#thanks for the sprint!

[mrmustachious]

24 mins!!

Aaaand GO! 🥰

wc: 273 words

snippet: Alan clearly didn’t feel the same, but then he had never had to worry with Gordon looking after him. He didn’t see people for who they really were because Gordon saw for him. He didn’t realise that smiles could be scowls or that hugs could bruise. He was too naive for his own good.

[Send me numbers!]

[hyolks]

give it back

[theplottdump]

Do you like me Bert? 𝘿𝙤 𝙄 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪? Of course I do Ernie, you're my best friend. 🛀

Val and Chad as Bert and Ernie from Sesame Street 💛

[cable-salamdr]

Yooo just wanted to say your art is AWESOME KEEP IT UP ‼️‼️‼️

annnd if you are still taking requests I desire lloyd and garmadon chilling 😊

Okay I know you said chilling

However, consider.

[sainztander]

Qualifying - Brazil 2023

[shares-a-vest]

@steddielovemonth Day 25: Love is… Asking, “Do you want a blanket?” (Prompt by @thefreakandthehair)

wc: 952 | Rated: T | cw: Hospital setting, mild descriptions of injuries and general hospital stuff, physical pain, one mention of blood

Tags: Post-s4, Fix-It, Eddie Munson Lives, Hospital

'Hospital Blankets'

“Steve? Hey, Steve?”

Steve is pulled out of a restless slumber by Eddie’s stage whispering. A twinge in his back fully rouses him as he remembers exactly where he is – in Hawkins General, bent up like a pretzel on what is quite possibly the world’s hardest chair, wearing nothing but a hospital gown and his underwear. He blinks harshly, his vision blurry as he looks in the direction of the chattering, dark-headed form lying in the bed in front of him.

“Huh?” he grunts, his voice thick with sleep as he becomes very much aware of the overall pain radiating over his whole body.

His throat burns too, even from a single word. He instinctively reaches a hand up to the reddened scar there – already a formed habit – only to scratch himself with his patient wristband.

“Do you want a blanket?” Eddie continues, his weakened voice indicating he is barely conscious, let alone aware of Steve’s discomfort.

Steve arches his back this time but it causes his chewed-up sides to ache, the bandages stiffening and contorting. Their tacky borders pinching at the already tight skin and scar tissue.

He gives up and slumps back in the chair, clutching the armrests for dear life as a twang shoots directly up his spine to his head. He runs a hand through his hair, impossible to keep from flopping in his face considering all he can do is give himself a goddamn sponge bath these days.

He should have just listened to Robin (and more than a few disgruntled nurses) when they begged him to stay in his own room.

But his room feels empty. Big and dark, just like his family home but a little more white and clinical smelling. It gives him nightmares. If he manages to settle enough to sleep that is…

It’s kinda hard when your friends are scattered throughout the bowels of the local hospital, all in varying states of distress meanwhile, outside the world has half caved in.

“Steeeve,” Eddie whines this time as he repeats, “Do you want a blanket?”

He half dry-sobs his query and Steve has no choice but to shimmy upright – thankfully, the slippery cover of his stupid seat helps him up this time.

Blanket… he finally considers and finds himself stifling a shiver.

He didn’t think to bring a blanket with him as he was much too focused on getting out of bed and down the hall to Eddie’s room. A room that is much colder than his own, which the occupant clearly knows.

Eddie’s fist is balled up in his blankets, offering them up as he raises his shaky arm.

“No,” Steve says softly, shaking his head and waving him away.

Eddie needs it more.

With a herculean effort, Steve moves the chair a few inches closer to the bed, hoping it isn’t scraping the floor or tangling up any of the wires and tubes hooked up to beeping machines – god knows where they each begin and end. His sides all but seize up as he sits back down and forces himself to correct his posture.

“But you’re cold,” Eddie frowns, his voice impossibly small.

“I’m fine,” Steve protests.

Eddie’s weak hand punches at his banket in a haphazard swish motion.

“Get into bed with me…” he mumbles, closing his eyes, “Rest with me, sweetheart.”

His head lolls to the side and Steve huffs out a laugh. Eddie is certainly on one hell of a cocktail of meds, mixed with the overall exhaustion that must come from almost dying. Steve can barely keep his own eyes open and he wasn’t anywhere near as close to it.

