#i'm being dead serious right now

[captainjonnitkessler]

Do you think I can get my union to vote to start covering massages under our health insurance? Like we cover chiropractic, which is potentially dangerous pseudoscience whose maximum benefit is making your back feel better for a couple of days, so I don't see why I shouldn't be allowed to get the same benefit at a massage parlor WITHOUT the possibility of some quack breaking my neck

[bitegore]

Zionists want you to conflate Judaism and Zionism. Zionists want you to believe that Judaism cannot exist without Zionism and that all Jews are Zionists. Zionism would have Jews believe that a Jewish state is the only way that they can be safe from antisemitism and will point to any instance of antisemitism as proof that Zionism is the solution- so Zionism wants gentiles to be antisemitic in their support of Palestine. They want you to conflate all Jews with Zionism and the state of Israel, and they want you to treat all Jews regardless of political affiliation as the face of Israel. Antizionist Jews exist, and incidences of antisemitism ostensibly acting against Zionism will not help dismantle the forces propping Zionism up.

Don't do their work for them.

[hundredsspoons]

Do we ever get an explanation for why Midvalley can kill people with his saxophone.... or is that something nobody really questions

[caterjunes]

now, i KNOW people are sooo horny for prince sidon. and i *guess* i get it? but my standout interactions with him were

him repeatedly interrupting me as i'm sneaking & battling desperately upstream through the rain towards zora's domain, to remind me that he's there, watching, not helping me, being unceasingly chipper

him giving me inadequate instructions to prepare for the attack on vah ruta, leading to me having no idea what the deal with the giant ice cubes is or how to handle them, resulting in me immediately getting hit by said cubes. at which point he contemptuously shouted "GET A GRIP, LINK" at me.

[ehlnofay]

aromantics need to take over every industry NOW

[superbpersonpeanut]

I'm in my internship and have to look up obscure sports and I stumbled upon unicycle hockey.

So let me propose this: Andreil AU where everything is the same, except that they play unicycle hockey instead of exy

[tapakah0]

YOU DID IT WHEEEEEEEZE Okay without jokes I have been reading random stories and other stuff where everyone had like a family trauma or one parent leave or no parents at all and so on. And even if someone had a normal family they were sidekicks. That started annoying me and I was wondering if I will see in the future something like THIS. Another point to you WHEEEEEEEEZE I LOVE IT

Part 15 :0

I think this is the last part of this episode ahahaha

In case you're wondering, Oscar's parents are happily married and absolutely in love with each other. All parents. All four. of them.

And he has three younger siblings he absolutely adores~

Previous

Masterpost Ref for their fucked up villain family tree

[vaguenotions]

Oh, yes, I just love your unannounced sleepover where you both come back from the bar after carefully avoiding telling me that's where you were going, and also neglecting to tell me when you'd be home! I definitely do not want to knock you on your ass and take a bat to your dome! That would be rude and unnecessary :)

Oh yes, please do start talking about shit amongst yourselves and make me feel isolated and othered in ny own room! These moments are what I live for, of course. Naturally. Who would ever have any issues with this arrangement at all?

[selfshipping-haven]

I do wonder if I'm being ratioed....

[windupaidoneus]

also i think they got together post zaki death because before that it was complicated & messy but not in a like toxic way or anything it was just like obligations & sides & whatever like. zaki having been ssg for so long & his loyalty remaining to kondo first & foremost despite everything even as he worked in zura's joui faction. i do think everyone in the ssg got character assassinated when zaki died BUT rolling along with it means that the only person who saw it for what it is (as in. someone dying & the actual gravity of it) is the one guy who was committed to. this bit. this guy. the bit guy. the guy who is a bit. do you HEAR ME am i alone in here am i sensible hello

[poguehearted77]

Imagine y’all just had the fight of your lives (maybe over his dumb gun or something equally Rafe), but later when you’re lying on opposite sides of the bed, he reaches out and pulls you close and says somthing cute or annoying idk And then, oh my GOD—it’s slow, emotional, and HOT because making up with Rafe would be next-level intense. please i NEEED😫😩

OH MY GOD YES. SOME SWEET RAFE AND EVEN SWEETER MAKE UP SEX AFTER A HUGE FIGHT. NEED IT.

#2 from my drabble game

smut: penetrative sex, some praise, I love you's, unprotected sex

Rafe is in deep shit.

You know that, he knows that-- hell, even your pet beagle, Poppy knew it. For once, she bolted away the moment the front door opened, and your oh-so-handsome, conniving and deceitful boyfriend walked in instead of running towards him.

Rafe is a dead man walking. How ironic would it be if he were to die at your hands with the very same gun he'd promised you he'd gotten rid of.

His body goes rigid when he sees the weapon in your palm. A nervous gulp falls down his throat as he does his best to stand tall. "Where did you get that?" That's what he asks you, he should've never opened his mouth.

You scoff immediately, carelessly angling it around as your upset mannerisms control your arms. "Get it? You mean where did I find it." He doesn't respond which is a wise choice.

"Mr. Montogommery called me earlier, he was looking for you--said you weren't answering your phone. He asked me to leave you a message," You're pacing now, and it made Rafe nervous. You're a little crazy, but so was he. It's why you went so well together.

"Like the good girlfriend I am, I opened your office drawer for a sticky note to leave on your desk, but what did I find? The same gun you told me would never be back in the house, Rafe are you serious?!" Your arms are flailing and he's half-certain he'll catch a stray by the end of the conversation.

He steps towards you with his hands up cautiously, "Baby, give me the gun, and we can talk about this." You snap, "No! Why should I? You don't trust me with it? Why because it's dangerous? Because it could kill you! You're right, Rafe. Why didn't I think of that sooner--oh wait, I did! And you fucking lied to me, Rafe."

Your voice is enraged and bouncing off the ivory-panelled walls of the house but it dies down to a shaky one as tears threaten to spill over the brims of your eyes. "Y/n-" He holds his hand out for you, but you give him the gun instead.

You execute a sharp pivot on the tips of your toes, ready to walk away from him but he finally speaks up and you stop--not turning around, standing still, anticipating. "I'm not getting rid of the gun." It's all he says.

Had you been in the mood, you would've turned around, lounged at him and strangled him, but no, you just kept walking.

