#drag lockscreens

[foreversaba]

Then and now.

[queens-of-lockscreens]

❈ Trixie & Katya appreciation ❈

(like/reblog if u use, kay?)

[ricardolima]

[terabyte-teddybear]

all that plazz 💛🎶

[lm4gxne]

-Ariana grande for rupauls dragrace 🫐🌌⚡

Mother has arrived!

[that-art-hoe]

emmmmm which bosco is your lockscreen im curious show me your wife

Its my m&g pic of me and her🥰🥰 she was wearing red hair and that blue leopard blazer thing from willow🥹🥹

[klauscigarettes]

— rupaul’s drag race: all stars 7 lockscreens ♡

     ✦ please like/reblog if you’re saving or using.

     ✦ if you repost, give me credits.

[wmnylander]

god…. f1 is so much more enjoyable when there are little to no expectations on your driver & the media aren’t closing in on him 24/7

[sergeylazarev]

was tagged by @eurobison to post my lockscreen/last song I listened to/last pic I took/last pic I saved ! Thanks for tagging me I feel special

Tagging uhhhh @mojsvijet @spoingbob @depressed-bisexual-eurofan @breaddo only if y'all feel like it!

[ceilidho]

prompt: forced throuple au; Ghost decides that you and Johnny are his (part 1; ghoap x reader)

-

Johnny’s been bragging about a pretty bird lately.

Ghost listens because the periods between missions are long and colourless—he fills the time with paperwork, PT, exhausting his muscles in the gym, and dissociating in a booth at the only good pub on base when Johnny drags him along—and it’s better to tune out the thoughts in his head and replace them with something else. Besides, for as much as he gripes about poorly trained dogs barking too much, he enjoys the sound of Johnny’s voice. It quiets the faint ringing that follows him wherever he goes, an agitated humming that leaves him, on his best days, on the brink of rage.

“Tinnitus,” a doctor says when he brings it up during a routine check-up. Can you shut that fucking noise up?

“Best we can do is get you hearing aids.” Apologetic, sincere even. Stained, as always though, by a trembling, noxious unease. It emanates off the doctor in waves. 

Hard not to feel uneasy around a man in a mask, Ghost assumes. That’s all part of it though. He doesn’t cultivate comfort, doesn’t attempt to engender soft feelings or put the mind at ease. His body and persona are designed to put the body and mind on the knife’s edge of fear, and then tip it over. He leaves the sweet talking and charming to men like Johnny, who babbles red language in a tongue like larkspur. 

Ghost’s first language is oil slick. It stains and it covers and it darkens everything it touches. 

And now, Johnny’s talking about a bird.

A couple months after Las Almas, the first picture comes out. Not a folded up keepsake tucked away in the pocket of a bag or a wallet or the inside of his jacket, but right on Johnny’s lockscreen on his phone. He disapproves at first glance. Not of the girl, but at the thought of keeping something so valuable on display for anyone to see. It’s not how he functions. Everything sacred is burned, destroyed, or—if precious enough—buried so deep underground that salt miners might greet it on the way down.

“Pretty, eh?” Johnny goads, nudging Ghost with his shoulder. He’s all wide grin, eyes electric-blue like the flames of Kawah Ijen. 

She is pretty. Pretty as pie. Not a speck of grit or blood on her; if there’s any edge to her at all, it’s tempered by her smile in the photo on Johnny’s phone. A sugar sweet cunt, by the looks of it, sure it’d taste like candy if he got his mouth on it. He angles his eyes with Johnny’s lips and wonders how many times he’s eaten her out, if hers was the last cunt he ate. Likely. His boy’s the loyal kind, hard to shake off once he’s got his teeth in. Swapping spit or blood, he doesn’t leave once he’s got a taste. 

“Where’d you find her?” he asks instead of agreeing, and takes a swig from the bottle in front of him. The bar’s hardly filled out yet; the two of them come early because Ghost’s an old man—that’s what Johnny would say—and doesn’t like to be around people once the sun’s set. It’s a burnished gold now, sun hovering low in the sky when Ghost turns an eye to it. 

“Florist. Met her when I picked up flowers for mam’s birthday.”

Nearly a month then. “And I’m just hearin’ about this now?”

