#the one i suggested is really short

[httpiastri]

lando norris x reader, 18+

"i'm bored."

lando's head shoots up from below you. your head is tilted to the side, gazing out the window as if you can't be bothered to care about the man between your legs; as if anything, even the gray skies outside, is more interesting than this.

but you're just pretending, of course.

there's no doubt in the way that your body always trembles under his touch, or the way that your cheeks grow hot when he just looks at you. he may be slow and careful, taking his time with his touches instead of rushing into things, but he's never been boring to you before, and he sure isn't now.

"what?" lando asks, frowning. he's a bit confused – after all, you were the one who called him up half an hour ago, begging him to come over – but he's not completely sure he believes you. he knows the effect he has on you. "you're talking nonsense."

you shake your head slightly. "no, this is boring..." you mutter, letting out an exaggerated sigh. his kisses still linger where he left them on the inside of your thighs just moments ago, and you already regret making him halt his actions.

"god, you're so bratty."

your eyes dart back at him. there's a teasing grin on his lips, and his fingers on your thighs suddenly make themselves known again. one thumb draws circles into your skin, as the other hand moves up to swipe just along the edge of your slit. "i- i'm not." the instability of your voice is clear to lando, and it's easy for him to take notice of how your legs have tensed up in just a moment. "i just... want you to..."

your eyes flutter closed when one of his fingers makes contact with your clit. "hm? what do you want me to do to you?" he increases the pressure, casually circling your bud as your hips buck up slightly. "for you to feel less bored?"

"you- you've said that-" a whine escapes from your mouth, not able to form your sentences when he's teasing you like this. he notices and slows down his movements to let you speak. "you said that you like to make my eyes roll," your eyes find his the moment you open your eyelids. "do it."

he cocks an eyebrow at you. "alright, then." his lips trace down from your stomach to right above your core, kisses still feathery yet carrying more purpose than before. "your wish is my command."

[luminique]

tying a bow on lighter’s biceps……mwheeheh

ANON IM GOING INSANE THINKING ABOUT ITT trying to keep this sfw but just know i’d do more than tie up his biceps 🤭

i think he would question it a little when you come up to him with some rolls of ribbon in your hands. he thought this was something about ‘coquette’ that lucy had talked about the other day, so he initially didn’t refuse.

but now here he was in your shared room, shirtless while his eyes followed your hands. you had told him to relax, not to flex his muscle and stay still as you snipped a piece of ribbon off of the roll. you took his arm and began tying the ribbon around his bicep.

you checked in with him, asking if it was too tight. he was still confused but shook his head, letting out a low “no” right after. once you were done, you gave a couple soft pats on his arm. a pretty pink bow tied up around it, feeling satisfied with yourself.

“now flex your muscles.” a big mischievous smile on your face as you waited for him. at this point, he knew you were teasing him in some way but he’d at least entertain you.

it didn’t take much strength for him to make the ribbon pop right off, as if it wasn’t even tied on properly in the first place. “what’s this for?” his eyebrows raised as he picked up the ribbon. he pulls down his sunglasses just a little, his eyes capturing yours.

“just for fun. you’re really strong aren’t you, undefeated champion?” hearing you call him that with your oh so teasing voice made him weak in the knees. he pushes up his shades, trying to hide the blush behind them. you were already cutting up more pieces of ribbon before he could say anything else, not like he could say anything else without sounding like a lovesick fool. little did he know, you’d have a lot more than ribbons for him. stickers, cute bandaids and more were in your pocket but you’ll ease him into that…

[lupizora]

Considering how differently the Kindaichi series and Detective Conan approach the final resolution of their mystery/murder cases, I would have liked to read a fic where Conan/Shinichi and Hajime meet for whatever reality-bending reason. It would have been such an interesting discussion for them to have with each other!

Unfortunately, I haven't found anything of the sort so far 😭😭😭

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

a snapshot of the result of spending a solid hour trying to find/create a suitable joke

[arttsuka]

In the Star Trek mer AU, are the different alien races instead different types of merpeople based on varying sea creatures?

Yes, based on different species or just completely imaginary (aka based on vibes), although I do want to insert real animal characteristics if not to their appearance then to their habits or abilities(?).

