#Landim

[fladecadanoticias]

Segredos revelados: Entrevista com Rodolfo Landim

[blogdonascimento]

Landim volta de viagem para dar craque de presente à torcida do Flamengo

Após estar praticamente acertado para ser o novo reforço do Flamengo, o volante Allan passa a ter sua situação indefinida. Isso porque de acordo com diversas fontes, o Atlético Mineiro, que já teria aceitado as condições da venda do jogador, paralisou as conversas para o acerto da contratação. O Fla agora espera o retorno do presidente Rodolfo Landim, que estava na Europa para retomar as…

[h00dsw0rld]

Good Morning

[newstotalcomunicacao]

Landim condiciona estádio do Flamengo à eleição de seu candidato

Nesta segunda (14), em evento de lançamento da chapa “Uni-Fla”, o presidente Rodolfo Landim condicionou a construção do estádio próprio do Flamengo à eleição de Rodrigo Dunshee, candidato da situação para o pleito presidencial em dezembro. “A única forma de fazer esse estádio sair é transformar o Dunshee em presidente do clube”, afirmou Landim, durante discurso a apoiadores, nesta segunda (14),…

[always-just-red]

Hii! I've seen some Pregnancy scenario with LaD's men, but I have this HC-- personally for Sylus. That when fem!reader got pregnant, he didn't really understand how the Pregnancy hormones work, until he experienced one and he got confused how he should act or react because it's feels like he's walking on landime, one wrong move/word, she'd throwing tantrum or being sulky at him

I've heard from my Friend who got pregnant before, when she craving something and her Husband showing any form that he can't fulfill what she's craves, she felt her heart broken, and she'd sulk and acted as if he just cheated on her. The problem is, she always craved something that didn't even exist at that moment😂, she's craving certain type of Mango while it's not even that Mango season, so nobody selling it. He literally being desperate to negotiate with her cravings

So... Can I request a scenario smiliar like that? It doesn't have to be mango, or any foods. Just... how Pregnancy hormones or Cravings could make Sylus got frustated lol

Aaaaa anon this is adorable, thank you! We love making Sylus suffer in cute and harmless ways. He's always asking for trouble, so let's give him some! ����💅

Something Sweet

Sylus x Reader 🩸

Summary: Sylus knows how to get what he wants. Getting what you want might be a little more tricky...

Genre: fluff!

Warnings/Additional tags: female!reader, IMPLIED pregnant!reader (pregnancy not actually mentioned or described- just hormones being hormones ✌), established relationship, canon pet names, a lil bit of roleplay because Sylus refuses to leave his Mystic Adventure era

| Word count: 2.1k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

“Sy, d’you know what I’m craving right now?”

“Always, sweetie.” Sylus doesn’t look up from his book. “Not now, though. I’m tired.”

Morning sunlight streams through the gaps in your living room curtains, casting pale yellow shapes over the floor. A shard of it has been inching over the sofa towards Sylus, the sharp edge now grazing the side of his face. He shifts, ever so slightly, away from its touch. His eyes are open but heavy.

“No,” you scold, leaning forwards to swat at him with your book. “That’s not what I meant, you narcissist.”

He chuckles with his usual low timbre— his gaze still not lifting— and the sound is deeper for how close he is to sleep. He wants to give in to it, you can tell. When he turns a page, the movement is languid, soft. You’re losing him.

“Sy,” you say again, then with more of a whine: “Sylus.”

His eyes flutter closed as he draws in a deep breath. His hand raises, his fingers stretching to pull his reading glasses from his face. They’re set down on the arm of the chair beside him, along with the book, and he turns to you with a smile. “What are you craving, sweetie?”

You rest your book on your stomach. Your legs are stretched out over Sylus’s lap, and his hand finds one of your feet, massaging an ache from it as you begin your speech. “Do you remember that café we used to go to? The one we found when it started raining in the park that day? We didn’t think it was open, but then the owner knocked on the window and said we could—”

“Yeah?” His hand moves to your other foot.

