#one familiar; one desire

[sunflowerlando]

SERIES ALERTTTTT

Hi friends! My brain has actually been cooperating lately, so I'm working on a series - masterlist here

George Russell x female reader and Lando Norris x female reader

(Lando endgame & George is an ass)

Regency era type shit (although I'm sure there will be mistakes)

ALSO, look at these beautiful photos I found on pinterest (but they're from autoraving on tiktok).

Comment or shoot me a message/ask if you’d like to be added to a tag list!

[thirdtimed]

thinking about the jimmy scar pearl venn diagram and absolutely just disintegrating over it

[bsotted]

ok well. unfortunate news: sometimes ur niche is so niche u've already niched the niche. this is exactly the same as the feeling of hitting the end of ur ship tag in ao3 🥲

*edit: sorry i accidentally named like every character ever in the tags so ppl are Seeing this post who dont have the benefit of so much as a single crumb of context. if i accidentally namedropped ur blorbo its bc of this post:

anyway. i was excited for recs bc i also enjoy this genre of fictional character. unfortunately as above the niche is niched, it turns out. at least for me, content enjoyer georg, who has apparently already seen or read everything anyone else has already seen or read except for a small handful of specific media properties that i do not wish to see or read for various personal reasons and also not literally everything ever... just the same things as everyone else has already seen and read... u get the idea. ok thnks 👍🏻

[dent-de-leon]

It makes me so sad still that Caleb only returned Molly's forehead kiss when he thought he'd lost his Circus Man for good, when he thought there'd never be another chance to show Molly how much he really means to him. To act on those lingering feelings.

Tealeaf who always saw how touch starved yet terrified of intimacy Caleb was, always holding everyone at a distance. Tealeaf never knowing that Caleb held him in his arms and gently combed back his hair and kissed him and returned that forehead kiss from so long ago.

Caleb who was so hesitant whenever Molly tried to reach out--Caleb being the one to say, "Get him out of there," and limp over to Molly's side as soon as he came back to life. And then when he gets that kiss, he can't even feel it.

Kingsley being especially warm and affectionate one day, perhaps feeling a little nostalgic. And Caleb just pulls him in and kisses him on the forehead again--and this time he doesn't have to say goodbye.

[cantdanceflynn]

Also I dunno if ill be editing or posting episodes of it bc I haven't checked if obs picked up my microphone but I joined an smp and promptly ended up speedrunning the ars nouveau system to get a familiar even tho I don't even have a spell book to use it with lollll

[lathrine]

my tav's had 'escaped drider ceremony' on their background since day one, but now im like. what if i doom your narrative. what if the worm is keeping you from becoming that which you most fear. what if freedom from the illithid means capture at the hands of llolth.

[sysig]

But would you tho (Patreon)

[impossible-rat-babies]

tragic yet funny thing w the alfira stuff first is that I didn’t really get to talk to the companions about the murderous desires so it feels kinda moot. the companions are all like. yeah we know. we know. we all know now

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[sunflowerlando]

One familiar; One desire Moodboard

Pairing: George Russell x female reader & Lando Norris x female reader

Summary: Lando Norris, the Marquess of Somerset, is getting engaged. The problem? His future Lady -daughter of the Earl of Coventry- is infatuated with Sir George Russell, a knight of her father's lands.

Can he win over his future wife in time for the wedding, or will she manage to sabotage their betrothal to be with the one who holds her heart?

[beeapocalypse]

trying to craft a funger oc like aughhhh i can see him i can picture him in my head right now [image of the most off putting little man possible]

[kessielrg]

"Are you alright?" Aqua turned to see Terra come toward her. She had never felt so relieved and angered at the same time. "Ven is… with Sabrina." Aqua told him. "Pleasantly." "And you can feel it?" This man must be an idiot. Aqua bit her tongue, pursing her lips together and giving a nod. She contemplated telling the hunter that she could almost hear it too, but admitting as such would probably unravel her modesty by proxy. There had to be another outlet. There had to be a way to stave off Ventus's hunger for Sabrina with a different kind of hunger… A hunger Aqua could control- if she wanted to. "Terra… You can help me." Aqua said, holding his hand toward him. "How?" the man questioned as he moved closer.

-

bitch you gonna die xD

[bmpmp3]

speaking of genbu's "serious" sounding tone in his voicebank, i think that might be why he was such a dead ringer for teto pre-synthv-bank-release with just a couple little gender parameter tweaks. wait do my followers know this. sorry i know most of my vocal synthesizer talk is genuinely gibberish to my beloved and loyal long time followers but do you guys know this. for a few years, people had discovered that since utau teto and genbu have this similar strong enunciation and dark sounding tone plus teto can have a bit of a tomboyish edge to her voice anyway -> if u mess with some parameters and phonemes he'll sound close enough to her, so it became a bit of running gag in the community, along with just being a genuine and novel use case for his voicebank. actually recently i found out about someone who made a couple of synthv scripts to set genbus voice to his falsetto pitch and set the tension to drop during each syllable automatically to make him sound like the utau sora amaha. genbu's purpose is to impersonate other vocal synthesizers

[volfoss]

Sincerely as a former user of both Excel and sheets, it is nuts how much easier libre office calc is. Not in the typical way that certain things are easier to access but moreso that the formulas and ways things are set up just work with my brain better. I never really had much need to learn formulas in Excel because there were so many and the layout felt over complicated, and don't even get me started on sheets. But with calc, there's a lot more freedom with the formulas and a lot of the skills you have from either of those other programs carries on here. Not a super big point or anything to this post, just simply very appreciative of what calc can do.