[sysig]

Dance, fucker, dance (Patreon)

[ifyourereadingthisblinktwice]

i need to stop forgetting things exist the fucking second they leave my field of vision. why is is impossible for two things to occupy my mind at once especially when im tired. like. i feel like a sim. i feel like actions are being canceled and i just. move on. and completely forget what i was doing moments before. i fucking hate it

[no1ryomafan]

Ranting in my server how much it saddens me mechas impact on Japan is unknown in the states even now because most people don’t know of the old shows that brought up the genre especially when the take of “Evangelion is a deconstruction of mecha” is still a take I’ve unironically heard in this year-from one of my fucking irls no less-because I learn more and more how crucial this genre was to Japan-

but than I turn around and ago “yeah I watched maybe 4 mechas and don’t have the desire to really watch more even if there’s some I should probably get too” and I wonder if this makes me come off as a worse “umh actuahlly” person or this is showing how awful my commitment skills to anything as of late have been given there’s NON mecha anime I still need to watch.

[angorwhosebabyisthis]

just got hit like a brick by the realization that i could like. post one of my solo campaigns on ao3, couldn't i. if they involve characters from any specific fandoms. like, i looked extensively through the guidelines and i'm not seeing it explicitly confirmed one way or the other, but also i can think of zero reason why it wouldn't be allowed? it's literally just fanfic written from prompts, only instead of a random word generator or whatever you're rolling dice now and then.

there are some systems i wouldn't do that with, like my hack of marchcrow's pokemon polyhedral that i've enjoyed and played quite a lot, because they're more repetitive quick-moving game loop than actual RP unless you go out of your way to add it in; it'd just feel spammy, technically allowed or not. but something like an RPGSolo or Over the Mountain campaign would i think be a hundred percent appropriate for ao3.

absolutely wild. i think i'm gonna do it.

[caseyscraftycorner]

in an infuriating update, after having no symptoms at all yesterday, today i am exclusively experiencing the symptom of "very slightly too warm but not quite a fever".

[sunny-daysss]

What do you mean I’m not drawing him from the waist up at a 3/4 angle facing to the left

[cannibalistic-suggestions]

Blog Update • December 24, 2023

[ ↓ ]

[everyothermouse]

Hausey

[reloaderror]

anyone got any good short stories to recommend?

[hold-my-candle]

It Never Ends

(07/03/2023: mountain hiking)

“Daddy, are we there yet?”

“Not yet, Isaac.”

“Daddy, I’m bored.”

“We’re almost there, Isaac. You wanna take a look?”

The van crunched slowly through the narrow gravel road as it approached the foot of the mountain. The trees slowly passed the van, greeting them with their branches as they swayed in the late autumn breeze. Isaac took off his seatbelt and leapt towards the front seat beside his father. Seeing the mountain occupy most of his field of view, growing more in their approach, Isaac let out a sound of wonder and amazement.

The van crawled past a large wooden sign that had golden text emblazoned on a field of white, but the paint had mostly faded or peeled off, which gave the looming mountain a sense of antiquity. A forgotten piece of the Earth that has remained untouched by human hands. As they passed the sign, Isaac read out the discoloured text.

“‘Mount Moriah’? Daddy, why do you think it’s called that?”

“Beats me.” He let out a long yawn. As he approached a small clearing where he can park the van, he let out a deep yet strained sigh as he stretched his legs out of the van. “We’re here, Isaac.”

The two of them stepped out of the van, both stretching their backs and limbs after having been stuck in the vehicle for a seven-hour drive. They both had to wake up long before the sun rose if they wanted to make the most of this trip.

They paused for about a minute to take in their surroundings. The road stopped just past the clearing heading into the mountain. Pine and juniper trees shrouded the mountain with their twisting and towering structures. Their bristled leaves provided an ambience of prickling noise and resinous odour carried by the wind. The only contrast to the deep green of the mountain was the yellowish green of the marigold buds standing in the same clearing that Isaac and his father were standing in.

Isaac ran to a small patch of marigold buds and kneeled to look closer at them. “Daddy, why haven’t these flowers bloomed yet?”

“It’s just not their time yet,” the father answers. Isaac made a face indicating he wasn’t happy with his answer. He was taking out the equipment that they needed for their hike through Mount Moriah. He put the large bags of hiking gear and supplies, a tent, and two flasks filled with water onto the grass. In the corner of his eye, he found a glint of light just under the seat. He bent down to retrieve whatever was down there, but he feels a sharp pain shoot down his finger. When he drew back his arm, he noticed a small drip of blood running down his index finger. He reached down again, very carefully, to pull out a hunting knife that had slipped out of one of the bags. He emitted an irritated sigh as he slid the knife into his pocket while he sucked on his finger.

Coming around the van with the gear, he noticed Isaac sulking while he continued to stare at the marigolds. He let out another sigh and knelt next to Isaac.

