#constructor art

[bside-cassette]

practicing on drawing kisses and thought I'd make it of Architect and Bonfire :3

[n1ckelpistol]

de campeones

[mintraindrop]

remember how I said I was going crazy over this picture? here's proof. I just sat down for like five hours and painted the shit out of it. might have fallen in love with this.

and I still can’t shut up about the whole thing, like?? they’re literally each other's mirror. and Oscar’s hand on Lando's back is somehow so comforting? I can’t even explain. it's like he’s making sure Lando doesn’t fall or stumble backwards. or maybe I'm imagining things.

anyway. here you go. my latest obsession.

art tag list: @leftneb @slideleftt @oscatmeowstri @justwannabelovedbylou

if you want to be tagged whenever I post something of my own art, please let me know. I'd be happy to put you on the tag list.

please don't steal or repost outside of tumblr. thank you.

[therealcallmekd]

These threads are so fine. Finite, fragile lines...

[sunny-and-vicious]

I stayed up all night until 5 a.m. to build a little friend. She is so cute

[crabs-brencil]

the f1 au that no one asked for

[holmesoldfellow]

Building elements for Scaladio and Rich Part of Scaladio for Sherlock Holmes: Chapter One by Yura Ponomarenko

[donttouchmylasagna]

He is a builder, in more than one sense.

Raffle price for Whitetigerwy

[bside-cassette]

It's been a while, but I've finally made a design for Lethe. @writingpracticetime, I hope you like her!

[patrickpatrovichluxury]

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[manuelamordhorst]

ArtFest Bremen 12. & 13.04.2024

[xesnox]

Save me Ancient builder tribe gajinkas, save me…

Structure constructors or something, idk, I never played the Minecraft.

In the nether fortress crafting my Withers, and by Withers, heh… let’s justr say.. inter dimensional societal collapse…

Usual design rant below

I believed veils would work great for the Ancient builders as not only can they hide their identity efficiently, keeping them relatively ambiguous, but also protect from the weather in the generally warmer climates they were largely stationed in, and equally work as face masks against disease and virus‘, all whilst still being able to be stylised in different ways, allowing the shape language to remain distinct.

Other visual inspirations were pirate and sailor clothing for the cold costal tribe, Ancient Greek and farmer attire for the warm costal tribe, and funnily enough: sci-fi desert planet Civilisation concept art for the desert tribes design.

Aswell as ofcourse their own respective structures and the loot within.

The colouration does differ in my head from what I rendered, I believe a lot of the little trinkets and details would have different colors, but I didn’t want the shillouettes to clash or melt into one another in this lineless style so here are the base colors for now, as I tried the former and it didn’t look good.

Look I know they were like a massive imperial force or whatever but you cannot tell me a group of artists inventors and architects that relied heavily on their semi sentient bio-mechanical hellspawn machines (and some necromancy) to do their bidding, bunkering up immediately once the odds were no longer in their favour, could handle a punch or two.

These people probably looked like starving artists, especially after the overworled was turned into a withering shithole for a couple years, legends was definitely a fanfiction they wrote about themselves. /j

[supernovasolace]

Don't worry, the character in question survived their stint in jello jail! Thank you @foldingfittedsheets for commemorating my japes with great art, it never fails to amuse me!

My WIPS from the tiredest day. @supernovasolace made a great joke about being in jello jail after being sucked into an ooze in our last session of DnD, so I'm making a sticker design for them to list in their shop.

And then I sketched a giraffe.

[neferaskingdom]

♡ So Kiss Me | OP81

NEFERASKINGDOM

Summary: McLaren's annual Christmas party means failed gingerbread houses and confessions in the snow.

SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

The McLaren Technology Centre was buzzing with excitement. Fresh off the high of their constructors’ championship win, the annual Christmas party was in full swing. The sprawling MTC was unrecognizable, decked out with garlands, fairy lights, and a massive Christmas tree standing proudly at the entrance. It was festive, loud, and decidedly not where Y/N wanted to be at the moment.