His heart thuds in his chest as thoughts of Eddie’s almost lifeless body rush back to his sleepy brain.

Dustin’s sobs… Robin scrambling to tear up clothes and sheets from the Upside Down version of the Munson’s trailer to make bandages… Nancy forcing everyone to focus as she devised a game plan, stopping every few moments to shoot down undead bats…

Steve screws his eyes shut and stands, bracing his arms on the sides of the chair before swiftly moving them to the bed for purchase.

At least Eddie’s right side is a little less banged up – but only just enough, Steve thinks as he hikes back the three warm layers of blankets enough to sit himself down on the bed. He swings his legs up next, clenching his jaw as every muscle in his body aches and pains from what transpired however many days ago.

The bed is a tight fit, but Steve doesn’t mind. The mattress is perhaps a fraction more comfortable than the chair, but he soon warms as he settles down and rights the blankets, smoothing them out for good measure and double-checking he hasn’t disturbed Eddie too much.

His body warms almost instantly as he rests his head beside Eddie’s on his pillow, positioned close enough that he can feel frizzed dark curls tickling his cheek. Eddie’s wispier than he expected and smells of the generic hospital soap – but at least the dried and caked-up blood is gone.

“That’s good…” Eddie coos, turning his head to face Steve, those tickling tendrils now replaced with a soft woosh of his breathing.

He can see the scar on Eddie’s cheek now. The bandage patch has been removed, exposing raw stitches today. Steve sighs, relieved by the smallest of steps forward.

Eddie can’t do much more than reach his hand out. And Steve takes it, interlacing their fingers despite the heart monitor clipped onto Eddie’s right index finger.

“Blanket’s... warm…” he mutters, nodding as he feels slumber tugging at him once again.

Eddie hums in agreeance and lightly squeezes his hand.

[wanderingblindly]

for the ask game — ✄ for the (no homo) girlfriend guide? :)

(ask game) (original fic)

In today’s continued episode of: where are the worst places liquid could write, enjoy this hot off the stairmaster steps lmaooooooo

Lando lets his back rest against the hospitality wall, welcoming the brief moment of reprieve during the media day madness. He nods at some members of the team as they walk by, fishing out his phone on instinct.

He flips open Instagram, closing it immediately and opening his texts out of habit. His fingers linger on the screen for a moment, mind finally catching up to his auto pilot.

His thumb hovers over Oscar’s name.

What the fuck is he doing?

It’s not weird to text his teammate. But at the same time, what’s he even going to text Oscar about? Where are you? He’s not his fucking PR manager, he’s not Kim. Why would he care where Oscar’s off to?

I’m bored? Again, they’re not, well. They’re not really friends like that, are they? Sure, if he clicks on their messages, the last things he’ll see are a good morning text from Oscar and his accidentally-erotic sexts but like. They’re not quite mates, are they?

It’s just the bet, just Lando’s undying urge to shift his nose where it doesn’t belong, that keeps Oscar glued to his hip these days. And sometimes that glue has to snap, sometimes Oscar has to go handle work duties and chat with Logan afterwards.

His chest aches.

It’s because he’s not good at not being the center of attention, probably. Certainly. Obviously.

He shoves his phone back in his pocket with a mental huff, not losing his dignity by actually doing it. The front door opens as he pushes off from the wall, Oscar strolling in alongside his side of the garage — the lot of them giggling, talking about some video they got him to film in the garage.

Lando raises his hand to wave, freezing when Oscar doesn’t look at him.

Oh.

He drops it, pulling his phone back out as some stupid self defense mechanism. Maybe he was just reaching into his pocket the entire time, no one needs to know what he’s up to. With renewed determination, he opens Instagram again, angrily liking a few comments from fans that all look the same and feel the same: like Oscar’s ignoring him.

First of all, he’s the one that should be ignoring Oscar, he’s the one that has his whorish — well, no, that’s just rude. He pulls a face.

God, what the fuck is he doing?

Oscar’s, quite literally, right there. He’s still in the hospitality. From his peripheral, Lando’s fairly positive he’s even in the same room, just on the other side. Getting a coffee, probably. Still half asleep at 3pm, probably. He’d scoff if he wasn’t so agitated.

His free hand wanders, the corner of his thumb finding his teeth with anxious vigor. He tears at the skin, the sting doing little to distract him from… this. Whatever this is.

