#but i will LEArn

[sandflakedraws]

saturates the otp

[maxcuntstappen]

Landoscar, exes to lovers

"Is this a fucking joke?" Lando spits out, way too loud for the setting he finds himself in.

Always quick to meet him where he's at, Oscar replies, dry as ever, "Well, if it is, it's not a very funny one, is it?"

Lando's eyes narrow, a burning irritation as well as a familiar yet unwanted itch of adoration in his throat.

He feels frozen, watching the used-to-be love of his life dressed to the nines, sitting at the dinner table where Lando was supposed to meet his blind date.

It's stupid to think back on it, how excited Lando was for tonight. It's been a while since he's been out to a romantic dinner and he was genuinely looking forward to this.

And it's fucking annoying how perfect everything is. The bouquet of carnations on the table wrapped in white and yellow tissue, the soft music playing in the background in a foreign language so Lando cannot get distracted by it, the candle light giving the illusion of privacy even while being surrounded by other tables with other couples.

Everything is quite nice. Besides fucking Oscar Piastri being at the other side.

"Are you just gonna stand there?" Oscar asks, making Lando realise that he truly is just standing there.

To be fair, what the fuck is he supposed to do? Sit down and have a lovely, romantic night with the guy who broke his heart?

Fuck no.

"Fuck no. I am leaving," Lando says.

Oscar sighs, his shoulders sinking down a bit, "Okay."

Lando turns around and walks out, trying not to think about how he wished Oscar had asked for him to stay.

--

Oscar didn't have particularly high hopes for his night.

He's a realist. He's well aware that his run of terrible date nights aren't going to come to a sudden halt on a blind date set up by fucking Logan Sargeant out of all people.

But he didn't think it would go as badly as this.

This being his ex-boyfriend showing up, hair curly as ever and face prettier than Oscar's mind could ever conjure up.

He's going to fucking murder Logan.

But those are his future plans.

For now, he asks for a bottle of red from the waitress, signs the cheque for it, ignores her curious yet pitying stare, and fucking walks out of that stupidly perfect restaurant.

Oscar takes a sip of the wine as he waits for his Uber to show.

"Dude, just taking a fucking cab. Don't be such a wannabe show-off," Logan had said to him when Oscar had complained about not having any of his transport of his in Monaco.

Fucking dickhead.

He knew Oscar was meeting Lando and he still made life difficult for him.

Oscar's going to run Logan's car into the wall. Road or F1, it doesn't matter. Logan's body is going to be finding a new home.

Oscar's made his way half-way through the bottle of wine, phone clutched in hand loading and searching and locating, when an obnoxiously bright McLaren pulls up in front of him.

The driver side's door opens, a familiar head of curls on an all too-familiar body popping out.

"D'ya need a ride?" Lando asks, sounding like each word causes him physical distress to let out.

Oscar should say no, should laugh in Lando's face and tell him to fuck off, should be mean and avoidant, really lay it on thick that Lando really fucking hurt him, walking away the way he did last time. And then again tonight.

He really should.

And yet, all he does is nod, stepping off the pavement and into the car.

--

"What do you have there?" Lando asks, eyeing the bottle of wine Oscar is so carefully cradling in his arms.

"Wine," Oscar says, about to offer some to Lando before glancing at the steering wheel and thinking better off of it.

He needs to make it home safe to be able to put Logan into the wall.

It's so...strange. How awkward and painful the silence feels, how the air is heavy and thick, stale and unmoving.

Yet the scent of Lando's car is familiar, so is the feel of the leather underneath him, the playlist playing in the background definitely one he's heard before.

It makes sense, Oscar's cologne mixing with Lando's.

It makes sense and it's devastating.

It's too much, all the conflicting emotions, getting to Oscar and making him open his big, stupid mouth to ask some big, stupid questions.

"So, a blind date, huh?" Oscar asks, "Didn't think you were that kind of guy."

Lando's eyes narrow and Oscar already knows that something nasty is going to follow. Lando is still so easy for him to read.

"I was just asking, Lan, it wasn't a dig or anything," Oscar jumps in, saving himself and Lando from the vitriol of the words that were sure to follow.

Lando glances at him, a lot surprised and a little bit... fond.

Yes. Fond.

Unfortunately, while Oscar can read Lando's expressions, he cannot read his mind.