Your bedroom is freezing that night, despite it being the middle of summer, and it only gets colder everytime you glance towards Rafe as he gets ready for the bed you begrudgingly shared.

Your expression remains sour, even in your sleep, no matter how far away from your boyfriend you are. There's enough room to fit a full-grown adult between you. The isolation was holding the production of your melatonin hostage, forcing you both to lay awake, backs facing each other but hearts reaching out.

Rafe flips onto his side, staring longingly at the back of your frame. He missed you and you were right in front of him. "Baby," His voice is soft, and the pet name lands on you gently, a testament that your anger has subsided a bit.

You turn over, choosing to lie on your back and face the ceiling. You deem that he's undeserving to see your face at the moment. "I've got another gun in my nightstand." You blamed your miscomprehension on the late hours of the night because surely he did not just say what you think he said.

Rafe can see the way your chest began to rise and fall at a much more shallow pace, he had about five seconds to start explaining before you turned on him. "I told you about my past. I've done some bad things. 'Burying the hatchet' doesn't exist for everyone, and I want to be prepared for anything. When I look at a gun now, it's not a weapon anymore, it's a tool. It's protection."

Your breathing slowed, a little. He takes it as a good sign. "I can't lose you. If something happened to you when I could've prevented it, I'd never forgive myself, and I know you know that." He's right. You did know that. He dedicated his life to you, making sure that you knew that. "I shouldn't have lied about getting rid of it, and I'm sorry."

Your breathing returns to its normal pace. You lay on your side, now facing him. "Fine." Rafe scoots closer to you, a small grin working its way on his lips. "Fine?" You nod, "Yeah, fine. I forgive you, this time, but don't you ever pull some shit like this again or so help me god I will-" He quiets you with a sweet kiss.

Well, it started sweet at least.

Now you're both watching him slide in. Your warm cunt wrapped around his length delightfully. "You're fuckin' perfect, too good f'me." He groans into your ear. His muscular arms cage you in, and you've decided you'd be more than happy to die between them.

Your soft moans bounced off his brawny chest and right back in your face, "Feels so good, Rafe-" Yougaspedp as he picked up the pace, hips rolling into yours for a much deeper angle. Your back arches off the bed slightly as sweat rolls down your back and sticks to the sheets.

It wasn't long before you were both chasing your highs. Rafe always sounded so fucking hot when he was close, his deep groans pitching up to breathless whines when you purposefully clenched around him, threatening him to fill you up unrestrained. Once you came, he pulled out and finished on your heaving stomach, catching your breath.

He doesn't get off of you just yet. He balances himself on one forearm as the other hand comes up to gently move the strands of hair from your face, "I love you," he means it, his eyes say it when his mouth does. "I love you".

[m1dn1ght-r0t]

Eyes Wrapped in Wool

Yandere! (ex) husband x amnesiac! fem reader

TW: manipulation, toxic/abusive behavior, mentions of (potential) forced imprisonment, coercion A/N: pretty sure amnesia doesn't work this way (i'm no medical professional) but pls suspend disbelief for the sake of the plot ahahah

Your husband never expected things to turn out this way. But by some stroke of luck—or perhaps divine intervention—you ended up bed-ridden in the ICU, suffering from multiple bone fractures and a terrible, oh-so-terrible, traumatic brain injury. Just last week you were talking his ear off about how you've had enough. How you were done with him controlling what you could wear or who you could see, his suffocating clinginess that devolved into explosive rages when you spent time focusing on work or with friends instead of with him, the negging, the snooping, the smashed plates... Jesus Christ. You just never knew when to shut the fuck up, did you? At some point he had stopped listening. Chalked off your dramatic tirade as nothing more than you acting up because of your period—merely white noise. How many times have you guys had this same broken record conversation? Yeah, he knew this marriage wasn't smooth-sailing. If it were, you'd be less opinionated, less bitchy, more pliant, more dutiful. But what relationship was ever perfect? So, he waited for you to run out of steam, as you inevitably do, before adding salt to the wound:

“You know baby, if you weren’t parading around in those slutty clothes of yours and acted your grown age for once, I wouldn’t be behaving that way.”

The scrunch of disbelief mixed with disgust on your face only spurred him to double down. “And maybe if you actually committed to this marriage like a devoted wife would, rather than prioritize your career and practically everyone over me—your husband, need I remind you—then we wouldn’t be having these issues. Ever considered that, hm?” He purposely dragged out his words, a patronizing lilt to his tone, in hopes of reminding that thick, dumb skull of yours that he always knew best.

It wasn't until you had thrusted the divorce papers in his face that he grew silent, the severity of the situation beginning to creep in. ...What? You couldn't actually be serious... right? This was just some lover's spat. A temporary blip that'd be smoothed over with a few intentionally placed saccharine words and hot make-up sex. Like always. So why the fucking theatrics? Are you really gonna be a bitch about this and d— When you slammed the front door shut with your packed bags in tow, leaving him to stew in your parting words—that you deserved better, so much better than him, and that if he didn't sign the papers, he'd be hearing from your lawyer—did the gravity of it all finally sink in. By the end of the week, your voicemail was battered by his countless furious messages. Are you done being a flighty little piece of shit, huh? What the fuck do you think you're doing? I swear to god, baby, I'm gonna drag your ass back here. And if I have to lock you in some basement and chain your hands and legs so you'd never think to leave me again, then so fucking be it. Divorce? Yeah right. Over my dead fucking body. Then came an unknown call. It was like whiplash, really, to first hear that you had been involved in a major car crash, and then, upon rushing to the hospital at neck-breaking speed— "I'm afraid she has retrograde amnesia", the doctor solemnly informed him. He could cry. Oh, he could fucking cry.

On the outside, anyone could see how distraught he was, his hands trembling as he processed the diagnosis, eyes glistening with unshed tears. Poor husband that he was, having almost lost his beloved wife in a freak accident, he now had to deal with the news that she didn't remember who he was. Inside, however, raged a war he couldn't reconcile: what was harder? Holding back the tears, or pretending those very tears were out of sadness rather than pure, unbridled joy? Because what this neatly packaged situation had presented him with was a do-over, a chance to mend the broken marriage teetering on the cusp of divorce. And like hell he's about to let you throw away a three-year connection like some ungrateful cunt when he loves you so, very much.