“Well, they make these—”

“Macarons.”

“You remember?”

His smile widens like he remembers vividly. “Kitten, how could I forget? I’m still jealous of that sweet little treat. You’ve never made that face for me, and believe me—” he wiggles one of your toes— “I’ve tried.”

That had been one of the only times you’d truly caught him off-guard, back when your feelings for one another were unnamed and uncharted. The rain had been drumming against the café window, and you’d heaved Sylus’s damp coat from your shoulders— giggled at the raised eyebrow and the sarcastic ‘…thanks’ he’d given in turn. One hot drink later, you were lifting a pastel pink macaron to your lips, taking a delicate bite and failing to stifle a tiny, almost euphoric moan.

You remember realising yourself: blushing profusely and expecting some remark, some ridicule, but none ever came. Sylus’s eyes were wide, dark, fixed upon your still parted mouth.

After a few of the longest seconds of your life, he’d dragged the plate with the rest of the macarons away from you and muttered something about how you had better not do that again.

“They’re still the sweetest things I’ve ever tasted,” you tease now, just as you’d wrestled him for that plate back then, set on eating every last macaron.

He makes a hmph as he idly runs a finger over the part of your foot he knows is ticklish. His expression is distinctly grumpy, but it falters as you laugh and try to writhe away from him.

You’re quickly out of breath. “Sylus?”

“Mmm?”

He glances up at you and you smile sweetly, head tilting. “Please?”

His coat on a rainy day. The entire plate of macarons in the end; he’s never been very good at denying you anything. For the first time since you’d stirred him from his book, however, he appears genuinely regretful. “You’re forgetting something, sweetie,” he murmurs gently. “Why did we stop going to that café, hmm?”

You shrug.

“It closed, kitten,” he sighs. “Months ago.”

“What?”

Not only did you already know that— you actually visited the café on its final day. The owner was telling you stories: he was moving somewhere warmer, closer to family, and he needed all the funds he could get. Sylus had snuck an obscene amount of money into the man’s tip jar whilst you acted as a distraction. You both had fond memories of that place; it was nice to make one more.   

It's all coming back to you and you’re struck by a wave of nostalgia. You want to go back there. You can’t go back there. It doesn’t exist anymore, and you’ll never taste sweetness like that again.

Your mouth has gone dry.

“Sweetie?” Sylus prompts, because he notices you’re far away. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” your voice wobbles, “I just really wanted… I mean, I really needed one of those—”

“… Macarons?” he finishes for you.

You burst into tears, and one day, you’ll tally this as another time you took the man by surprise. His face drops instantly— lost, for a moment— before he slides your legs from his lap, allowing him to lean closer. “No, no, no,” he coos, “don’t cry, kitten, please. I didn’t mean to… well, I didn’t realise…”

He doesn’t know what to say, and he always knows what to say. He set you off with a single word and now he’s stuttering like sentences are all possible landmines. He tries his luck again, putting a foot forward: “Listen to me. I’ll go to the store. Would that be alright? Or perhaps there’s another café that could—”

You explode: sobbing even more viscerally. Your whole body shakes with it.

Sylus has frozen. He watches on helplessly as you cry, blabbering about the macarons you can’t have and the café you can’t return to. Across the room, even Mephisto has hunched down on his perch, though he issues a few, spirited squawks, maybe in solidarity with your breakdown, or maybe in protest of it.

It’s like a catalyst. You cry more: burying your face in your hands because what the hell is wrong with you? It’s not a big deal. It’s not a big deal, so why do you feel sick? And then there’s Sylus— your Sylus, devoted and adoring— and here you are, punishing him for something beyond his control.

You look up from your hands, desperate to apologise, but he’s gone. More shards of sunlight paint his empty seat and catch all that’s left of him: a few crow feathers, glistening like onyx. Mephisto is gone too, and the room is quiet, save for you snivelling and feeling sorry for yourself.

“Sylus?” you call out into the empty morning.

It isn’t his fault, not really. You wouldn’t want to be around you, either.