He could just go talk to him.

But god, wouldn’t that just be clingy? He was here first, it would look like he was waiting for him. Which he was, probably, but that’s not the point. The point is the optics, the fact that it would *seem* like he’s waiting on his teammate, that they’re best mates when clearly Oscar doesn’t care. And that, being the one chasing, that can’t happen.

Fuck, but is it true?

His thumb is bleeding, the sharp zing of iron reaching his tongue.

“Fuck,” He mutters, pulling it away and assessing the damage.

“Interviews that tough?” Oscar’s voice, light with suppressed laughter, snaps him to attention — phone and thumb long forgotten.

“What?”

“You’re nervous?” He nods at Lando’s hand, brows a little furrowed, frown at the corner of his lips. “Jon know you do that?”

“Shove it,” Lando tries to bristle, more embarrassed than mad at Oscar’s prying.

Oscar holds out a paper cup between them, thumb mindfully pressing at the teabag string, keeping it from slipping in. ”Chamomile’s pretty soothing, I think.”

Oh.

Lando’s feels his stomach drop to the floor. Their fingers brush awkwardly when he takes it.

“Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

Oscar steps to the side, leaning against the wall alongside Lando. Neither knows what to say, so they just. Don’t.

But maybe that’s better than nothing.

[ildiavoloro55o]

Listen you can hate or love sprint race weekend as much as you want but you gotta admit sprint weekend is for Lestappen content. Because so far this season sprint weekend has fed us alot of Lestappen and I for one love it!

Baku:

Austria:

Spa:

[b4kuch1n]

this body of yores

transcript

[eqt-95]

the heart ask game

i always lose track of my excerpts (and y'all were so awesome sending through an avalanche of asks), so i've collected all the supercorp heart ficlets into a single post in order of posting. many many genuine thanks to everyone who sent me an ask - it was a fun challenge to force me away from being precious about every bit and just move on.

🖤 kissing while crying / goodbye kiss / desperation, post 1 | the 'Her' AU

🖤 kissing while crying / goodbye kiss / desperation, post 2 | the super sad one

💖 rough kiss / hot and heavy / making out | Lena has a secret

🤍+❤️ kiss at the wedding / milestone + first kiss / realization | Kara wants to be Orpheus

💙 drunken kiss / tipsy | Lena is drunk and Alex can't cope

💛 reunion kiss / relief | Lena's off planet and Kara has zero chill

🤎 multiple kisses / kisses all over / kiss after kiss | the one where Kara takes a leaf from Nurse Esme's book

💗 slow kiss / gentle kiss / inevitable / soft | unsaid is said

❤️+💜 first kiss / realization + surprise kiss / impulsive kiss | Lena's patience is at zero and Kara

[demisexual-eddie-diaz]

GUYS I’M GOING TO THE MIAMI GRAND PRIX

THE SPRINT RACE AND QUALIFYING

THIS TIME NEXT WEEK I’LL HAVE SEEN THEM

[mrmustachious]

42?

wc: 463 words

snippet: “He’s not answering his phone,” John said as he dialled again and pressed his phone to his ear in the hope that the call would be picked up this time.

[Send me numbers!]

[sentient-catctus]

*xyplophone glissening noises*

unmute 🔉

[sunlightandsuffering]

“Is that my name… on your ass?” Mikasa screams, a high-pitched wail as she turns around, her hands already moving desperately to cover up the cheeks of her ass in her far too tiny bikini that Sasha had forced her to buy. But Eren is faster, knocking her hands away and casually bending her over the large outside dining table for a better look. He doesn’t even bother to hide his amusement, the pure glee in his eyes as he pushes her bikini bottoms away, letting them bunch up between the cheeks of her ass and Mikasa could die right now. Because despite all her protests and squirming it is in fact Eren’s name on her ass, written in dark bold cursive, nondescript but big enough to be noticeable, Eren. 

It’s a brand of ownership if there ever was one, and glancing back at him his eyes are filled with mirth, that grin of his all too smug. “Oh Mikasa, baby when did you get this?” “It was an accident, i’m getting it removed–” SMACK. 