~

"Hey sweetheart, how are you feeling?"

As he walks up beside your hospital bed, he can't help but revel at how vulnerable you look. The slight furrow in your brows hinting at your confusion, the way you curl in on yourself as if to protect yourself from who is no doubt a complete stranger in your eyes, and your meek "Who are you?"—a far cry from the usual feisty, snarky attitude you used to dish out.

But perhaps most rewarding of all is the tentative gaze you offer him, eyes filled with a sort of curious glimmer, free from the hostility, disappointment, and hurt you'd flashed his way. You didn't look at him with hate. You simply want to know who he is.

Oh, aren't you precious? He'll gladly feed you his carefully spun narrative until you're full of nothing but adoring love for him—the embers of your thoughts about divorce and leaving him snuffed out for good.

"I know how confusing all of this must be for you. Take all the time you need. I'll be right here with you, as your husband, helping you fill the gaps, okay baby?" He delivers this with as much patience as he can muster, softening the edges of his words to avoid spooking you. But you're not soothed. If anything, you're more overwhelmed than ever. "M-my husband?" You echo, tasting the foreign word, sticky like warm toffee on your tongue.

"And...and my family? Where are they?" Your disorientation is a sight for sore eyes; how badly he wants to devour you right now. “Dead,” he intones, a script he’d been desperate to act out ever since you said your vows. The jarring news pulls a barely audible whimper from you, your eyes widening a fraction.

Shit. Too cold. Too careless.

His expression softens, the corners of his mouth tugging downward in a facsimile of sorrow as he injects a note of pity into his voice. “They died when you were very young, you see. I’m sorry.” He’s really not.

"What…? How could that be? So my p-parents, they're both—" Your breath hitches, tears welling at the corner of your eyes.

At that, he gently grabs your bandaged arm, wanting to comfort you. But when you flinch slightly, he has to resist the urge to snap at you—Oh, cry me a river. Who the fuck cares?? I'm right here, aren't I? I'm right here, damnnit, so look at me!

Instead, he tempers the resentment that's still fresh in his heart after the divorce stunt you'd pulled by reminding himself that he's supposed to be your kind and gentle partner.

So he settles for cradling your hand in both of his like it's fine china, grazing his lips over your fingertips. "But you have me, sweetheart. And I'm not going anywhere."

He half expects you to question his story—it wasn’t very convincing, even to his own ears—prepared to be barraged by your endless streams of “No, you’re wrong!”, “I don’t believe you!” or some other similar outburst.

But when all you do is gaze up at him with cinched brows, seeking reassurance, blinking at him so sweetly with your hand still snugly warmed in his, he pauses. That’s it? No suspicion, no skepticism, no outburst? Hah! He has to physically restrain himself from snorting because how fucking easy can this get?

Maybe the collision had completely scrambled your brains, rewired you to be more stupid, a little slower—exactly how he likes you.

"You trust me, right?"

And when he feels that subtle twitch of your fingers—what he gathers is your attempt at squeezing his hand back for confirmation—accompanied by the sight of your small, almost shy nod, he breaks out into a giddy smile at how utterly adorable you’re being.

Fuck, it’s hard not to already feel high off these micro-doses of innocence and receptiveness from you. Emboldened by your intoxicatingly sweet naivety, he dares to be a little greedier, creeping to perch on the edge of your bed, his hand now moving to cup your cheek.

“You have no idea how worried sick I was when I got the call. I thought you had…” He trails off, his implication clear. His face is mere inches from yours now, breaths as featherlight as his fingertips mapping every divot on your face.

“I love you.” He drags his thumb across your bottom lip, the act agonizingly slow. “So, so, so much.” Each whisper spills out heavier than the last, mirroring the increasing pressure of his thumb—your lip almost bruising from how hard he’s pinching them.

How long has it been? He can’t remember the last time he felt the warmth of your touch, your skin… eons too long without your pillowy lips pressed against his has left him completely starved.

“You can’t leave me…” A murmur too quiet to pick up. His gaze, now half-lidded, drifts downward in a drunken daze. “My wife. My good little wife. You love me too, right?”

Without warning, he leans in to close the minuscule gap.

And it’s all too fast and soon because you can feel the suffocating heat of his proximity, the chilling shared breath floating between the tight space. It’s all too much. So, in the last second, you hesitate, pulled from your stupor as you turn your head away.

But he’s not having it. Not when you’re already in the palm of his hand and he’s so fucking close. When he can already taste the opportunity to finally take out the trash and parasites leeching off you, to call up that godforsaken shithole you call a stable, steady-paying job and quit on your behalf, to have you all to himself—a blank slate to knock up with several kids and mold into the perfect little housewife he's always wanted you to be. God, he's already hard at the thought.

Grabbing your jaw firmly, he jerks your face back towards him, thumb roughly wedging between your lips and prying your mouth open.

“Baby.” The endearment spills out, sharp and cold, stripped of any warmth it might've once held.

His gentle veneer cracks ever so slightly, and for the briefest moment, you see something else. A flicker beneath the mask—raw, ugly, messy. It gnaws at the edges of your mind, dredging up something you can’t quite grasp. A memory?

“Gimme a small kiss, hmm?” Despite the smile on his face, there is no kindness to it. Just a twisted caricature warning you that you shouldn’t push further.

All of a sudden you feel like you can’t breathe, weighed down by the unsettling intensity of his stare. The man in front of you—the one claiming he's your husband and calling you “baby,” the one touching you—feels wrong. He’s a stranger, you remind yourself. An almost involuntary shiver runs down your spine, like your body remembers something your mind refuses to.

At this point, your husband has caught on to your rather obvious spiralling. He’s not an idiot—he can see your doubt giving way to panic. He contemplates smoothing things over by playing nice, but the selfish part of him ultimately wins.

He squeezes your jaw, nails biting into your skin.

“Kiss me.”

It isn’t a request this time.

[thelostconsultant]

The bet

pairing: Lando Norris x reader

summary: You and Lando got married before the beginning of the season, but no one knows you're together. You make a bet at the wedding, and Lando truly believes he can get through the season with everyone believing he's single.

fc: The one in the red hoodie is just a random girl from pinterest, while the other two are AI generated. Don't take it seriously. The other photo is also from pinterest.