…

Something brushes over your cheek, and your tired eyes open.

The sun has ebbed back behind the curtains and the ceiling light has taken its place, casting artificial highlights over everything in reach: the coffee table, the closed-up flowers at its centre and a mug of tea that’s gone cold. Sylus is in front of you too, backlit and soft like a daydream, and he—

He left you.

“Sy?” you whisper warily, because the context is coming back to you slowly, piece by piece.

“Hey,” he coaxes, voice as honeyed as whatever’s turned the air sweet.

You blink, rubbing sleep from your eyes and relishing the warmth of his hand on your face. Then you slap his shoulder. “Hey, really? That’s all you’ve got— hey?”

He’s kneeling for you— on the floor, beside the couch— so you can meet his eyes. He settles his chin thoughtfully on the edge of the seat, his nose almost touching yours. “What would you prefer, sweetie?” His lips are close to yours too. “Good evening, my beloved? Greetings, my queen?”

“How about sorry?” you snap, because he isn’t cute and he isn’t charming.

He pouts. “Why sorry?”

“Because you left, Sylus!” You sit up straighter, and your phone tumbles out of your lap. Its screen is still lit-up from a few hours ago, showcasing a very one-sided conversation and a rant you never actually sent, because it’s still in the text box.

You vaguely recall writing it, so you try to snatch the phone from Sylus’s hand as he plucks it from the floor. He’s more alert than you. More co-ordinated. He keeps it out of your grasp as he reads the unsent message, an eyebrow raising.

It was a lot of things— colourful, creative— not entirely tasteful. “My, my, your highness,” he tuts, “so this is the treatment your valiant knight receives for undertaking your quest?”

“You’re not valiant,” you rebuke, and you manage to wrestle your phone from him. “You’re—”

“A heartless prick,” he finishes casually, quoting your message with a chuckle. He takes your free hand and kisses the back of it, refusing to let you pull away. “And whose fault is that, I wonder?”

“You can have your heart back.”

“Nope. You’re stuck with it, sweetie. With me, too. Now—” he sits back on his knees— “would you please ask me about my quest?”

The analogy is lost on you. You sit fully up, looking down at him. “What quest, oh valiant knight?”

His lips form a smirk; he just loves when you play along. “Close your eyes.”

You do— whether you’re queen or not. You hear him shifting aside, and then there’s a snap of his fingers. The air changes, warping like thick, liquid smoke, and you know he’s using his Evol. “Open,” he commands.

And there on the coffee table, freshly teleported, is a plate of macarons the colour of cherry blossoms. As if anticipating the comparison, Sylus pulls a handful of pink petals from his pocket and blows them up into the air so they can spiral down on the scene. He watches them. Then you. “Ta-da,” he proclaims, his tone dry but full of humour.

You’re prone to hyperbole nowadays, but this is without a doubt the best thing you have ever seen.

“Sylus,” you gasp in disbelief, “how did you—”

“It doesn’t matter,” he says; the story isn’t for today, and he’s very, very tired. A few weeks from now he’ll tell you about how he tracked down the contact information of the owner of the old café. How he spent an hour on the phone bargaining for a certain macaron recipe, and several more hours in the kitchen, trying to get them perfect. “Now, they might not be exactly the same, sweetie. But I did try to—”

You surge forwards, capturing his lips in a kiss. It’s so impulsive— so reckless— that you almost tumble down from the couch, but he catches you, steadies you, and your hand is gripping the soft of his hair as he kisses you back. Slowly, his mouth not leaving yours, he lifts you back into your seat.

“Easy, sweetie.” His voice is low as he pulls away, and though he turns his face from you, you can make out the blush on his cheeks. He settles back into his kneeling position on the floor. “I have one more surprise for you. Do try to control yourself.”

He retrieves a small, complete flower from his pocket, albeit one a little dreary from its journey. Sylus smiles triumphantly as he holds it out to you, and he was right; you do want to throw yourself at him. Instead, you take the flower and lean forwards, tucking it behind his ear before he can protest. He’d tilted closer to help you, and he sits back with an exasperated tsk when you’re done.