She leaned against a high-top table near the edge of the room, nursing her drink and watching the crowd. As a PR coordinator for McLaren, she’d spent months working tirelessly managing their socials and was supposed to be enjoying herself. Instead, she was contemplating the pros and cons of sneaking out early when a familiar voice cut through her thoughts.

“Y/N, you’re not entering the gingerbread contest?”

Caroline. The thorn in her side. Caroline worked in marketing and had perfected the art of weaponized politeness. Tonight, she was wearing a sparkly red dress and an infuriatingly smug expression.

“Nope,” Y/N said flatly, hoping the conversation would end there.

Caroline tilted her head, her smile sharpening. “Oh, I see. I guess some people just don’t have the creative touch for it.”

Y/N’s grip tightened on her glass. She didn’t care about the contest… except now she absolutely did. Caroline’s subtle digs always had a way of lighting a fire under her.

“Actually, I’ve decided I’m entering,” Y/N said, forcing a smile.

Caroline blinked in surprise, but she recovered quickly. “Oh, how fun! Can’t wait to see what you come up with.”

As soon as Caroline walked away, Y/N’s bravado crumbled. What was she doing? She didn’t even have a teammate.

She scanned the room, hoping to spot someone who wasn’t already paired up or too deep into their drinks. No luck. Her usual work friends were either tipsy or engrossed in other activities. After a fruitless search, she retreated to a quieter corner of the room, sulking.

“Why do you look like someone stole your Christmas cookies?”

She looked up to see Oscar Piastri standing in front of her, hands in his pockets and a curious smile on his face. He looked effortlessly good in a suit, the tie slightly loosened around his neck.

“It’s nothing,” she said quickly, not wanting to admit her predicament.

“Doesn’t look like nothing,” he said, stepping closer. “Come on, Y/N. Spill.”

With a sigh, she relented. “Caroline made some snide comment about me not entering the gingerbread contest, so I decided to prove her wrong. But I don’t have a partner, and I’m pretty sure I’m going to embarrass myself.”

Oscar’s brows lifted in amusement. “That’s it? Easy fix. I’ll be your partner.”

Her eyes widened. “What? No way. You don’t have to do that. This is your party. You should be… I don’t know, celebrating.”

“I am celebrating,” he said with a grin. “And what better way to celebrate than helping you crush Caroline?”

She hesitated, but the sincerity in his eyes won her over. “Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. I’m terrible at this stuff.”

“How bad could it be?”

Very bad, as it turned out.

“This wall won’t stay up!” Y/N groaned, holding a piece of gingerbread that stubbornly refused to stick to the icing.

“Maybe we didn’t use enough icing?” Oscar suggested, frowning at their rapidly deteriorating structure.

“I think the problem is that we’re bad at this,” she said, trying not to laugh.

“Speak for yourself,” he shot back, his smirk widening. “I’m an innovator. This is modern architecture.”

“If by ‘modern’ you mean it looks like it’s about to fall over, then yeah, you nailed it,” she shot back, rolling her eyes but unable to hide her grin.

They both burst out laughing as the roof caved in, sending a handful of gumdrops skittering across the table. Around them, other teams were building masterpieces: sleek houses with intricate frosting designs and perfectly placed candies. Meanwhile, theirs looked like it had survived an earthquake.

“This… this looks like something a five-year-old made blindfolded,” Y/N said, choking on laughter as she gestured at the crumbling mess. “It’s somehow defying gravity in all the wrong ways!”

Oscar wheezed, leaning on the table for support. “Hey, it’s abstract. We’re pushing the boundaries of what a gingerbread house can be.”

“Right, because ‘falling apart’ is such a bold statement,” she teased, wiping tears from her eyes.

They tried to salvage their creation, but every attempt made it worse. Oscar’s attempt at adding a candy cane chimney resulted in the entire roof collapsing again, while Y/N’s decorative icing turned into an unintentional Jackson Pollock painting.