“What?” you asked, although the question came out more like a bark than a well formulated question.

Lando had been watching you with that stupid grin of his for long minutes now, and you couldn't hide your annoyance any longer. You loved him, you really did, but God, was he annoying sometimes. As you waited for his response, he held up a finger and opened a video on his phone for you.

It was him at the last race weekend, standing on the stage with Oscar. Nothing new. But then he talked about being single, and after this part he quickly moved over to the comments. Everyone was either offering to date him or felt sorry for him, there was no in between. But you couldn't feel sorry for him. 

“You're still gonna lose,” you told him with a laugh.

With a thoughtful hum, he wrapped an arm around you and pulled you against his chest. “You read the comments. I'm the people's princess, they feel so sorry for me. No one suspects a thing. I'm safe,” he said with a confident smile.

Over half a year ago, on the day of your secret wedding at a remote part of the world, the two of you had made a bet. You said he wouldn't be able to keep this secret, that there was no way he could last this season without people finding out he was not only in a relationship, but married too. He begged to differ, saying he was pretty good at keeping secrets.

Now, after all those months, you sometimes had your weak moments when you were sure you would lose, although this was something you were under no circumstances about to tell him. His ego was already big enough when it came to the bet, the last thing you wanted was things getting worse in this sense.

If he won, he would get the right to decide when and how to announce your marriage. And if it was up to him, it would be a hard launch, like a wrecking ball crashing into a building to tear down the walls. He wanted chaos, he wanted everyone to know how much he loved you. It was flattering, really, but could he not?

Because Lando wanted a big, flashy event with all of his friends from on and off the grid, and he wanted alcohol to flow like water while the music blasted loudly around you. It would only come to an abrupt stop the moment he grabbed the mic and announced how much he loved his wife, only to cause the guest to murmur loudly as they tried to figure out if he was just drunk or dead serious.

If you won, it would mean people found out about you, so your prize would be something other than how you made this relationship public. But what could you ask for? So, in the end, you told him you would get to make a wish one day when you figured out what you wanted, and he couldn't say no when you asked.

As of now, people didn't know about you at all. You were just a nameless McLaren employee to them who sometimes showed up on photos with the rest of the team. To make sure you could stay in the background, he even asked one or two girls during the time you were still in the dating phase to pose as his girlfriends for a while. It would only come with a few photos and posts, sometimes appearances in the paddock. Nothing serious, really.

While you could wear your wedding band all the time, Lando didn't have the freedom to do the same. Sure, he had it, safely locked away with the rest our your jewelry until the day your marriage became public. Now he only had a necklace with a pendant you chose, your initials engraved into it with small letters so it wouldn't be so obvious on photos.

“I've been thinking,” you suddenly said, moving your head a little so you could look him in the eye. When he let out a questioning hum and flashed a smile at you, you reached out to play with his pendant. “Why don't we raise the stakes in our little bet?”

Lando kissed your cheek, then he said, “You hate it that I'm winning.”

Rolling your eyes, you let out a sigh. “No, I just had an idea for a little experiment. What if you wore your wedding band on the next race weekend?” you asked with an innocent look on your face.

It was mean, you knew that, because this would surely draw attention to him. Him wearing the ring could only result in losing the game. But you had to do something, you wanted to win. Well, you just didn't want your dear husband to win, but that was almost the same. 

“That would be too obvious,” he replied with a shake of his head.

“Buy a few more and say you're copying Lewis,” you offered with a cheeky grin. 

He shook his head with a laugh, then took a deep breath. “And what do I get if they don't notice?” 

You had thought a lot about this, because you knew it had to be something big, something he really wanted. And there was only one thing that came to your mind. “You get two kids,” you told him casually. 

But Lando wasn't stupid, he knew this was the moment to negotiate. “Hmm… You know I want a big family. Three and I'll do it.”

He would lose anyway, so why would you say no? “All right, three. But if I win, we'll only have one,” you reminded him.

He nodded before leaning down to kiss you. “I’ll win, so you can start picking names,” he said with a confident grin.

You: Sorry, babe, you officially lost the bet. <link>

A few seconds later your phone rang, and you answered Lando’s call with a satisfied smile on your face. You just wanted to rub it in his face, you wanted him to know he lost the bet. To be honest, ever since you’d seen this post, you’d been thinking about what to ask for, and a soft launch of your relationship sounded quite nice. 

“I didn’t lose,” he said right away. 

“You saw the post, someone spotted the ring.”

To your surprise, Lando started to laugh, a carefree sound that made it clear he was sure he was winning this. “Do you want me to remind you that you’re not here with me right now? And that video of us was recorded during the summer break in Greece. The bet was about me wearing the ring this weekend. So no, sweetheart, you definitely did not win this one,” he explained, and you could see that smug smirk on his face. 

“Still, the original bet–”

He tutted to interrupt you. “No, no, you changed the rules with the ring. I won. No one noticed it this weekend.”

“Let’s call it a tie,” you tried, although you knew he had you in a corner now. 

“I want to talk about the prize,” he began, waiting until he heard you hum to let him go on. “We agreed that if I win, we’ll have three kids, if you win, we’ll only have one. If it’s a tie, then fine, let’s settle with two.”

You remained silent for a while as you thought about this. He was right, it would be only fair to reach a compromise, and in this case it involved the number of your future children. If it was a tie, then two was the logical conclusion, there was no reason to argue with him. So, you took a deep breath that you let out slowly until you gathered your thoughts. “All right, fine. And what about us? I mean, our relationship. Do we keep it a secret, or…?”

“What do you want? If you’d rather not be in the spotlight, we can deny everything if there'll be a bigger buzz about that tweet,” he said kindly, his patience with you painfully obvious. 

But you didn’t want to hide, you wanted things to be out in the open now. “I’d say let’s do a soft launch with mysterious posts for a while. But if you have a different idea, I’m open to it,” you assured him. 

Lando let out a thoughtful hum. “We have a short break now, soooooo… Okay, we do the soft launch, but you come to the next race with me, as yourself, not disguised as a McLaren team member, and we’ll wear our rings and everything.”

“That’s pretty much a hard launch.”

There was a scoff on the other end of the line. “You get almost two weeks of soft launch, what more do you want? Come on, I need you by my side,” he begged you sweetly. 

