"sy, you dont understand. i would forfeit a 25 second race lead if it meant i got to talk to you again."
. . .
"oh."
in which. . .
sylas comes back into oscar's life, all rippling muscle and perfect grace, and oscar no longer knows what to do with...
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When I drive, I always check over the seat I could see you right there, waiting on me I pull on the string that binds me to memories of The way I loved you
glory of the snow • clairo
PLUNGE Volume 1.1 Wake
June 14th, 2024
"Mate, nooooooo shot!" Lando squeals from his place behind Oscar, the smile on his face bright.
Oscar's brows are furrowed in concentration, eyes stuck to where he's nearly completed the final line of icing. His cupcake isn't perfect, but compared to Lando's, it looks like the model for all cupcakes thereafter. Oscar pulls away with a huff and a little triumphant smile.
The two of them are in a random kitchen in the MTC during one of the longer breaks between races. They're live on the McLaren Instagram channel, and have been for the past hour as they attempt to decorate cupcakes and answer questions simultaneously. Key word being attempt. For Lando, at least.
"Whatever!" Lando puts his hands up indignantly. He scans the chat, most of which is praising Oscar's performance, and smiles to himself. "No, guys, you don't see the vision. Mine is just more creative."
"Sure, mate, more creative," Oscar snorts. He finishes his last touch and stands up to admire his work. Lando is rolling his eyes at Oscar's side.
"You all are just haters," Lando insists. A woman in her mid-30s wearing an orange shirt speaks lowly from behind the camera and when the two of them look up, a giant smile erupts across Lando's face. "Sprinkles!?"
The woman nods with a soft laugh and places the containers onto the counter in front of them, her red nails coming into frame for just a moment. A few other McLaren employees are sitting in various places either behind the counter or around the room; most of them are from the PR team.
Lando is first to go with the sprinkles, diving in enthusiastically. He rips the plastic off of the container of orange sugar and dumps an ungodly amount onto his designated cupcake. Oscar is suppressing a smile from behind him, muttering increasingly disbelieving "mate..."s as he looks on.
"Alright, okay, that's enough," He finally intervenes, after Lando has already dumped the third thick layer of clashing colors onto his sweet. Oscar reaches for the container that Lando is opening and nips it out of his hand with faux sense of disappointment, a look you might see from a teacher. He receives a frown in response, but Lando does back up to let Oscar perfect his work even further.
As Oscar meticulously places the multi-colored decorations onto the white icing and addresses the camera every so often, Lando takes a break to scroll his phone. He receives a glare from one of the PR managers, but doesn't relent. Flo has sent him an article of some British diver who had made it through trials to the Olympic team. He sends back a question mark and recieves, didn't oscar used to b friends with him, in response. Huh. Before he can look up more context, Oscar's phone lights up, buzzing next to him on the little side table by the door. Doesn't Oscar always have his phone on silent? He looks at the screen and his eyebrows immediately shoot up with shock. Maybe I am going crazy. Maybe Flo is a magician.
