#and spoils some of my surprises

[aheathen-conceivably]

Wait so if this is a modern au....what does this mean for my favorite lesbians? Where are you hiding them? I miss them so much (joking, not about the missing them part because I do, so much. If you had them available for download I'd make them apart of my decades challenge gameplay in a heartbeat. The whole family actually it would be fun to see them as townies) - LGL

Well well well leave it to LGL to sniff out my behind the scenes plans…

What I WILL tell you is that I’m kind of going by what I laid out for the modern Darlingtons in this post. The timing isn’t quite right (since everyone has grown since I first wrote that and the timeline/ages need to be shifted accordingly) but it still gives you an idea of what everyone may be doing and where they are in this universe.

Now unfortunately that means your favorite lesbians are not together in this au, and we won’t be seeing George. However, I think I have a pairing that may make it up to you, dearest LGL.

[silverware-is-interesting]

WOE! object show doodles be upon ye!

idk some doodles and some ss redraws of object shows i enjoy

[shima-draws]

I finally got to the Sulong episode CARROT LOOKS SO GOOD LET’S GOOOOOOO

Also I love that the FIRST thing Nami says is “So beautiful 🥺” *points* LESBIAN

[caluupin]

Finished TGAAC around 2 1/2 weeks ago but only finished the doodles today. but still, here ya go!

[anicehomicidaltree]

Hello Stinky Dragon fandom!! I’m only about 10 episodes into the podcast but oh boy it’s so good

Bonus: small alt :]

wtf does green-brown eyes mean???

[jessicas-pi]

hey. david felony. why are you stealing my plot points.

[distance-does-not-matter]

Hey, Edinburgh, quick question. You’re gorgeous, btw, so happy to be here. Why don’t all your buses announce stops? Why must I simply psychically Know?

[waroferas]

oihhh my god. its over btw :(

[vicsy]

a 1.4k Strollonso ficlet in this trying time. some slightly tenderhorny introspection, really.

It’s in the way every living soul keeps patronizing him. 

It’s in the way, when Sebastian says his heartfelt goodbyes at the end of the season party, he clasps Lance’s shoulder and bids him good luck for the year to come. It has nothing to do with him driving; it’s about who he’ll be driving with. 

It’s in the way his father never gave him the talk but when Fernando Alonso gets signed to Aston Martin, Lawrence sits him down and they talk for an hour or two, touching on the entire history of the F1 that Lance knows already, for the love of god, and he’s pretty miserable by the time his dad sings praises to Fernando’s skills, underlining his holy like importance to the team. 

It’s in the way he can’t fucking log on twitter in the off-season without being hit by a barrage of insanity and, frankly, poorly made memes created to feed a certain narrative while Lance hasn’t even met Fernando in the role of his new teammate, even though they’ve shared the grid for years. 

Lance doesn’t really care; that is, basically, his whole brand and he lives the good life, untethered and unbothered, surrounded by wealth, love, a particular thrill.

And yet. 

Fernando Alonso is a perpetual wildcard and Lance builds his attitude around this little image, prepared for some sort of psychological warfare but it never happens. Fernando is in his space every day — testing, meetings, strategy planning; once at a get-along dinner his father planned. Lance should be bored and bitching his way out but he’s stuck with this enigma of a man, sitting in front of him, sharing a meal and some wine while Lawrence explains the unexplainable things the team did to the car. 

His mind wanders to the reasons he’ll be brushed off this season, just a young brat racing alongside a living legend again but then Fernando raises a toast and Lance’s name falls off his lips with that lilting accent and– 

It’s the wine or something in the air or a shell inside his chest that cracks open to let a little light in, all while Fernando talks, spilling niceties and compliments, and that image Lance built somewhat falls apart. 

Maybe it’s because Fernando hasn’t run him off the track yet or glared at him in a way some people that have been around long enough call a death stare; maybe Lance hasn’t spent enough time in his company to earn a reputation, to become a part of the feud that’ll go down in history. So many teams, he knows, have fallen by the wayside over less. 

Oh, but it’s such a good play because Fernando has eyes only for him like the rest don’t exist, and Lance finds himself caught like a fly in a glue trap, an object of his sole undivided attention, and Esteban fucking warned him profusely, that’s how Fernando operates. Lures you into a manic little game only he can win. 

And all those precautions are mushed together in Lance‘s brain, he knows, he knows but Fernando’s usual sharpness doesn’t cut him into bits and pieces, the lack of malice he was preparing to meet like an unwanted guest non-existent in the space between them, in the constant close proximity. It’s confusing and Lance is a shit actor. He can’t bring himself to feign ignorance or pretend to put on the face of someone he’s not. 

The picture everyone paints of Fernando is skewed, so when Lance catches a glimpse of his true colors, all of his plans to stick it to the man burst at the seams, crumbling like a house of cards. 

For all of Lance’s naivety, for how easily he follows down that narrow path, it’s a rush no money can buy. A touch here, a not-so-friendly pat there, a show of teeth in a smile that is lethal and Lance knows Fernando wants a taste, craves to do so much more, something unspeakable, something that could turn into the nastiest paddock gossip to this day but it’s exhilarating — knowing he does that to a man by simply existing. Knows that, maybe, he wants it, too. 