You agreed. There was no way you could say no to him.

liked by oscarpiastri, martingarrix and 522,145 others

landonorris: My wife, the queen of the house 😍🥰❤️

tagged: yourusername

view all comments

yourusername: LANDO!

⤷ landonorris: Yes, love?

⤷ yourusername: You said you'll give me two weeks. That's it, you're sleeping on the couch when you get home.

oscarpiastri: What did I miss? Last time we talked, you were chronically single.

⤷ landonorris: I don't know what you're talking about, I've been happily married for over half a year.

⤷ user1: WHAT?!

user2: Lando being married was not on my bingo card.

maxverstappen1: My wedding invitation must have been lost in the mail.

⤷ landonorris: Sorry, it was just the two of us.

user3: I'm so happy, you deserve all the love!!!

user4: We have a new WAG, woo-hoo! I already like her. But please yourusername don't make him sleep on the couch 😭

⤷ yourusername: I'll reconsider that decision.

[liramic]

I FINAIHED I FINISHED I FINISHED THE THE DEEP DREAM DRAWING, I HAVE MANY THINGS TO SAY PLS READ MY NOTES AAAAAAA. IVE ALWAYS WANTED TO INCLUDE ARTIST NOTES FOR PIECES BUT I HAVENT HAD A PIECE WHERE I HAD SO MANY DETAILS AND SPECIFIC PLACEMENTS OF THINGS AND REFERENCES UNTIL THIS

ok so this is one part of the deep dream extra and skdkdkfsf I've been wanting to draw it forever aaaaa

Man. I sob everytime I read deep dream extra and there's a couple rly specific scenes that rly fucking Get To Me. I'm planning to draw all of those scenes so this will be one of multiple pieces dedicated to the extra (idk when I'll do the others skdkdkfjs but they're in my brain skdkdjf).

This one specifically is when current sqq's watching binghe as he works in the past and he never gets to see this serious side of binghe cuz outside, binghe would get distracted whenever he comes in and stops doing his work 🥺 It's so fucking cute. BUT ALSO SO SAD WTF. The description of how binghe prepares food for sqq even tho he's dead and lets it stay out until it gets cold....the same congee that he prepared for sqq back at qingjing peak because if someday shizun wakes up, he would be able to eat it immediately....

I rly wanted to portray the feeling of sqq being the source of light to binghe in the scene even tho binghe can't see him. So even tho there are glowing candles on the right of the piece, they're not shedding any light on binghe and the light source on him is sqq. I also made it so the color is emanating from sqq and it's spreading through the room. Sqq brings in some color and a bit of a breeze to this otherwise very bleak time of binghe's life....

Also, the actual dead sqq from that time is lying on the bed behind them... Oh and bamboo in the lower right corner cuz binghe was trying to grow bamboo in the demon realm so I wanted him to keep a stalk of it in a bottle on his desk bc it reminds him of qingjing peak

Small note about binghe's design but he doesn't look like how I usually draw him now (ref below) - mainly no hair braid and hair ribbon loopy bow bc that's my post canon binghe design and I'd like to think sqq braids his hair and puts the ribbon in <3 so uh yea binghe during the five years and anytime during canon would not have that T^T

anyways, pls be sad with me

[lambilegs]

ᯓ ᥫ᭡ SEVIKA x FEISTY!READER HEADCANONS (PT. 2)

contains: both reader and sevi being assholes, kinda toxic at times, mentions of sevi and reader visiting brothel (not actually, though, but mentioned sarcastically and vaguely), cursing

I could see something like her her getting your name being this little game between you two. at first, she's not interested in you, but then, during your first meeting, you spit something out at her, and she reels back, eyebrows arching up in what seems to be... admiration? she's frankly impressed at your quick comeback, and the fact that you even have the nerve to say it to her. that's the first thing that piques her curiosity.

she leans on the nearest wall, her eyes scanning you before asking, "what's your name?"

you scoff and say, "none of your business," before turning and walking away.

sevika's lips part in surprise as your form gets smaller. it's not like she's a huge flirt or anything like that. she's usually too busy running shit for silco and making sure jinx doesn't screw up. most of her free time is spent in rubbing her fingers against the soothing paper of a card desk as she plays poker. that, or drinking. intimacy is usually reserved for babette's, and while there are some praising words involved in that, it never really amounts to anything serious, nor any flirtation outside of those walls.

so, it's not like she's surprised that she didn't woo you or something, since frankly, it had been curiosity pushing the words from her mouth above all else. but, she is, on the other hand, once again shocked at just how much courage you have to bite at her like that.

when you guys are forced into proximity again, maybe being crushed together when a stall opens for fresh fruit you're both in need of, her eyes widen before softening into her usual stone hard expression.

"you gonna tell me your name now?"

"hm, let's see..." you tap a finger on your chin, and sevika nearly grits her teeth at the doe-eyed look of false pondering that overtakes your features.

"no," you finally say with a flat expression, turning back to the seller and placing your order.

she rolls her eyes, placing hers right after. as you both wait, side by side, she casts you a sidelong glance. "why exactly do you dislike me?" her voice is hard with the question. she knows tons of people have reasons to vehemently hate her and want her dead -- but, you're a complete stranger, so it's hard to precisely account for your disdain.

you practically squint at her, eyes flashing with incredulity. "you kidding me? you think I want to get mixed up with one of silco's henchmen?" your voice cracks into a heavy chuckle as your head shakes. "yeah, I'm content with my life being boring just as it is."

"so, that's all there is to it? you're too scared?" there's a sharp edge of condescension to her words, and she hopes it's enough to hook into you and lure you into the trap.

your lip twists in clear contempt, and sevika tries not to give into the urge to grin in success.