“It suits you,” you grin.

He yawns. “Everything does.”

You don’t want to get into trouble, so you shimmy to the very edge of your seat and carefully— showing tremendous restraint— reach out to take his face in your hands. “You’re amazing, Sy. Thank you for doing all of this for me, but…”

“But…?”

“I missed you. I like macarons, yeah,” you smile, “but I’d much rather have you.”

This time, he can’t hide his face and the way it goes pink, like the blossom behind his ear. His cheeks are warm beneath your palms. “You couldn’t have said that before I spent the whole day—”

His voice is strangled as you keel towards him— slow and deliberate— to thread your arms around him and pull him into a hug. He tenses for a moment, then wraps his arms around you too: holding you tightly, keeping you from falling any further. You can feel his hand stroking your back and he hums as you give him a gentle squeeze.

“Such a lovely moment, kitten,” he muses, your head on his shoulder. “I do hope it’s sincere, and not— say— an excuse for someone to get her paws on the macarons behind me.”

There’s another moment of quiet.

“Don’t be silly, Sy,” you retort, but your mouth is full, your cheeks are stuffed, and not a single word of it is intelligible.

[maryflorlovyblog]

"Trust is something that is not easy to achieve, because as they say, when you achieve something easy it will soon be destroyed. Just like a flower, and all its formation, all the care that must be taken, this is how trust is gained. There is a necessary amount of time, some flowers need more time, others don't, some need more attention, they are fragile, not detracting from others, but of course everyone has their own way. Patience is the word that defines the flowering, the various seedlings, that emerged. At this time, dialogue is like water that a flower needs to bloom, without it the flower will not even bloom, it will not bear fruit, without dialogue there will be no trust. Trust blooms at the right time, watered with dialogue, warmed with patience, generating love."🤍🥀

—Raqueline Landim

[brincandodeserfeliz]

Se mil vidas tivesse, mil vidas eu te daria." (Sta Teresa D´Avila)

Por Denise Landim abril 09, 2011

(Declaração de amor para Deus)

Se pudesse voltar no tempo e ter uma nova chance de escolher, te escolheria novamente. Se fosse para viver tudo de novo, viveria novamente. Sofreria mil vezes, deixaria tudo mil vezes, choraria mil vezes e perderia mil vezes para não te perder. Caminharia mais, viajaria mais, enfrentaria mil novos desafios e mil velhos desafios para te encontrar. Esperaria mais, confiaria mais e ofertaria mais para viver esse amor. Partiria minha vida em duas e abriria mão de todas as possibilidades para não abrir mão da tua vontade. Acolheria a ausência, escolheria a saudade e aceitaria a precariedade para te ter. Suportaria todas as injustiças novamente para conhecer a tua misericórdia por mim. E me cansaria mil vezes de novo para que uma só pessoa pudesse te ver. Entregaria os melhores anos e os melhores perfumes. Só me arrependeria de não te amar mil vezes mais. Recomeçaria tudo novamente em ti, mesmo com milhares de medos, milhões de fraquezas e pecados sem fim, pois tua graça é bem mais do que mil vezes maior do que eu. Tu me venceste milhões de vezes e mil vezes mais eu desejaria te deixar ganhar. Mil vezes novamente para ser feliz como tu me fazes. Se mil vidas tivesse, mil vidas daria a Ti.

🙌🙏

[fladecadanoticias]

ENTREVISTA RODOLFO LANDIM! ELE DISSE ISSO!