“This is a disaster,” Y/N said, though she couldn’t stop laughing.

“The best kind of disaster,” Oscar said, his tone warm. “Seriously, who cares what it looks like? We’re having fun, right?”

Y/N looked at him, her laughter fading into a softer smile. “Yeah, we are. Thanks, Oscar. You’re a really good friend.”

His expression shifted slightly, like he wanted to say something more, but the moment was interrupted by Caroline sauntering past with her flawless gingerbread mansion.

“Oh, Y/N, it’s so cute that you’re trying. It’s all about having fun, right?”

Y/N forced a tight smile as Caroline walked away. “I hate her.”

“Hey,” Oscar said, nudging her gently. “Forget her. Look at what we made. It’s got… personality.”

Her smile returned, though it wavered slightly as she glanced at the crumbled mess of icing and gingerbread. “Personality is one way to put it.”

Noticing the flicker of disappointment in her eyes, Oscar leaned in, his voice lower and more earnest. “Hey, don’t let her get to you. She’s not worth it.”

Y/N gave a half-hearted shrug. “Easier said than done.”

Oscar studied her for a moment before straightening. “Come on. Let’s get out of here for a bit. Fresh air might help.”

The chill of the night air was sharp against Y/N’s cheeks as she and Oscar wandered the grounds of the McLaren Technology Centre. The party noise had faded into the background, leaving only the quiet sounds of leaves crunching beneath their shoes and the soft rustle of wind against the nearby trees. Y/N hugged her arms around herself, her thoughts drifting as she glanced over at Oscar. He had his hands stuffed in his pockets, his posture relaxed but his gaze attentive.

Oscar broke the silence first, his voice warm and conversational. “You’ve been quiet. What’s on your mind?”

Y/N smiled faintly. “Just… everything. The party, the season, life. It’s been a crazy year.”

“Tell me about it.” He shot her a small grin. “But hey, at least we’ve survived.”

She laughed. “Barely. Some days I wasn’t sure I would. Between the endless PR work and trying to keep up with you drivers, it’s a miracle I’m still standing.”

“Oh, come on,” he teased. “You love it. Admit it.”

“I do,” she admitted, her tone softening. “It’s exhausting, but it’s worth it. Especially when I get to see moments like tonight. You guys deserve it, you know?”

Oscar’s smile turned bashful. “Thanks. It still feels a bit surreal. I keep thinking I’ll wake up tomorrow and it’ll all be a dream.”

“If it is, it’s a pretty damn good one,” she said.

They fell into a comfortable rhythm, their conversation meandering from the highs and lows of the season to lighter topics. Y/N found herself laughing more than she had all night, her usual guardedness slipping away in his presence. It was easy to talk to Oscar, too easy, and she felt a familiar flutter in her chest every time he smiled at her.

Snow began to fall, light and gentle, dusting their hair and coats. Y/N’s eyes lit up as she stopped in her tracks, tilting her face upward. “It’s snowing!”

Oscar chuckled, watching as she spun in place, arms outstretched like a child. Her laughter rang out, clear and bright, and he couldn’t help but smile at the sight. She was beautiful, her joy infectious, and for a moment, he forgot about the cold entirely.

“You’re going to freeze,” he called out, amusement lacing his tone.

“I don’t care!” she replied, still twirling. “Look at how perfect it is. It’s like something out of a Christmas movie.”

Her spinning slowed as she stumbled slightly, and Oscar stepped forward instinctively, steadying her with his hands on her arms. She looked up at him, her breath visible in the cold air, and suddenly the world seemed to shrink around them. The snow fell quietly, the moment suspended in time as their eyes met.

“You’re shivering,” he said softly. Without waiting for a reply, he slipped off his suit jacket and draped it over her shoulders. His hands lingered for a second, his touch warm against the cold fabric.

“Thank you,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. Her heart raced as she stared at him, the closeness between them making her acutely aware of every small detail—the flecks of gold in his eyes, the way his breath hitched slightly as their gazes locked.