"yeah, I'm a pussy. great work."

she nearly fucking splutters at your reply, watching with wide, bulging eyes as you nod and give the stall owner an almost sickeningly sweet smile before grabbing the bag and leaving her with a playful curtesy that's nothing short of being completely drenched in mockery.

it might've been perfect exit on your end if it wasn't for the fact that right as you're pacing away, a name is suddenly called and your body goes whirling around in recognition. you seem to realize your mistake a beat just past the nick of time, your head darting to sevika, whose chest is practically swelling in pride and satisfaction. when your eyes narrow into a sharp glare, she tips her head in your direction as though she's the perfect gentleman.

you seem to know better, though, grumbling and marching to whoever called you in order to quietly scold them away. sevika can only watch from afar in completely amusement.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

not that she even gets your name right. your eyes slide to her menacingly as she, yet again, gets it wrong, drawling it out obnoxiously as she stares down at you with that shit-eating grin. you hate how it makes your stomach flip. it really shouldn't, considering she's behaving like an overgrown twelve year old boy.

she does it all the time, any opportunity she gets. when she calls out for you when you're out, she'll change at least one syllable or one letter of your name. when you and your friends hit the last drop, and you approach her, very apprehensively, to say hi, and some of the men surrounding her coo and ask after you, sevika pats your thigh and with crinkled eyes, boasts out a name that's decidedly wrong.

that, or she calls you by an annoying nickname, having settled on the fruit you bought at the market that one day, which results in many nonchalant slips of the word "lemon" from her mouth.

you know you shouldn't like her attention this much. but, it's hard not to. especially when the more time you spend around her, the more you figure out that she's not just some senseless brute working for silco. no, she's calm, she's levelled, she's more intelligent than people suspect her to be. just because she fights, and does it well, doesn't mean it's her immediate strategy to dealing with people. when guys at her gambling table make comments to prod and poke at her ego, almost as though she's a sleeping bear they want to watch roar to a brutal awakening, she simply smokes her cigar and simpers in clear amusement.

and you can't deny just how handsome she is. rough around every edge, paired with sharp, stern eyes that observe everything. you're convinced that's how she always catches sight of you in crowds.

part of you hopes it's because she's seeking out, but you'd die before admitting that to her.

something she, unfortunately, is probably able to detect, considering the first time you smile upon her approaching you, and she says, "someone missed me," you immediately scoff, spitting out, "oh, yeah, nearly as much as I miss a piltie."

she releases a low whistle. "wow, must've struck some nerve."

you smack her arm, something in you cracking at how steady and strong her bicep is under your fingers. "yeah, it's the same one you manage to get under every single time."

"at least I'm consistent."

"oh, nice, one redeeming factor."

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

but, sevika never lets anyone but herself anyone but herself get your name wrong. hypocrite she is, just as you accuse her of being all the time, whenever someone else gets it wrong, she immediately corrects them, her voice cool and collected, all mirth drained from it. it's a tone that says she's not kidding this time, that she earnestly wants people to know your name. this automatic, instinctive defense of you occurs whether or not you're in the room.

oh, and if someone tries to fuck with you? maybe make a rude comment about you? yeah, no, she won't even blink twice before sending them a pointed look that leaves absolutely nothing up to questioning.

and if someone dares to proceed anyways, spluttering out, "but, you do it, sevika--" she cuts them off without hesitation, her voice unflinching and hard as she sharply says, "yeah, and that's me. doesn't mean I'm gonna let other people walk all over them."

the first time something like this happens in front of you, you wait until everyone leaves before saying with a chortle, "so, is this some kind of possessive thing? you're the only one allowed to bully me?"

"oh, yeah, that's exactly it," she dryly responds, shooting you a half-hearted glare. "I'm just so obsessed that I can't stand anyone else tormenting you." she ignores the part of her brain that itches with the hidden, tucked away knowledge that while her words aren't entirely accurate, they hold some truth. at least a little.

despite the sarcasm coating every syllable, your mouth turns up into an infuriating grin. "you know, it sure sounds like it when you put it like that."

"good to know that beneath being a bitch, you have a sense of humour."

"just as spectacular as knowing beneath being a musclehead dick, you have enough brains to manage lying to yourself."

an amused huff flies past her lips at your harsh words. from any stranger, she wouldn't give two shits hearing those words. from you, she only cares so little because she knows the words are said with no intention other than to get under her skin. the knowledge that you're just trying to bug her as much as she does you is directly what prevents your words from being effective. it's only more laughable when you get so clearly frustrated at her lack of reaction.

"so, you think I'm a musclehead?"

you grunt. "you're a lost cause is what you are."

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

and you're convinced that every now and then, she ogles girls just to piss you off. she'll bump your shoulder as though you guys are fucking comrades, nodding to different figures and saying, "pretty, hm?" eyes honed in on your face as though she's a predator just waiting for her prize to make the wrong move.

sometimes, you manage your feelings, shooting a compliment right back about the girl in question, flashing her a tight-lipped smile. other times, there's no getting around the jealousy, and you snap at her, saying things like, "you're a complete pervert," or, "what are you, in heat?"

sometimes, she barks out a laugh. other times, she shoots back a smart quip of her own. and on the rarer occasion, she'll say something in her gravelly voice that's more steady, more gentle, like, "c'mon, what do you think I am? I'm here with you, aren't I?" (which, yes, infuriatingly gets your stomach fluttering)

it all started after you slipped up -- once. just once. that's all it took for her to find something you dislike, and latch onto it without wavering.

you couldn't help it that first time. you and her had been spending back-to-back days together due to silco sparing her from tasks that took her outside of zaun. so, you had slipped all too easily into the shared routine of meeting with her after work, and going to her apartment for shared meals, or at the very least, taking a walk around the block.

so, when the weekend reaches, and babette off-handedly mentions sevika visiting the night before, you nearly see red. maybe you just got used to being the only one she's been giving attention to this week, maybe you had gotten too in your head and had stupidly convinced yourself she actually wants you like that. maybe all her words had been buttered up with teasing playfulness rather than genuine romance and affection.

but, either way, it pisses you the fuck off. you know you two aren't official, nor even possess a romantic status or title, so jealousy shouldn't be making a home in your chest. but, you can't help it. the teasing remarks, the ceaseless banter, the occasional flirt -- you want to be the only one on the receiving end of that.

which is why when sevika is grumbling about her arm as she twists a screwdriver in, you feel justified in saying in the most snarky voice you can muster up, "awe, things got a bit too crazy at babette's last night?"

your tone is practically seething, bitterly cut in with faux concern, and sevika's eyes immediately raise to you, narrowed.

"what's that supposed to mean?"

you shrug, teeth clenched together. "well, I heard you paid the brothel a visit."

she snickers softly, shaking her head slowly. "you think babette would know to be more discreet."

you shrug. "she knows I can't do shit about your salacious little visits."