[gbzoes]

Ruben Landim

[h00dsw0rld]

Ruben Landim

[larcarioca]

VAI TOMAR NO CU, QUE TÉCNICO DESGRAÇADO PQP, ARRASCAETA E DE LA CRUZ TBM HEIN, VÃO SE FODER SUMIRAM DO JOGO, SO FALTA SER ELIMINADO NA COPA DO BRASIL, LANDIM E BRAZ ENTREM UM NO CU DO OUTRO E VÃO PRA PQP, LEVA A AMEBA DO DUNSHE JUNTO 😤😤😤 CONTRATA O ALCARAZ E NUM JOGO DESSE NÃO COLOCA, COMO EXPLICA ISSO?? KKKKKKKKKKK NÃO DA

[dubiousdisco]

(art by tapioca_doodles @ twitter)

silco making a speech about how the other football clubs, trying to drown vasco, demanded that this club without money had to have it's own stadium so it could be recognized, and the people supplied the money for it , creating são januário. now... now it's the enemies of the people who don't have a stadium. The maracanã is a stadium for the people, and the PEOPLE will use it. sign the document, Rodolfo Landim, president of flamengo, or learn how to swim

[newnoticiasjk]

Tragédia no Litoral Norte de SP: Saiba quem são as vítimas de temporal devastador #bolhaedu #bolhadev visite nosso portal de #noticias

Chuva fez vítimas em São Sebastião, cidade mais afetada, e em Ubatuba. Tragédia no Litoral Norte de SP: Saiba quem são as vítimas de temporal devastador Arquivo pessoal As chuvas que devastaram o Litoral Norte de São Paulo no fim de semana deixaram ao menos 44 pessoas mortas. Último balanço divulgado pela Defesa Civil registra 44 mortes em São Sebastião, cidade mais atingida da região, e uma em Ubatuba. A chuva que atingiu a o litoral paulista foi a maior registrada em 24 horas na história do país, segundo dados do Centro Nacional de Monitoramento e Alertas de Desastres Naturais (Cemaden) e do Instituto Nacional de Meteorologia (Inmet). Nesta terça-feira (21), as buscas por desaparecidos continuam em São Sebastião. 49 pessoas ainda não foram encontradas. O governo do Estado não divulgou uma lista com as vítimas fatais até a publicação da reportagem. O g1 apurou a identidade de 21 das vítimas mortas em São Sebastião e Ubatuba. Confira abaixo quem são as vítimas fatais da tragédia: Adrian José da Conceição Costa, de 11 anos, morador de São Pedro do Piauí (PI) Adriel de Sousa Costa, morador de São Pedro do Piauí (PI) Ângela Benício, moradora de São Sebastião (SP) Bruna Benicio, Maria Clara Benicio e Ângela Benício morreram soterrados na Vila Sahy, em São Sebastião Arquivo pessaol Ariosvaldo Paes Landim, de 46 anos, morador de São Braz do Piauí (PI) Ariosvaldo Paes Landim, 46 anos, está entre as vítimas da tragédia no litoral norte de SP Arquivo pessoal Beatriz Farias Macedo, de 26 anos, moradora de São Braz do Piauí (PI) Beatriz Farias Macedo, 26 anos, está entre as vítimas da tragédia no litoral norte de SP Arquivo pessoal Bruna Benicio, de 28 anos, moradora de São Sebastião (SP) Bruna Benicio, Maria Clara Benicio e Ângela Benício morreram soterrados na Vila Sahy, em São Sebastião Arquivo pessaol Dandara Vida Cazé, de 10 anos, moradora de Santo André (SP) Dandara Vida Cazé, de 10 anos, está entre as vítimas da tragédia no litoral norte de SP Divulgação/Arquivo pessoal Donaria Santos Figueiredo Eduardo Lionel Cristã, de 11 anos, morador de Santo André (SP) Eduardo Lionel Cristã, de 11 anos, está entre as vítimas da tragédia no litoral norte de SP Divulgação/Arquivo pessoal Ellyza Nayanne Celestino de Lima Fabiane Freitas de Sá Francisco Lara Gabriela Ribeiro Levy Santos de Oliveira Maria Clara Benicio, de 8 anos, moradora de São Sebastião (SP) Bruna Benicio, Maria Clara Benicio e Ângela Benício morreram soterrados na Vila Sahy, em São Sebastião Arquivo pessaol Maria dos Santos Gomes da Conceição, moradora de São Pedro do Piauí (PI) Laiza Vitória, de 7 anos, moradora de Ubatuba Laiza Vitória, de sete anos, vítima em Ubatuba TV Vanguarda/Reprodução Robério Lima Saldanha Rosângela Sandanha da Silva Samuel de Lima Silva Yan Allyab Celestino de Lima Veja fotos da situação em São Sebastião após chuvas Veja mais notícias do Vale do Paraíba e região bragantina