Her mind raced, a chaotic swirl of emotions. She’d always felt something for Oscar, but she’d buried it under layers of professionalism and self-doubt. Now, standing here with him, she couldn’t deny it any longer. She liked him. She more than liked him. And judging by the way he was looking at her, the feeling might just be mutual.

Before she could overthink it, Oscar leaned in. The kiss was sudden, catching her completely off guard, but she melted into it almost instantly. His lips were soft, warm against the chill of the night, and the world seemed to blur at the edges as her heart pounded in her chest.

When they broke apart, her breath came in shallow gasps. “Oscar…” she began, her voice shaky.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, stepping back slightly. “I shouldn’t have—”

“No,” she interrupted, reaching out to grab his hand. “Don’t apologize. I… I’ve been wanting to do that for ages.”

His eyes widened in surprise. “You have?”

She nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah. I just didn’t think you…”

“Are you kidding?” he said, his voice tinged with disbelief. “Y/N, I’ve liked you since the day we met. I just didn’t want to mess things up.”

Her heart swelled at his words, and she felt a giddy rush of joy that made her want to laugh and cry all at once. “You’re an idiot, you know that?” she said, her tone playful.

“Yeah,” he admitted with a sheepish grin. “But I’m your idiot, if you’ll have me that is.”

She didn’t reply with words. Instead, she pulled him into another kiss, this one deeper and more urgent. His hands found her waist as hers tangled in his hair, the world around them fading into insignificance. She pressed against him, her back meeting the rough bark of a nearby tree as their kisses grew more heated.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathless, their faces flushed despite the cold. Oscar rested his forehead against hers, his hands still on her waist.

“So,” he said, his voice low and teasing, “do you want to head back to the party, or…?”

She hesitated, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. “But this is your celebration party. Everyone’s here for you.”

He grinned, his eyes sparkling. “I’d rather celebrate in a different way.”

She stared at him, half in shock and half in amusement, before bursting into laughter. “Oscar Piastri, I didn’t know you had game.”

He laughed with her, his hand slipping into hers. “Come on,” he said, tugging her gently toward the parking lot. “Let’s get out of here.”

As they walked away, hand in hand, the snow continued to fall, blanketing the world in quiet magic. For the first time that night, Y/N felt like she was exactly where she was meant to be.

[olyrik]

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Toto Wolff with wife reader. Feat their son, Jack. Them fighting over him bad mouthing and not doing anything to help Lewis for this season. And she's very disappointed. She's giving him silent treatment, no kisses/hugs. Maybe he'll do everything to fix it. Fluff/suggestive/angst. Tag me later!!! Thanks!! :)))

The soft hum of Jack’s cartoons played in the background, barely cutting through the tense silence in the Wolff household. You stood at the kitchen counter, chopping vegetables with precise, almost robotic movements, while Jack sat cross-legged on the living room floor, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing between his parents.

Toto had been trying to catch your attention all morning. You had perfected the art of the silent treatment, replying to his occasional attempts at conversation with curt nods or monosyllabic hums. It was killing him.

"Darling," Toto began for the third time that morning, his Austrian accent heavier than usual, a sure sign he was stressed. "Can we talk about this?"

You didn’t even glance his way, placing the chopped vegetables into a bowl with an audible clatter. The tension in your shoulders was palpable, and it made his chest ache.

"Jack, go wash your hands for lunch, sweetheart," you said softly, turning to your son with a gentle smile. Jack bounded up the stairs, leaving his parents alone in the thick, uncomfortable quiet.

Once Jack was out of earshot, you turned to Toto, crossing your arms. "Talk about what, exactly?" Your tone was calm but carried a blade’s edge, and Toto flinched.

"About this—about us. About what you’re upset with me about," he said, gesturing helplessly.

You scoffed. "You know exactly what I’m upset about, Toto. Don’t pretend you don’t."