"except glare daggers into my head." almost as if to emphasize this, she tests out the blade component of her arm, your body jerking back in surprise as it shoots out with an egregiously scraping noise that sends your ears thrumming. "the only thing I can't figure out is why."

"why what?"

"why you're acting like me going to babette's is a bad thing. why you're acting as though I got someone waiting up for me at night who I have to return home to."

you bristle at this. you shouldn't have to be her official partner in order for her to have some respect for the flirtatious, and apparently now misleading, back-and-forth thing you guys have going on. "oh, yeah, trust me, all the singletons in zaun are lucky for that lack."

her mouth twitches, the corner of it quirking up. "well, if I'm that bad, then why are you making such a ruckus about babette's?"

"I'm not!" you snap, shoulders stiffening from the weight of the truth in the accusation. "I'm just asking about it!"

"what, so you can find a girl to go to?"

you can hear the sarcasm in her voice, and the irritation in you only flares up further. does she think that after today's revelation, you're going to be one-sidedly devoted to her or something? "maybe I will. why, who did you see last time?"

her smirk falters, softening at the tips. "no one. I went for intel. nothing else."

you look away, feeling your face run hot, burning and burning. fuck, ugh, how pathetic. "oh."

"yeah, 'oh.'"

you blink hard at your knees. okay, well, this took a sudden, abrupt turn you hadn't anticipated whatsoever.

after the humiliation thickens, seizing at your throat too tightly, your body prickling with the awareness of her gaze, you mumble, feebly, "okay, so, um... I should head home."

you just need to get out of here.

"you sure? was just about to pull out some tricks and tips you could use for your visit."

"yeah, yeah, go fuck yourself," you grumble, yanking your bag from where she had slung it on her shoulder when you guys had walked to the last drop.

she chuckles, her arm going slack to make it easier for your bag to slip off. "what a zinger. I'm impressed."

right as you turn to leave, she grabs your wrist. you nearly gasp at the feeling of her warm, dry palm planted against your skin. it makes you feel like something is sizzling right up your arm from the point of contact.

"you know..." she mutters, her broad thumb rubbing along your vein, right where your thumping pulse is.

you hold your breath, eyes wide with the anticipation that shoots through you. "what?"

"if you want..."

you release an exasperated puff of air, your patience waning. "yes?"

"mention my name at the front when you go, yeah? babette will you give you a discount."

you rip your hand from her grip, spluttering at the wide grin that splits her face open once her words finally settle on you. "god, I hate you."

"yeah, yeah, see you tomorrow," she tosses through her deep, rumbling laughter.

despite how badly you want to look back at her before leaving through the towering doors, you resist. you've exposed a bit too much today as is -- you're not exactly eager to bare more of yourself.

at least not today.

[mywritersmind]

UNCONVENTIONAL - LN4

summary : In which trying to make it home for thanksgiving fails and a cute british driver feels bad.

listen up : no warnings just cuteness! happy thanksgiving to all my americans <33 im thankful for YOU🫵 lando norris x american!driver!reader

word count : 1968

⋆༺

I groan out loud, dropping my phone onto the jet’s seat. “We’re stuck.” Lando sits up from his position across two seats, and frowns.

“Shit.” I look outside of the planes window, seeing the snow and fighting back tears. “I’m really sorry.”

“It’s not even december! Snow should not be here!” I wipe my eyes. I know Lando feels bad and I'm not making the situation worse by crying. But I’m having a hard time today because I'm supposed to be with my family.

Lando offered me and some other drivers a ride to Qatar for the next grand prix. Thanksgiving happened to fall the day before media day so I thought I could stop by my parents house and leave that night.

I never particularly loved Thanksgiving, but now that i’m traveling so much because of work, I've learned how much I truly can miss my loved ones.

Lando bites his lip as I sit back down and pull the blanket over me. The pilot informed us that we won’t be getting in the air for a few hours which means we have to go straight to the track instead of seeing my family.

I take a breath, “It’s okay. I appreciate you trying.” I hate crying in front of the guys, even if he is my friend. I hate it because it just plays into the whole emotional woman thing, and even though Lando is one of my best friends, right now I can’t help it.

Lando sits across from me, nudging his foot against mine, “How about we have thanksgiving here?” My head shoots in his direction as he puts on a small smile, “I don’t know a lot about it and I know I'm not your family… but I can try to be a substitute.”

I swallow, wiping my eyes again before I cross my my arms, “How would we even do that?”

I did not expect Lando to take my words as a competition. Still, thirty minutes later I'm sat with a full course meal spread out on the tiny table in between seats. There’s no huge turkey or array of pies, instead we have chicken wraps and fries. We have chips, popcorn, pesto pasta, orange chicken, a bagel, salad, and bread. A bottle of champagne sits next to me as Lando sits down.

His smile is wide as he looks down at the spread, “Good enough?”

“How did you…” I shake my head, laughing, “Yeah it’s good enough! Lando, this is really sweet.”

“It’s my first thanksgiving, I had to make it delicious, even if it is all airport food.” He shrugs and starts pulling things onto his plate. My legs are crossed on the comfortable seat and as I watch him pick his meal, I smile.

I bite into the chicken wrap that’s actually delicious. Lando taps on his phone before music starts playing over the speakers.

I smile at him as he chews, “So… what do Americans usually do on thanksgiving?”

I shrug and sip some champagne, “Eat, gossip, be thankful?”

“Okay! Let’s gossip then. Sounds easy enough.” Hes ridiculously committed to the bit and I adore him for it, “Did you know Franco’s signed with RB?” I start coughing, practically choking on my food.

“What!?” I scream.

Lando’s laughing now, “No I don’t actually know, I just couldn’t think of anything else.” I kick him under the table as he gasps.

“That’s evil! I got so excited.” I’m laughing with him now, our food picked apart and a mess in front of us. “What are you thankful for?”

He thinks for a moment, a curl falling into his face that makes my stomach flip a little. “Mmm… My family and friends.”

“That’s too generic. It’s thanksgiving- get deep, Norris.” He gives me a slight smirk before nodding.

“I’m thankful that the championship talk is over. I’m thankful for Chicken wraps.” He holds his up, proudly as I roll my eyes. “And I'm thankful for you.”