“Look, Isaac. Do you see the yellow tips on these buds?” Isaac nodded.

“They’re just about ready to bloom. You feel that cold breeze?” Isaac craned his neck upward to tune in to the atmosphere. The wind stung his nose a little bit as he inhaled. He nodded again.

“These marigolds usually bloom as the winter starts. So, if we come back next week, you should be able to see the marigolds.” Isaac began to perk up again after his explanation.

“Daddy, how do you know all this?”

“Just trust me.” He briefly reminisced about a time before Isaac had been born. When the doctor told his wife she was pregnant with Isaac, she immediately laughed at the insinuation. He and his wife both knew that at their age, pregnancy is hardly an option anymore, but the doctor reassured her that she was indeed carrying a child. Even he remembered laughing when she came back home with the news. But the realisation slowly arrived at him as she showed him the scans that the doctor gave to her. After multiple failed attempts at conceiving, they had given up trying, especially when she had gone past the point where she could no longer. It was a difficult choice not to have children, especially when it felt like she had been strongarmed into this situation. Which is why they were filled with such mirth at the news of Isaac’s arrival.

He gave a light but forlorn chuckle and stood up as he finished his memory, “Come on, Isaac.” He offered his hand, which Isaac firmly holds, “Let’s start hiking.”

They take their bags and flasks and proceeded to walk towards the entrance of the mountain. There was no real entrance to Mount Moriah, but a pair of juniper trees had twisted around each other at their apices which formed an arch that somewhat resembled an entrance to a palace.

As they both crossed the threshold, there came what felt like an immediate change in the atmosphere. Birdsongs became more distinct and individual from each other; the towering trees created a dappled canopy overhead, which cast shimmering shadows onto the mountain floor. The smoky odour emitted by the trees intensified to a sharp and pleasantly bitter aroma. Every footstep they took crunched into the earth as they left their solid tracks in the dust.

“Daddy, why does it smell here?” Isaac asked. His father took a deep inhale, and gave his response, “They come from the trees. Hardly anything grows here except for pines and junipers.” He looked up at the canopy, then back down to Isaac. He’d been standing about three feet away from Isaac; any closer and Isaac would’ve been hidden by his height, “That smell you’re smelling comes from the leaves, the sap, the fruit, everything.”

“Daddy, where did this mountain come from?” Isaac had always been an inquisitive child, ever since he’d learnt how to speak. His father, being the most weathered and experienced in the world, had always been to answer his endless lines of questioning. Even as his mother held him in her arms, Isaac’s father recalled her saying, “He’ll grow up to be so smart. I just know it.”

He cleared his throat as he prepared his answer for Isaac, “I want you to put your hands like this,” He pointed his fingers at each other with his palms facing down; Isaac copied, “Now I want you to slowly push them together. Like this,” He pushed his fingers inwards. As they met, he applied more force, causing his fingers to slope upward. Isaac did the same, but he made a confused face, “I don’t get it.”

“The world we are in right now is made up of plates. Plates that are always rubbing up or smashing into each other. When two plates push and smash into each other,” He repeated the hand movement he showed Isaac, “They form mountains.”

Isaac rebutted with another question, “How come we don’t feel it coming up right now, then?”

“Well, the whole process takes hundreds and thousands and millions of years. You’re hardly going to be able to feel it happening.”

“Daddy, how do you know so much?”

“...A magic wizard gave me all the knowledge of the universe.” He gave Isaac a sideward glance before giving a gruff chortle that echoed into the trees. Isaac laughed along with him as they continued their trek. Isaac kept on with his questions, some relating to things in the forest, like the birds, the rocks, and the dirt. And some related to the outside world, like volcanoes, hospitals, the planets, and the minutiae of life. His father was always ready to answer.

Times like this, where Isaac and his father can get time alone, had become increasingly rare as they continued growing in their respective lives.

“Daddy, what happens when we die?” Isaac’s father slows down his stride.

“Why do you ask, Isaac?”

“Well, the kids at school keep saying weird stuff about Mommy.”

“What do you mean?” His voice started turning more bitter.

“They keep saying she died.”

“No, she’s not dead.” Isaac’s father mumbled. He refused to clarify further as he urged Isaac to continue hiking. “Don’t listen to those kids. Your mother didn’t die. She just...left,” his voice faltered, but Isaac didn’t notice.

“Is it my fault?”

