#ls²

[scrollonso]

need everyones cars to fall apart besides lance, fernando, and logans

[nichtimhandelerhaeltlich]

me and the 3 other bitches in the Lance Stroll/Logan Sargeant-Tag on ao3

[caleb-is-existing]

I need more people to hop on the LS² bandwagon

(Lance Stroll and Logan Sargent)

[neostellarjpg]

davekat doods before bed

[unender]

✩ ‎

[raticalshoez]

I miss Team BEST and their dysfunctional swag

[sketchy-tour]

Thank you, Remderem!

[fireplceashes]

evan buckley + queercoding | part 1 / part 2

for @ice-sculptures ♡

[asha-mage]

MDZS AU where Jiang Cheng realizes that Lan Sizhui is the Wen orphan that Wei Wuxian took care off during the Burial Mounds arc, decides that's close enough to qualify him as Nephew, declares that no Nephew of His (much less a surrogate son of Wei Wuxian's) is going to be raised in the Cloud Recedes, and immediately launches into a custody battle with Lan Wangji.

But since neither Jiang Cheng or Lan Wangji can acknowledge that Sizuhi has any connection to Wei Wuxian, both begin steadfastly and stubbornly insisting that he is a Cultivator of peerless potential and skill and he belongs in their sect thank you very much, and would clearly be very unhappy in the other's. This confuses the hell out of the already mystified Cultivation world, who had barely adjusted yet to gossiping about Sizhui being Wangji's illegitimate child by mysterious love affair.

(Eventually the common consensus in the rumor mills is that both JC and LW where in love with Sizhui's mother and both believe themselves to be Sizhui's real father.)

(LW couldn't care less what gossips say, but JC has to bite his tongue till it bleeds to avoid telling anyone the truth in a fit of anger.)

(It was Nie Huaisang who put that rumor out in the first place, partly to troll JC, partly because, in a way, it's a little true.)

[dykealloy]

*average person gets thrown through 3 windows a year* factoid is actually just a statistical error. average person gets thrown through 0 windows per year. Trafalgar Law, who has been experiencing defenestration since he was 10 years old, is an outlier and should not have been counted

[latenightsundayblues]

Ohhh the things Lawrence does for love

[nichtimhandelerhaeltlich]

LITERALLY Lance and Logan

[caleb-is-existing]

I believe in Lance Stroll podium

And if I'm being delulu, LS² podium

[vaperarmand]

crowley i'm so sorry you literally put on a black turtleneck and a million accessories because aziraphale invited you out of the house for once and not only did you stay in the pub for about 5 minutes total but you never got fucked. you didn't get fucked not even once

[syoddeye]

john price x f!reader thing. unedited. ~600 words.

john price finds a dent in the driver’s door and a note tucked under a wiper.

sorry i can’t afford to pay, please forgive me x

and he’s angry, of course. who wouldn’t be? piece of shit. then he registers the looping handwriting and the little heart in the corner. interesting. he pulls the cctv. lo and behold, there she is. the culprit. some stumbling drunk buffoon.

~~

you probably shouldn’t have nabbed an e-scooter when you were three sheets to the wind, but you did, and fuck, you’re paying for it. you genuinely feel bad about the dent you left in the parked car last night, but you think a broken wrist and three stitches in your lip is more than enough punishment, thanks. you groan, remembering how you tossed the scooter into a bush and hiked a few streets away before calling 999. having to clock in for an opening shift added insult to injury.

~~

he imagines it’s rough going, working an espresso machine with a busted wrist. he supposes the manager didn’t want her as the cashier given the lip. pity, the swelling and stitches aside, she’s quite cute. but serves her right.

he wonders how she’ll react when he picks up his coffee and procures the printed still of her face, clear as day, fleeing from the scene of the crime.

he should feel bad, considering her injuries and what a barista job pays, but. it’s the principle of the thing.

“rough night?” he asks, hovering at the end of the bar.

“huh? oh, yeah. could say that,” she smiles tiredly. it’s a little strained, but still warm. “pity partied too hard.”

john’s smirk flattens. “pity party?”

“yeah,” she shrugs. “series of unfortunate events.”

like running into my car?

“what, bad date?” he jokes carefully, hiding behind a friendly grin.

“ha, guess so. it was supposed to be an anniversary dinner.” she explains dryly, looking all the more defeated as she tamps the grounds.

“supposed to be?”

she glances up, locking in the portafilter with a crank of her good arm. she finally looks a little suspicious of him. smart. “yeah.”

“i don’t mean to pry. you just seem like you could use a vent.” solid recovery.

it works. she considers a moment, shrugs again, and nods as she pulls the shot. “guess so,” she licks her lip and looks back, evidently deeming him harmless. not smart.

“found out he was cheating, called him on it, and he stormed out. after we ordered.”

that’s. that’s not what he expected. but it stirs something oddly protective. john’s a bit old-fashioned, he’s the first to admit it, so to hear about a man carrying himself so poorly? a man running around on a pretty thing like her?

it doesn’t sit well with him. car be damned.

“so how’d you…” he prompts, nodding at the cast.

“oh, yeah, we ordered some fancy wine. i drank most of the bottle alone, sobbing,” she cracks a self-deprecating smile and it dislodges something in his chest. “but the server didn’t charge me for dessert. i, uh, fell on my way home.”

crashed. you crashed into my car.

“sounds terrible.”

“it was. the whole night was. anyway.” she pauses to slide a pen from her apron to write on the cup. “americano to go?” she asks, pushing the drink over the counter, eyes floating to the next order.

john spots the same little heart, the looping letters. he looks back at her, plugging along despite the clear heartache and injuries. he sighs, crumpling the print out in his pocket.

“think i’ll have it to stay, actually,” he mumbles, knowing she doesn’t hear him as she makes the next drink.

he camps out at a table where he can watch her. there’s a dent in his car, but he’s decided there’s a barista-sized hole in his life.

[unender]

✩ ‎