The sound reverberates over the pool deck, and seconds later the pain hits her, delayed sensation as she realizes Eren’s just smacked her ass with enough force for it to jiggle, her cheeks bouncing from the impact. He leaves a red mark in the shape of his palm as he rubs over her butt, and Mikasa yelps, “Did you just fucking slap my ass–” SMACK! He does it again and Mikasa yips this time at the impact, renewing her struggles, “Eren you can’t just–” “I can and I will, this is my ass now baby,” He rubs over her rear with a possessive hand, soothing over the mark, his expression pleased as he takes in her new ink. “Eren you can’t be serious it was a drunken accident we’ve been broken up for–” Another smack and this time Mikasa growls at him, “Stop it you asshole!” “I don’t think I will, sweet cheeks, had I known you were gonna brand my name on your ass Mikasa I wouldn’t have been quite so willing to let you go, takes a special kind of crazy to get my name tattooed on your ass.” “It was a drunken mistake Eren, we’re over it’s not happening again, we’re too toxic together.” “I don’t think we are,” He hums, ignoring her now, his eyes glazed over with lust now, his thumb slipping to the warm crevice of her cunt, skating over the flimsy fabric of her bathing suit. His grin is downright feral when he finds her fucking soaked, “Couldn’t leave this sweet little cunt waiting now could I? A sweet girl like you, my name on your ass, I’m the most wicked thing about you Mikasa and I think I like it.” 

Mikasa is aghast, how has she let the situation deteriorate so much, they’ve been broken up for two months, life has been healthy, she even went on a date. And now here she is, heart throbbing, pussy wanting and all because she got her infamously toxic ex’s name tattooed on her ass. 

Eren rubs a large palm over her butt, humming in utter delight, his eyes expression gleeful, “ God Miki this makes me wanna fuck you all the more, tell me sweetheart, now that my name is here will you finally let me fuck your ass, be the sweet little anal slut I know you can be?” 

She is so very, very fucked, but maybe just maybe she doesn’t mind…

[kingsofneon]

wip wednesday fake it till you break it 🙏

WIP Wednesday list

…The really stupid bit is that he distinctly remembers thinking; it’s not like there will be consequences. 

Well, here’s the irony, he thinks to himself, propping his chin on one hand to hide his scowl. He still doesn’t know what’s troubling Kon, and the consequences are awkward and bitter on his tongue. Kon is love-struck by Caroline, gushing about her pretty hair and her pretty eyes and her sarcastic sense of humour, and Tim has to sit here and listen, discomfort squirming in his belly. He hadn’t actually thought it would get this far, because normally Caroline can twine a boy round her finger and get what she needs in an hour or a second date, but Kon…

Tim isn’t naive enough to think that Kon can’t keep secrets. They’re heroes - they have to be able to bluff, at the very least. Only, Kon doesn’t bluff - he just lies, and Tim doesn’t even notice until Kon says something different to Caroline! 

He also hasn’t even flirted with her past the first time they interacted, and Tim had tried to give Kon Caroline’s number. Caroline had been turned down so gently that Tim had barely recognised the dismissal, flattered despite himself. 

And therein lies the problem. Or, well, the fourth part of the problem in a problem that he thought would’ve been solved three sections of a problem ago.

He’s…

He knows Kon isn’t actually talking about him. He knows Kon is talking about his new friend who works with the Hall of Justice tour guide crew. He knows Kon gets excited when he meets new people, and that he likes introducing his friends to each other, so of course Kon would talk up Caroline in order to get Robin, known lurker, at least vaguely interested.

He is well-aware of all of those things in the most cold-hearted, logical way he can manage. 

It does not stop his insides from being on fire, because currently he is somehow both burning up at Kon’s flattery and wildly jealous of himself.

All he’s saying is that Steph is never allowed to find out. She’ll laugh at him for years.  

“Yo, wonder,” Kon says, snapping fingers in front of his face, and Tim jerks back with a noise that can probably pass as a yeah, I was totally listening as long as no-one asks him for a camera replay. “You’re the one with the dating experience. What’s the most platonic activity you can think of?”

“Anything with a tag-a-long,” Tim says, before he can think the better of it - before he can think at all, really - and yet still somehow caught on the specifics of Kon’s request. 

There’s something wrong with his chest, and he thinks maybe there are five problems, instead.

[qualxon]

Who knew all it took to get me out of my drawing slump was a glowing lizard

A sort-of screenshot redraw of this bit in the trailer: