and presses his forehead against Oscar’s shoulder, hoping the counterpressure might do anything at all for the hot ache in his brain. Oscar’s hand goes immediately to the back of Lando’s neck, like it’s habit, and his thumb starts drawing firm lines down the muscle there, hairline to nape. It feels…really, really nice, actually.

“You’ll fly back with us after,” he can make out Max saying, “to Monaco. Lando and I and a few others.”

That doesn’t really make sense. Oscar’s been planning to go home for a bit over the mini break, Lando knows, they talked about it nearly right away when the agreement was drawn up. Far be it from him to argue that point, though, not when Oscar’s saying “Yeah, thanks, mate,” and his thumb’s still easing the pain in Lando’s skull. Lando would blame it on the headache, but it’s not like he’ll mind the extra time with Oscar, either. Which Max knows.

Lando cracks his eyes open and shifts enough to squint suspiciously at his friend, but Max is just grinning happily at the pair of them.

“Very good,” Max says. Sure.

“That’s all?” Oscar asks. His thumb finally stills. Lando does not whine about it, but it’s a close thing.

“Yes,” Max says, “you can take grumpy home now.”

Then, before Lando can decide whether that’s worth getting upset over, Oscar squeezes the back of his neck and nudges him up off his shoulder. His eyes are apologetic when Lando meets them, and he kisses Lando once on the forehead as he slides their palms back together.

It’s nice. Domestic. Very convincing, probably. Oscar’s gotten really good at his job.

“We’ll see you, mate,” Oscar says.

Max clasps Oscar’s hand for a second, then squeezes Lando’s shoulder on his way by.

When he's a few steps off, Oscar says, “Ready?” like Lando hasn’t been begging to go this whole time.

Lando says yes, please and he can tell it's a little whiny, because Oscar says "Hey, okay love, I'm sorry" and brushes a gentle kiss against his lips. Lando thinks Max is probably too far away to see it, but Oscar would know better.

It’s not until they’re finally settled into the back of the car, sides pressed together, that Lando remembers:

“Max knows about everything. You didn’t have to… he knows.”

Oscar’s gaze is soft and maybe a little sad, for some reason, but he smiles past it and combs his fingers through Lando’s hair until he settles.

“Yeah,” Oscar says as Lando’s head falls back against his shoulder, “He does.”