He sighed, dragging a hand down his face. "Is this about Lewis?"

"Of course, it’s about Lewis," you snapped, finally unleashing the anger you’d been bottling up. "Lewis has given his heart and soul to Mercedes, to you, and this is how you repay him? By letting him leave without so much as a fight? By standing there while people drag him through the mud as if he hasn’t brought you seven constructors’ championships?"

Toto opened his mouth to respond, but you cut him off.

"And what have you done to support him this season? Nothing! You’ve let him shoulder the blame for a car that wasn’t even his fault. Do you know what it’s like to watch him get torn apart while you just… stand there? It’s shameful, Toto."

He winced at your words, your disappointment cutting deeper than any accusation ever could. "I—"

"No," you interrupted, your voice wavering slightly. "I don’t want to hear your excuses. I trusted you to have his back, and you let him down. You let me down."

Toto took a hesitant step toward you, but you held up a hand, stopping him in his tracks. "You don’t get to touch me right now, Toto. Not until you fix this."

His heart sank. For all your years together, your relationship had been built on mutual respect and trust. Seeing you so hurt, so distant, was almost unbearable.

"I’ll fix it," he promised, his voice firm despite the lump in his throat. "I’ll do whatever it takes."

You turned back to the counter, blinking back tears. "You’d better," you muttered, barely above a whisper.

The next few days passed in a strained truce. Toto made good on his promise to fix things, spending long hours on calls and in meetings, but the tension between you remained. He missed your warmth, your touch, the easy laughter that usually filled your home.

Jack, perceptive even at his young age, noticed the shift. "Why is Mama mad at you, Papa?" he asked one evening as they played with toy cars on the floor.

Toto sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Because I made a mistake, Jack. A big one."

"Are you gonna say sorry?"

"I’m trying, buddy," he said, ruffling Jack’s hair. "But sometimes, saying sorry isn’t enough. You have to show you’re sorry too."

Jack seemed to consider this, then nodded solemnly. "Okay. Good luck, Papa."

Two weeks later, Toto walked into the house with a rare spring in his step. He found you in the living room, curled up with a book while Jack built a Lego tower nearby.

"Can we talk?" he asked cautiously, and you set your book down with a sigh, gesturing for Jack to give you a moment.

Once Jack was out of the room, Toto sat down beside you, close but not touching. "I’ve spoken to Lewis," he began. "And to the team. We’re working on a proper send-off for him—something that reflects everything he’s done for Mercedes."

You raised an eyebrow, but he wasn’t done.

"I’ve also made a statement publicly, addressing the issues from this season. I’ve taken accountability for the car’s performance and defended Lewis’ contributions. It’s not perfect, but it’s a start."

You studied him for a long moment, searching for any hint of insincerity, but found none. "And Lewis?"

"He understands why I handled things the way I did, but he also knows I regret not doing more earlier. We’ve agreed to stay close, even after he moves to Ferrari. He’ll always be family."

Your shoulders relaxed slightly, and Toto dared to reach for your hand. This time, you didn’t pull away.

"I hate fighting with you," he admitted, his voice soft. "I hate knowing I’ve disappointed you. You’re my compass, mein Liebling. When you’re upset with me, I feel… lost."

Your heart softened at his words, and you squeezed his hand. "I just want you to do the right thing, Toto. For Lewis, for the team, for us."

"I will," he promised, leaning in closer. "I’ll always strive to be better. For you. For our family."

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you leaned in and kissed him. It was soft and slow, a reminder of everything you’d built together and everything you still had to fight for.

When you pulled away, Toto rested his forehead against yours, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Does this mean I’m forgiven?"

"Not completely," you teased, but the warmth in your eyes told him he was well on his way.

From the doorway, Jack peeked in, grinning. "Mama and Papa are friends again!" he exclaimed, running over to join you.

You both laughed, pulling him into a tight hug. Whatever challenges lay ahead, you knew you’d face them together—just as you always had.

@pear-1206