So he really has no idea what he's said that makes Lando soften up, makes him ease his fingers around the steering wheel, his shoulders falling away from his ears, relief apparent in every part of him.

"I don't know," Lando replies, "Thought I'd try something different."

There's more to it, Oscar knows, but he's not privy to that kind of information anymore. So he bites down on the urge to ask.

He hums, "Yeah. Me too," he pauses, wondering if he should just let the conversation die down, let this crazy night come to an end in silence as Lando drops him to the Hilton Lando knows Oscar stays at when he's in Monaco.

But while he cannot get more from Lando, it doesn't meet he cannot give more.

And he wants to. Give, that is.

Even after everything, he would always want to give give give when it comes to Lando.

"It's been hard," Oscar begins, swallowing, forcing the nerves down his throat, "to go on dates that actually..." mean something, can hold a light to what ours were like, don't make me want to run and call you and tell you we got this all wrong but we can always get it right, "enjoyable."

Oscar watches as Lando glances at him from the corner of his eye. He watches Lando bite down hard on his bottom lip. Watches the bob of his throat and the twitch of his nose.

Lando has always been so beautiful, so pretty and handsome. A perfect mix of harsh lines and soft corners. A flawless design.

To be in close proximity to him after so long of being apart, Oscar feels overwhelmed by all of him. Feels like he needs to cover his eyes with his hands and peek through his fingers, ensure that he is only taking in a little of Lando's beauty at a time, savour it bit by bit while making sure he doesn't lose his mind over the curl hanging over Lando's right eye.

--

It shouldn't surprise him. Oscar's admission.

It really shouldn't.

Oscar had always been braver one between them, always more comfortable with being vulnerable, being open.

It's one of the things Lando loves about him.

Loved.

Loved about him.

Well.

Loves, he guesses, if the clenching of his heart is anything to go by.

"Yeah," Lando chokes out, his voice cracking and causing him to flush, "It's been the same for me."

The silence envelopes them again, and it's not as tense as before, but it's not where Lando wants them to be at either.

"It's not the same," Lando admits, pretending to glance at the right side mirror to catch a glimpse of Oscar's face, "You know..."

He cannot say 'as it was with you'. He cannot.

It would ruin him.

"Not the same as?"

Fuck Oscar for always being so good at pulling the softness out of Lando, at making him want to open up and show him parts that he would normally try to not even think of.

"As it was with us," Lando says, voice so low it's nearly a whisper.

He knows Oscar hears it anyway, can see the instant reaction of the tightening of the arms around his precious wine bottle, the shifting and moving of his body to slightly turn to face Lando.

Lando wonders whether Oscar notices he's doing it, opening up his body to Lando. Whether it was a conscious choice, or a habit, or maybe an uncontrolled but called-for reaction.

"It really isn't," Oscar says.

The air in the car is heavy, but not in the way it was when they left the restaurant. This one is more electric, more charged, just a pinprick needed to make it all rain down.

Lando wants to shove at it as hard as he can.

The next exit leads to the Hilton.

Lando drives pass it, and the spark goes off.

[bbloveseevees]

God working on an FNF song makes me realize I don’t know how FL Studio works

[inkbot-art]

Turns out, when I actually put TIME and EFFORT in... I can make nice looking drawings?!

[vixywitch]

Learning art sucks cause i will beat myself up so much over something and then i will actaully put effort in and learn i do have some of the skill needed already

[love4-bunny]

This!!!

[vesselandmoon]

Sundowning

The light was fading too fast.

There should be storm clouds on the horizon. The scent of rain in the air. He should be able to hear thunder as it approached and yet there were birds softly chirping in the trees, a clear sky, the promise of a calm night for all... but him.

Tension built in Vessel's spine with every passing moment, his breathing too loud, the high pitched buzz in his ears growing in intensity. Encroaching darkness shrouded the room in shadows, making it impossible for him to see the physical objects he had surrounded himself with. Every photograph, every trinket, every reminder of who he was, indecipherable.

All he could see were the colors of sunset out the window, a false fire through the trees and yet he felt anxiety in his gut like a blaze was rushing toward him. Seeking to devour.

He could feel it.

Sleep's approach.

There was nothing to do but pace. He couldn't stop the sun from setting, he couldn't fight the urge to sleep forever and yet... did he truly want to fight it? Did he truly want to fight the overwhelming inclination to give in? Doing so meant surviving another night, free from the loneliness that sought to devour him.