And it doesn’t take them long to fall into the bed together or, rather, it’s Lance who falls, perhaps for some elaborate scheme Fernando is running on him because who is he if not a villain with a plan for mayhem. 

And yet. 

It’s in the way Fernando softly kisses both his wrists, carefully thumbs at the bandages, smoothing them with furrowed brow, and Lance feels like he might get shattered by that fondness reserved just for him. 

It’s in the way he makes a face at another flock of reporters, forever annoyed by the implications they keep oh so implicit, but a private smile tugs at the corners of his lips the moment Fernando appears behind him, a palm splayed wide on the small of his back, his own smile shark-like when he says how great Lance is doing, how the team is proud of the work he puts in. 

It’s in the way he feels more than an heir to the old money, more than his privilege and some character quirks that label him as spoiled when they are alone, Lance’s long legs pillowed in Fernando’s lap and the lights are dimmed with just a TV on. He makes a dumb joke, fighting a flutter in his chest, and Fernando laughs unabashedly, swatting his thigh while all the jostling causes his phone to slip between the couch cushions, the old race reruns playing out muted in the background. 

And every time Fernando pushes into him unhurriedly, surrounded by the faceless hotel room walls, it washes away everything Lance is constantly bottling down inside; the little flame burns brighter with each languid thrust, with a hand between his shoulder blades, with a kiss placed at the back of his neck. Fernando holds him through it insanely close as Lance pants into the pristine white sheets, wet from stray tears and come, patches soaked through under his trembling knees. 

And every time Fernando gets rough with him, hand coming down hard on his reddened ass because Lance had been in a mood, riling Fernando up, giving as good as he gets, to the point where he ends up bent in half, cock straining and weeping from each slap, each word reaching his ears seeped in unearthly lust. The breakneck speed of a racing car doesn’t quite match the adrenaline hit, doesn’t reduce Lance to whimpers and croaky moans, doesn’t push him to the edge of begging. 

And every time Fernando spends what feels like hours cleaning him up and licking traces of his orgasm off Lance’s skin before plopping down next to him, sweaty and out of breath, sucking a mark into his neck, Lance feels like his floating, finally out of his head. Fernando teases him with a twinkle in his eyes, forever kind where he looks at him, and Lance playfully bites his shoulder in return, then smiles into the pillow before sleep claims him, a heavy arm thrown over his waist, grounding him. 

And it’s Fernando, Fernando, Fernando — every time, all the time, and Lance finds himself suddenly caring, wanting, feeling like he doesn’t wish for it to end, ever. Like losing at this game they play is worth having a life inside a life; something real and fragile and raw encapsulated between who they both are to the outside world. 

And yet. 

It spins out of control like a car on a wet track, rules to the game Lance never bothered to learn forgotten and discarded, but he knows, among the sound of the engine running, the buzzing lamp in the meeting room, or the commotion just before a race. He knows, somewhere among all the sneaking around, stealing time together under the guise of team building, the false pretense got stripped away from Fernando’s actions. Lance knows, dares to look past the man behind a legacy, past a villainous haze. 

It’s in the way Lance knows they’ve abandoned the chase, the thrill, or it left them without as much as a warning. 

It’s in the way Lance seeks Fernando out with his eyes only to find him already staring at him, reading his features like an open book, his heart beating out of sync.

It’s in the way there is no turning back but Lance only looks forward and Fernando is holding his hand over the car console, squeezing his knee under the table at dinner while no one is looking, embracing him from behind with a kiss to his bare shoulder blade while the ribbons of morning light stream through the kitchen window. 

It just leaves Lance wondering. 

How can someone love so loud, so deafening, without a single word. 

[yourlocalgrass]

Awwww he’s such a sweetheart 🥹-

Brat.

[fortunatelyenchantingtaco]

I am buried by depression and i need to clean my kitchen laundry and study for exams i have barely a week left BUT here is some wip cause i have no time to sit and write down the Big Events of Satoru getting a body but i sure as hell can add snippets of before and after. As a little treat :)

[phier]

Unending Grief

[errantgoat]

Ok, I decided it was time and ascended my Astarion and...

...you know what, nevermind. I might do the breakup route. I'm not finishing this romance. Harvey would never. Ever. He would never become a spawn willingly for this creep.

Still the breakup lines were too perfect and I think I replayed the conversation at least 3-4 times.

The aftermath talk...well, it ended up on something that did sound like a threat. There is a very strong possibility Astarion will come for Tav when everything is over, just because he was refused. And Tav will not end up the favoured spawn then. Oh no no. Killed or just a pathetic wretch.

That gives me ideas.

[taibhsearachd]

Okay, having finished Glass Onion, it is a masterpiece on par with Knives Out...

I will actually lose my shit if I don’t get a romcom fic of Benoit Blanc and what’s-his-name Hugh Grant.

[marinsawakening]

I can't wait to see your opinions on Twilight Princess tbh /genuine

I can't wait to see MY opinions on Twilight Princess tbh

[mildmayfoxe]

made banana chocolate chip pancake & slathered em in butter & my mom’s homemade red currant jelly & also homemade smoked maple syrup