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i dont know if this is how people do it but i need betas for my ~10k landoscar fic where oscar’s a telepath and if you want to beta pls feel free to message me on tumblr. also i am willing to beta your work as well! if you want a snippet, it’s here!

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My Snoppy Piastri agenda 😌

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help the third pic makes este look like a gojek driver

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little oscar showing u his art

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“ao3 algorithm” this “ao3 foryou page” that. WRONG!!! I WANT AO3 TO REMEMBER MY FAVOURITE EXCLUDED TAGS. so i dont have to exclude any bathroom kinks every time.

i totally get “don’t like don’t read” of course but it gets kind of annoying trying to filter it out all the time, and even though i always read the tags, i somehow always miss the piss kink mention. and you can toggle the excluded tags on and off, in case you’re feeling adventurous.

AO3 DOESN’T NEED AN ALGORITHM, AO3 NEEDS TO HAVE A TOGGLEABLE TAG BOOKMARKING SYSTEM!!!

thank you for listening to my ted talk.

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these two and their silly little expressions

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THERE ARE CATHEDRALS…

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I'm back from the dead :D

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“you become what you eat” or whatever it is that they say

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oscar as plushies i saw on pinterest

1. loafscar pastry

2. frogscar piastribbit

3. oscar pasty

bonus mark!

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"i have a really good recipe for pancakes" (threatening)

saw this mofusand illustration and knew what i had to do

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STAND UP OSCAR??? x

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happy wip wednesday! heres a landoscar wip from 2023 (1.3k words) rated g

In Jeddah, the car doesn’t feel any better.

Free practice hadn’t hailed promising results, and Lando starts thinking about the worst. What if this is it? What if things only get worse from here?

The sleep he managed is fitful and shallow. He wakes with his palms clammy and cold sweat trailing down the sides of his neck. For a moment, he just stares into the dark, disoriented, trying to piece together where he is. The clock on the bedside table reads 1 AM, but it might as well be any time. Two hours or nine—it’s all the same when you're too tired to tell the difference.

He groans softly, dragging a hand over his face. Stumbling to the bathroom, he drinks directly from the tap, the water harsh and cold against his dry throat. He splashes his face with more, the coolness doing little to shake off the weight of the nightmare.

Suddenly, a sharp rap of knocks echo through the room. He hadn’t expected visitors—especially not this late at night. Without thinking, he steps toward his suitcase and pulls out a padel racquet. It’s ridiculous, but it’s the closest thing he has to a weapon.

He moves quietly to the door, his fingers gripping the handle of the racquet as he raises it over his shoulder like some kind of makeshift club.

Peering through the peephole, his tension eases when he spots the unassuming figure of Oscar. Lando lets out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding, lowering the racquet. He opens the door.

“Hey, I had a feeling you were up” he says, eyes glancing at the racquet still loosely gripped in Lando’s hand. “Late-night padel session with Max?”

Lando rubs his eyes, still half-dazed, setting the padel racquet on the island, “Sorry. Thought you were, like, an intruder or something.”

“The padel racquet is notorious for its deadly potential, of course.” Oscar chuckles lightly like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Shut up.” Lando groans, rolling his eyes. “What do you want?”

There’s a pause before Oscar speaks again. With his voice quieter, “Couldn’t sleep,” he admits, leaning against the doorframe. "Figured I’d check if you were still up. Thought maybe... we could watch or play something until we fall asleep."

Lando stares at him for a moment, and the weight of silence felt heavy between the two of them. Then, with a sigh, he opens the door wider, stepping aside to let the Aussie in.

"Why are you up?" Oscar asks, settling down on the plush bed like he belongs there. "Oh, and, what do you want to watch?" He grabs the remote from the nightstand, flicking it on without waiting for an answer.

"Had a nightmare," Lando replies curtly, running a hand through his hair. "And something that doesn't require much brainpower, please."

Oscar hums thoughtfully, pulling up Netflix and selecting Bluey. Lando blinks, his brow furrowing.

"Isn't this a kids' show?" he asks, incredulous. "My nephews watch this!"

Oscar gives him a light shove on the arm, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Don't disrespect Bluey like that. It’s the pinnacle of Australian media."

Lando rolls his eyes, but the tension in his shoulders eases as they settle in, the soft glow of pastel colors lighting up the room in contrast to the otherwise oppressive darkness.

The quiet stretches out between them until Oscar breaks it, his voice soft. "Do you wanna talk about the nightmare?" he asks, reaching for the remote to turn the volume down, his eyes looking at Lando with a hint of concern.