I’m a tad bit shocked, “For me?” I expect him to say something stupid or flirty, but he’s dead serious.

“You’re a really good person. I like being around you and for that, I'm grateful.” He raises his glass and I hit it with mine, “Now go on, brag about me.”

I roll my eyes, back to smiling humorously, “I’m thankful that I'm not alone right now.” His eyes don’t stray away from mine, “And I’m thankful for snow. Even if it’s pissing me off, it’s very pretty.”

We both look out the window in sync, the snow still falling. The runway is fully white, matching the trees and wing of the plane.

When I look back at Lando, he’s already looking at me. His face is relaxed, his freckles prominent and curls perfect. “Do you want to go?” I say suddenly as his expression turns confused.

“We can’t yet, we still have like two hours.”

A smile tugs at my lips, “I mean outside.”

He looks hesitant, “It’s freezing.”

I stand and grab my suitcase, unzipping it and pulling out my puffer jacket at record speed, “Did I mention every thanksgiving, something really random but really fun happens?” It’s true, for some reason this holiday brings out funny stories. “You’re not scared of some snow, are you Norris?” I step closer, narrowing my eyes.

He stands, grabbing his own jacket, “I’m just saying, don’t come complaining when you’re freezing and wet.”

“Me!?” I scoff, zipping up my jacket, “You’re the one who needs four layers for a sunny day.”

⋆༺

LANDO

I’m freezing my ass off but I would rather become a human icicle than tear my eyes away from her smile. She’s giggling and running into the snow, twirling around as snowflakes fall into her hair.

“Don’t slip, Y/n!” I yell after her as she turns around, the biggest smile on her face.

Her hand goes to wipe the hair that’s being blown in her face, snow falling around her, “Come catch me, Norris.”

I roll my eyes and hurry over to her as she laughs and dances around. I can’t help but laugh with her, it’s fucking contagious.

She sticks her tongue out, leaning her head back to catch snowflakes. Y/n is so perfectly caught in the haze of the snow and light peaking through the clouds that she looks like an angel.

She pokes my cheek and holds onto my jacket as if she’s about to fall. “Your nose is red.”

“You should get a job in detective work if the whole driving thing doesn’t work out…” She scoffs loudly and punches me in the arm.

Unfortunately, she’s stronger than she looks and because the ground is icy, we’re both falling seconds later.

She lands on top of me, laughing so hard that she’s crying, “Fuck! Are you okay!?”

“Like you care!” I sit up, holding her tightly still.

She laughs and plops down next to me, laying her head back and arms out. “Oh no-”

“Angel time, Norris!” She screams at me.

“I’m going to become snow!”

She doesn’t respond, just stretches her arms and legs out and waves them back and forth to make the snow part below her.

Something about her is my weakness and I honestly can’t complain when she looks so happy. I join her, my hair getting soaked and her laughs making me smile.

I make my angel in peace as snow floats down from the sky, landing on my face. I hear the rustle of her jacket as she turns her head to me, “Thank you.”

I smile softly, examining her face and the snowflakes that melt as soon as they touch her skin. “You’re welcome. I’m sorry that I'm not your family.”

She lets out a breath, “You’re my found family. That’s close enough.” her words make my heart beat faster, “Even if you are British and your first thanksgiving was on a grounded plane.”

“I wouldn’t wish it any other way. Although, next year we should try for a more friendsgiving approach. Maybe with the whole grid?” Her smile grows as she looks up at the sky.

“I'm very down for that.” As i’m mentally tracing her side profile in her mind, a voice and light comes very loud.

“You two!” I realize we’re in trouble instantly and stand up as fast as I can, slipping all over the place as the voice gets louder and the flashlight shines directly towards us.

Y/n is trying to get up with me but she’s laughing and slipping so it’s significantly harder. I grab her hand and we make a run for it, up the stairs and into the warm cabin. The door shuts behind us and I lean my head against the wall, sighing in relief of not being caught making snow angels.

Y/n is breathing heavily across from me, a smile permanent on her face as she looks at me. Her hair is wet and I'm sure mine is the same. I can’t feel my hands and I couldn’t care less.

“You look like a popsicle!” Y/n takes her hands and wraps them over mine, getting close enough that I can feel her breath on my skin.

I’d like to pretend that what happened next was a symptom of my cold state, but I’ve never been a good liar.

As soon as she looks up at me, her eyes big and glassy, I lean down and kiss her. Her lips are warm despite her cold hands gripping my own and as soon as she pulls back, I swear.

“Fuck. I’m sorry-” I didn’t even ask! God, I'm an asshole and now I'm completely stuck. Would I die if I ran outside and hid in the woods?

But she doesn’t look mad. She looks… pleased? Her hand slips out of my reach and moves to the side of my neck, “Don’t be.”

And then she kisses me. I think I blackout because I have no clue how long we’ve been kissing but I do know that I'm now completely defrosted and warm.

“You okay?” I whisper as Y/n pulls away.

She nods, “Thanks for kissing me.”

I laugh, “You’re very welcome. Thanks for kissing me back.”

She smiles again backs up a bit, fiddling with her rings, “So… was that just a thanksgiving thing or a way to warm up or…?”

I’m smiling big now, moving my hands under her jacket as she squirms because of the temperature, “I’ve been waiting for that to happen so if you limit me to once a year, i’ll be pretty sad.”

She nods, biting back a smile, “Good to know!” She slips away from me and pulls off her jacket, sitting in a seat and pulling her blanket around her shoulders.

I slowly walk so I’m in front of her again. She’s smiling at the floor, motioning me to come sit, “There’s one more thanksgiving tradition I do every year.”

She pulls out her ipad and scoots closer to me, I feel like i’m dreaming. “And that is…?”

She clears her throat, still avoiding eye contact.

“The Thanksgiving episode of Gossip Girl!” She starts rattling on about the backstories and starts the episode but i’m still stuck on her face and how her eyes won’t meet mine.

“Y/n…” I say it softly, bringing my hand to her chin and turning her face to look at me. She’s blushing. I don’t think I've ever seen her blush.

“Mhm?” She sounds like a mouse.

I brush her wet hair out of her face and press a soft kiss against her cheek, “I really like thanksgiving.” She just smiles and nestles into my side, my arm around her.

She lets me have some of the blanket and whispers, “I really do too.”