[mythvoiced]

Aeri can’t decide what she hates more - the way the bejeweled pin in the victor from District 8’s hair is lopsided, or the girl herself. Oh, what Aeri wouldn’t give to wear such an accessory again, or even wear the finery the victor has been gifted to wear to the viewing. That was her once, wasn’t it?

But now? She’s stuck here, watching this spectacle. The brat, who has no idea what privilege she’s been presented with, keeps on creasing the delicate threads of her gown and her stylists also clearly have no idea on how to do the brat’s makeup. And then there’s that damn pin- Aeri’s pin once upon a time- only in place because it’s tangled in there-

And Aeri can’t hold back. When the brat’s stylists are gone, she reaches into the girl’s hair and extracts the pin. Her fingers, callused from years of hard labor that still feels foreign to Aeri, are quick to untangle most of the obvious knots in the brat’s hair before shetwists the locks into a ponytail and then a bun. The pin goes back in.

Aeri glares at the girl through the mirror. Don’t you dare mess up my work.

( congrats lenlen!! you get....aeri, being really resentful, i hope marìa doesn't mind too much ^^' )

@stillresolved | !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! LET HER BE RESENTFUL

---

There's a harshness to being dolled up when you are in no way receptive to it.

María isn't foreign to the roughness of life - she's a fucking Victor, after all, isn't she - she's started working in factories just about around the age even the most moral of District 8 people might turn their back in fear on seeing her walk in, pretending not seeing her would free them of the responsibility of working with a child.

Her hands and nose and palate and lungs had long gotten used and keep getting used to the aftermath of working with chemicals, of being so very intimate with garments and colours, with fumes and heat, with the hard work of surviving, with the hard work of fighting to be allowed a minimal chance at said survival, at figuring that there's little more for people from District 8 to fight for.

Still... it's not the same.

Being pushed around, dressed in things she would have never chosen for herself to serve a people, a man, because she's not stupid enough to not be able to tell what is Capitol and what is Snow and how Capitol is Snow, it's a kind of biting and harsh and rough that doesn't leave behind the usual kind of scars and memories and bruises.

Even surviving the Games had come with a desperately accepted sense of relief, one covered in blood and the humiliation of all she'd done and all she'd thought she'd get to accomplish, only for reality to crash in on her in a victory she hadn't wanted to partake in, hadn't wanted to make possible, when she'd wanted her Games to be victor-less in lieu of ending the Games themselves.

This... this is humiliation in the long run. This has hardly any hope attached to it, waiting for her on the other end of the line. Sometimes, on the worst days, it feels like the true brunt of the battle, walking with blood-stained soles and palms and sparkling as she does, wearing all that might make even the softest source of light appear like flames reflecting off her frame, covering her in fire that had not eaten her alive - much to a few people's disdain.

Picking at things, not holding still, grimacing, shifting her muscles, arms, face to make her stylists' life as difficult as possible, it was all she had to fight back.

The Arena came with death and violence, and living back at home had been physical labour upon physical labour, straining her young body until she could no longer tell if she was broken beyond repair or fitter than children her age should be - had they grown up privileged within the Capitol's safety.

Here she has only threads to tear apart and reflections to glare at.

And a new challenge behind every door.

She feels yanked back, an intensity of motion caused less by the avox suddenly in her hair and more her own stiffness that hadn't prepared her for submission to someone suddenly rearranging her.

After her stylists had left, she'd succumbed to the tension of not wanting to be there, without the added hard work of making sure everybody else does. Lost in her thought, somebody's hands suddenly returning on her had fortified, molten it into a newly forged blade, stiff and ready to strike, tensing everything within her and making a few fingers in her hair turn into a grappling hook tied to a moving mountain.

María is startled enough she can't remember how to glare.

A frown does accompany her widened eyes anyway, making her look... appalled, almost, an addition to her expression so unsuited to typically frightened features, youth tainted by the face of someone used to having to fight to stay alive.

It almost happens in a flash then. The reflection moves and adjusts and fixes and what had started as something that had María's lips split into something acid and trembling, turns into something unpleasant and acrid, but silent, as María sits and lets herself be mandhandled one more time.

That's when she glares. After the avox finishes up, after their eyes meet in the mirror and María sees none of the downturned gazes they're trying to make her accustomed to.

Seeing avoxes pisses her off.

Why take it out on them.

She understands what they are, what they're supposed to represent.

To her, an avox is a statement. No longer a person but rather someone rid of their innate right to be considered one. Even with the determination and life in this avox' eyes, María has come to understand them as tools Snow uses to assert his dominance, people from all circles of life, punished with the robbing of their words... and their detached tongue metaphorically forced to lick away at the tip of the shoes of people like María.

All a scheme.

Infighting.

Use the prey on the prey, make them take each other out.

It'd be easier to feel pity if María could sleep, if the avox hadn't adjusted her appearance, and if the avox wasn't staring her down as if she had any right to do so.

She's oddly beautiful.

She's oddly familiar.

"Why are you helping them?" she hisses, low, whispered, because she might never admit it, but she's... she's a little scared, isn't she? Lately? Devora's face swims before her inner eye, so stern, so wrong.

"I'm on your side more than they are," she adds, pulling a strand of her hair out of the freshly adjusted bun.

[dog-girl-zezora]

...