“It’s just— I’m just worried that this is it, y’know, that this is where my career ends.” says quietly, his voice almost lost in the stillness of the room. ”I’m scared that the car won’t get any better and we’ll spend this season as backmarkers.”

A heavy pause lingers as the weight of unspoken thoughts presses down on him. That I’ll be a disappointment. All the effort and energy I’ve put into this will result in nothing. All the sweat and tears shed were wasted. What will I do after F1?

The words hang in the air, unspoken, too heavy to say out loud. He doesn't want to burden Oscar with all of it, not now, not when the silence between them already feels thick enough to drown in.

“Oh,” Oscar says softly, his voice a little more tentative than usual. "I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do?"

Lando hesitates, then exhales in frustration. Back when Carlos and Daniel werebhis teammates, they would always hug him if he was feeling down. Although he would really like that right now, it’s no longer an option, obviously, since Oscar jolts at the mere brush of his fingers or a short side hug.

Before he can finish his thoughts, Oscar hugs him. And it feels like coming home.

He’s wrapped in Oscar’s arms—strong, toned, and surprisingly warm. The suddenness of it catches him off guard, but it is welcomed nonetheless. The embrace is firm but not overpowering, a quiet comfort in its own way. He can feel the steady beat of Oscar’s heart against his chest like a steady rock against Lando’s violent waves, the warmth of his body seeping through the layers of their clothes.

For a moment, Lando just stands there, frozen, his brain struggling to process what’s happening. He can literally feel his thoughts scatter and turn to mush, as if his mind can't quite catch up to the reality of Oscar Piastri, the purported second coming of Iceman himself (according to the media, at least), holding him in his arms. He doesn’t know what to do, what to say. But it’s… surprisingly good. Unexpected, but somehow exactly what he needed.

“Hope you feel better,” Oscar says, his voice muffled against Lando’s neck. He can feel Oscar’s hot breath fanning the skin, and the goosebumps immediately rise on his forearm.

Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end, and Oscar sits up straight again, no longer hugging Lando. His left arm is still wrapped loosely around Lando’s waist, however, and he’ll accept small victories.

“And, for the record, your career is still bright and shiny. I know it hasn’t been a good few years for McLaren, but you’re a talented driver and they would be dumb to fire you. All we can do right now is drive that tractor of a car and wait for the summer upgrades, yeah?” Oscar rubs comforting circles on Lando’s waist, and his brain immediately shuts off.

“Thank you, Osc.” Where did that nickname come from? “For making me feel better.”

“No problem,” he beams, setting his eyes back on the TV. “Of course, I’m still a better driver than you,” he mutters.

Lando squawks, fake-offended as he elbows Oscar’s chest. “Rude! We were having a moment, y’know?”

“Screw your moment.” Oscar says, opening his phone to check the time. “It’s late, I should go soon. I have a workout scheduled with Kim at the arse crack of dawn.” he says, yawing as he stretches his back.

“Right,” is what comes out of Lando’s mouth. Please stay please stay please stay please—

There’s a brief, awkward silence, then Oscar hesitates, his voice softer. "Or I could— do you mind if I sleep here?" The question is tentative, almost shy, like he's testing the waters and asking for permission.

Oh. “Sure, yeah,” he chokes out.

Oscar lays down at the complete opposite side of the bed, slowly lifting the covers and slipping inside.

“Night,” he mumbles, trying to sleep. Keyword is trying, after many shuffles and twisting and turning, Lando doesn’t feel the slightest bit sleepy. Oscar is the same, constantly shifting around under the duvet.

“God, this is dumb, but could you… um, you know…” Lando says, emulating a hug with his hands. To that, Oscar’s face visibly relaxes, and he positively beams.

“Sure, mate,” he replies, moving closer to Lando and wrapping his arms around Lando’s middle, allowing him to nuzzle in the crook of Oscar’s neck. Oscar’s hands are playing with Lando’s curls, carding and brushing his hair with his fingers. It’s relaxing, and it’s soothing, and the next thing he knows, his eyes are heavy and he falls asleep.

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bi4bi carcar

2.6k words — rated T — carcar fic

Carlos was raised to be a gentleman. Open the car door. Get her flowers. Pull out her chair. Offer to pay first. Get her home before 9. His parents raised him with manners. His manners seem to disappear when he's on a date with Oscar

or, bi4bi carcar from this prompt by @magnets5581

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bi4bi carcar

2.6k words — rated T — carcar fic

Carlos was raised to be a gentleman. Open the car door. Get her flowers. Pull out her chair. Offer to pay first. Get her home before 9. His parents raised him with manners. His manners seem to disappear when he's on a date with Oscar

or, bi4bi carcar from this prompt by @magnets5581