His father balled his hands into fists, “No, Isaac. It’s not your fault. Don’t ever think it was your fault.” Fragments of memories flashed in split-second screenshots. A speedy car ride. A woman screaming in pain. A hospital. A child. Happiness. Surrounded by family. An argument with her father. High tension. A flurry of blips and beeps. They’re quickening. Packed bags. Her father looks at him with disdain. Resentment. She was still, a smile on her face. Rose-coloured cheeks. Rapid breaths. The child is watching. Regret. Red. Red. Red.

“Daddy?” Isaac’s voice interrupted his trance.

“Huh? What? What is it, Isaac?” They had been walking for a while, and he could not recognize where they were. The trees bunched closer together, which closed up the canopy and dimmed the forest floor.

“What is that?” Isaac pointed further ahead into the woods. A small wooden shack stood on stilts. The dark brown wood of the shack made it blend in with the trees of the mountain.

“Hmm. Looks like a storehouse.”

“A what?”

“Like our pantry at home. Just bigger”

“Let’s look at it!”

“Isaac, wai-!” Isaac bolted off to the shack with his father running behind him.

The wooden storehouse stood before them; the stilts added an intimidating height.

“This feels familiar.” Isaac chimed.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know”

“Ok, c’mon, Isaac. Let’s keep goi-”

“I wanna see inside!” Isaac ran to the other side of the shack, which had a set of stairs to climb up to the storehouse. His father followed with reluctance.

“Isaac, please be careful.” He held Isaac’s hand firmly as he opened the door. The hinges squealed as the door revealed the inside of the storehouse.

There didn’t seem to be anything inside save for some cans and bottles. A musty and stale odour entered their noses. A table stood in the middle of the single room. On the wall that faced them, there was an engraving carved into the wood, in an old language:

your eternal punishment

“Daddy, what does that say?”

Silence.

“Daddy?”

Stillness.

“Daddy, what are you doing?”

Fragments of memories coming together. Mosaics from the past. He drives his wife to the hospital. They wanted to avoid the ambulance fees, so she sat in the back of his car and screamed. They lived quite far from the nearest hospital, so he had to keep going and going, going faster and faster. They made it to the hospital safely.

He lifts Isaac, kicking, screaming, and crying, and holds him onto the table.

Some of her family and some of his family arrived at the hospital after he had told them what was happening. Her father was there, standing sternly and away from the group, anxiously waiting for the arrival of the little one. Her muffled screams echoed down the hall as nurses rush in and out of the room. It’s taking a really long time. It’s taking too long. Why is it taking so long? Everyone starts becoming worried.

With his free hand, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the hunting knife.

The screams stopped. Everyone is waiting for the doctor with bated breath. The doors fling open, and the doctor announces that the baby has been born. Cheers erupted from the waiting room, the only one not cheering is the father, still standing sternly.

He brings the knife to Isaac’s neck, pressing onto the soft flesh, his constant thrashing causing some blood to drip out.

Her father goes into the room, and he follows behind him. You see the child, and your wife, the image of their embrace embedded in your memory. He sees her father whispering in her ear. Her face is incredulous as she throws curses at her father. And all of a sudden, she stops. Her monitors begin to emit rapid beeping as doctors and nurses rush in. He is ushered out of the room along with her father.

“Daddy, please stop!” Isaac begs incessantly.

What did he say to her? He backed her father into a corner and grabbed him by the lapel of his suit. Blinded by rage, regret, and the void in his heart, he could only make out a few of his words, “Disapprove...sacrifice...obedience...Isaac...punishment...” The cup overflows, and her father is on the floor, unconscious.

He stares blank-eyed into Isaac’s tear-filled eyes.

The funeral was short and unceremonious. He held Isaac in his arms and felt something. Something ugly. A hideous feeling. He hated him.

He digs in.

No. More memories flood in. You watched him fall asleep in your arms as he covered his pink face with his arms. You saw him take his first steps and laugh with glee as he said his first words. He grew up faster than you had anticipated. He never noticed how much his eyes looked like hers. The first time Isaac properly called him his father. The first time Isaac said he loves him. Love. He loves Isaac.

The hunting knife dropped on the floor, splattering drops of blood onto the wooden floor. He threw Isaac up into his arms and embraced him as tight as he could. The number of times he said, “I’m sorry” is enough to fill a novel. Isaac still cried and quivered, his face buried on his father’s shoulder.

“Daddy?”

“Yes, Isaac?”

“Daddy?”

“What is it?”

“Daddy, are we there yet?”

“Not yet, Isaac.”

“But Daddy, I’m reaaaally bored.”

The van crunched through the narrow gravel road as Mount Moriah approached.