[coquette-sextette]

whenever I see the words Land and Animal next to each other i immediately say Landimal

[gazetadoleste]

Tarcísio sobe meta de privatizações em São Paulo e inclui área social

A despeito de protestos e confrontos de manifestantes com a Polícia Militar durante os leilões, o governador de São Paulo, Tarcísio de Freitas, elevou a meta de privatizações e concessões até o final do seu mandato. Segundo apurou a coluna de Raquel Landim, no portal UOL, Tarcísio informou à equipe da secretaria de Parcerias em Investimentos que deseja obter R$ 500 bilhões em obras para o Estado…

[sarasomehow]

27 de Outubro '22

Sentei-me agora na secretária, num movimento activo corporal de quem se quer obrigar a trabalhar, mas, first things first, vou ao Spotify escolher A música. E foi assim que aqui vim parar. Aqui, com as mãos no teclado a escrever e a duvidar do que escrevo, ao mesmo tempo. Hoje não sou a pessoa mais inspirada, mas sou a mais rabugenta, frustrada, inerte, e grata por obrigação (há que treinar o músculo) de Lisboa, e a cor com que o céu me reflete confirma-o. Há sequer uma música certa para este combo? Coldplay seria a escolha rápida, mas não quero puxar mais emoção ao dia, é arriscado. Recebo uma mensagem de um amigo, estes tempos trazem sempre o “negro”, a “depressão”, todos os anos o mesmo. Identifico-me, e abraçamos no virtual e na escuridão, tal como já abraçámos à frente do fogo e a rir, a roda viva da Vida é uma loucura. Começa a chegar Outubro, os meus anos, e é um resvalamento emocional de barriga no chão. Vem o acne, doí-me a existência e o capitalismo, não sei o que fazer do dia, choro por não ter feito o suficiente do dia, engordo (ou emagreço? já tentei fazer gráfico mas há um limite para o que consigo escrever com tanta água nos olhos). Sofro, como metade dos meus colegas seres humanos e a sua falta de Sol e vitamina D debaixo da pele. Lembro-me que já tenho uma lista no Spotify preparada para a ocasião, play, obrigada Sara do passado. As primeiras notas ficam a pairar entre o que oiço e o que sinto, e os astros começam a alinhar-se. A capa do álbum é a minha irmã e o gato Marquês (que a Magé foi buscar ao ganil - canil para gatos? - quando estava doente) em Landim, e lembro-me das saudades que tenho de muita coisa. Tal como tirar fotografias giras do que acontece por perto e quero guardar, e de as atirar para o insta para depois o visitar e sentir saudades de ainda mais coisas. Há quanto tempo é que não ponho lá nada mesmo? Vou ao google e levo com um número redondo na testa. 600 dias, assim, tumba. Descobri, assim de repente, o meu maior compromisso involuntário até à data (não contando com os anos de escolaridade obrigatória e o pneu abdominal). Involuntário, porque não foi algo que tenha decidido, num rasgo de decência para com a minha saúde emocional. Foi só acontecendo. Apeteceu-me cada vez menos participar no jogo do ver e ser visto, tudo me parecia demasiado editado e ruidoso. Comparava-me, contigo, contigo, e contigo, e mais tigo, e com quem vier a seguir na parede. Xau nessa Vanessa. Também não ajudou ter partido o telemóvel e andar com um substituto há meses que tem capacidade para 3 apps. Gira bicicletas, Maps, Spotify. Prioridades Vanessa. Quando o espaço escassa percebe-se o que realmente interessa. Até rima.