He could choose to see Sleep as a protector. A shield against his own dark thoughts and desires. At least he wouldn't be alone.

Vessel couldn't deny the comfort in that. In knowing that Sleep would always come for him but... but with the dawn there came clarity. In the light of day there was doubt. Without the desperate outstretched arms that sought to be embraced, was a deep feeling of isolation. A numb sensation that weighed his chest down like he was full of stone. An experience he might argue balanced the yearning for what Sleep had to offer... even if there was a whisper in his ear that told him it was a lie.

She stood in the hallway, one with shadows. The whisper against Sleep. He clenched his jaw, teeth cracking, a strange low creak that brought pain. He could almost see her fangs in the void, the questioning smile he imagined she might possess. Fuck her. Rage overtook him, a hand seeking anything in the darkness around him and he grabbed the first thing he touched and sent it crashing into the hallway. Driving her away.

Shattered glass spoke of destroyed fragility. Something of value... what had he ruined?

Shadows deepened and his heart raced, the energy pent up in him exceeding what was expended by pacing alone. Even destruction hadn't stripped the husk of tension around him. Vessel chewed his lip until he tasted blood, shuddering at what Sleep might say about it. How it might be used against him. Or worse, what the Whisper might say. Fists shook with a growing rage that send chills up his arms and threatened to unleash in fury. Against Sleep, against the Whisper, against himself...

His trembling hand found his throat, pulse violent and erratic.

This was normal. This blinding desire. It was normal.

Normal.

He was supposed to yearn like this. Burn like this. He was supposed to be on the edge of reality, living and breathing to worship a being which offered him...

He inhaled sharply and stopped at the open doorway, hearing wind through the trees, crickets and frogs singing and held his breath.

Offering what?

Offering him... Sleep offered him...

The light faded entirely and he could feel a prickling in the air. Loneliness was just outside, watching him, wanting to sink it's teeth in and leave him helpless on the floor and yet Sleep was behind him. Entered without his knowledge. Giving him an escape. Anything was better than this.

Vessel closed his eyes and allowed Sleep to embrace him, fading into comfort as loneliness laughed from the door.

[convivialantics]

Felicitations, humble being perhaps beyond even my own superior comprehension abilities!

Perhaps my title is of little significance to you, but I am quite the renowned— ehem, revered— figure within the realm I call home. But my status as an all-powerful, ever-adored Lord is neither here nor there… 

Being that I, the continuously brilliant Lord Affectiohnid, have so lovingly pioneered the introduction of the “internet” and peddled it forth to the less, ehm… cognitively gifted, inhabitants of the Love Dominion over which I rule, I believe it only fair that I further my discoveries of non-monster tradition by starting what “otherworlders” refer to as a.. blog. The full purpose of this “blog” is still unknown to even the likes of myself— appalling, I know— but do trust that this will be remedied in time.

My stellar and most capable aide-slash-royal-advisor, Nymphid, will occasionally weigh in on this “blog” as well, in particular during times where she claims I am “going into fits of hysteria”, though.. I cannot quite grasp what her implications are, regarding that statement. 

Inquire about whatever you’d like regarding me, my rule, my scientific endeavors, my subjects, or even my fellow rulers—though, when faced with majesty of my caliber, why concern yourself with mere underlings?— but kindly keep it SFW.

[floating-far-from-earth]

image ID: an image of Kai from ninjago patting Kid Lloyd's head while looking at him fondly. Kai is saying "I'm proud of ya bud."

welp this is finished enough to put here hi I'm interested in the ninja show now

[would-holden-caulfield-like-nge]

Trentie in front of the doors

[starbirdciraus]

Hey wassup, it's me again with another attempt for artfight

[bun-bie]

Just experimental art with blood and gore, clearly I have much left to learn about how blood works and interacts with fabric. Though that's practice :]

Drawing under the cut cause of the gore and blood

[catmask]

i dont consider myself a 'fashion guru' by any means but one thing i will say is guys you dont need to know the specific brand an item you like is - you need to know what the item is called. very rarely does a brand matter, but knowing that pair of pants is called 'cargo' vs 'boot cut' or the names of dress styles is going to help you find clothes you like WAAAYYYY faster than brand shopping

[astronomalyy]

parenting

[phantom-shell]

Fiddleford found one of his old shirts