Not in this same pub three times a week since then. Not on the tarmac, suited up and sweating already beneath two layers of gear. Not in the shower beside Ghost’s, fingers reaching over the side for a bar of soap because Johnny can’t be arsed to get his own. Not with his head slumped to let Ghost shave the sides of his head nice and neat, thick fingers splayed over the delicate bone of his skull that Ghost knows would take nothing to break. 

It rankles him until he looks back down at the phone in his hands—the one he’d plucked from Johnny’s fingers even while he whined about Ghost always stealing his shit—and feels his heartbeat slow. It levels out like staring into the scope of a rifle, the molecules of his breath melding with the molecules of the air until even the sound of his heartbeat dulls to the insects around him. 

Johnny purses his lips. “…Wasn’t sure then. Am now.”

“Cunt’s a cunt. What’s there to be sure about?”

“No.” Johnny shakes his head vehemently. “She’s no’ like that. She’s special—I’m telling ye, Lt—” he stresses when Ghost snorts, the sound thick with scepticism, “—she’s a good egg. Smart one. Sweet as pie.”

Sweet as pie. Mutt half-shares his thoughts these days. They must have brought more home than just shellshock and keloids. 

Johnny squawks when Ghost unlocks his phone and thumbs through his photos, trying to wrench it out of Ghost’s hand to no avail. He’s easy to hold back. All he has to do is put down his beer for a second and get a handful of hair and jerk, and there it is. Peace and quiet. A wince bleeding into his peripheral vision while Johnny mumbles something under his breath about him being a mean bastard. 

He snorts again. Even from Johnny, he’s heard worse. 

There isn’t much left of him these days. A tired husk and a taste for Guinness. He bleeds and shaves and wipes it off, smells the viscera still staining his mask that he hardly ever washes, can’t bear to honestly. Waste of fucking time, as far as he’s concerned. Just going to get dirtied again, soaked in blood again within the week. Shaves his head too just to have less to deal with, less to distract him from the single-minded intensity he brings to the job. He’d dematerialize if he could, become a ghost in name and shape, if only the laws of physics allowed. 

Instead he’s saddled with a body that echoes back his age in creaking joints and low back pain. Scar tissue that aches when it gets cold. 

In the months he’s known Johnny, he’s never let himself think about the world outside their bubble. His rank demands a certain level of socialising, and while he doesn’t schmooze with the brass like other lieutenants might, Ghost hardly has the privilege of isolating himself all the time, but still he can count the people he considers close on one hand. 

Not family, but close. The thought of family is sheathed within him; he knows to leave the knife in lest he bleed. Still, Johnny’s fought his way onto the list and now he has to pay with his pound of flesh. 

There’s a switch that’s been off for years, closer to a couple decades, and it flips back on when he finds this man that trusts him without question, that follows his orders and looks up at him with these big, puppy blue eyes. It twists something in his chest. It turns him into a thing that says maybe it’s better to take than just covet. 

There are other photos of the girl in Johnny’s phone, some likely not meant for present company (Johnny flushes red when Ghost flips to a picture of his bird in a pretty little number, lace cupping her tits and ass, sitting on Johnny’s bed back home and looking back at him over her shoulder with a little grin). Still, it interests him to see this side of his boy; he’s maybe thought of it before in abstract terms. He knows that Johnny’s no stranger to a wandering eye, not with the way he’s built and his pretty boy face. He’s well acquainted with Johnny’s dick, hard not to be in such close quarters; it’s a nice, pretty thing, just like him, a good handful. Nothing like the ruddy battering ram in between Ghost’s legs. The one Johnny once got a glimpse of in the showers after a two week long stint in Kyrgyzstan and paled, mouth gaping open while he stared until he could finally laugh it off. 

Ghost remembers thinking detachedly about how lovely that little gaped open mouth would feel around his cock. 

Surprising that it took this long for him to cotton on to his own desires. 

“Bring ‘er around then. I’ll see for myself how sweet she is.”

Johnny scowls at the sudden uproar from a nearby table. “No’ a chance in hell. Dinnae trust any of these fuckers to behave around her.”

Ghost hums. He’s not wrong to be wary; under the table, Ghost runs a hand over his bulge and gives it a squeeze, lifting his thigh to readjust. She has a lovely mouth too. 

He’s been breathing fire and brimstone recently. Hungering to hear something break. It takes Johnny’s hand on his arm to hold him back, every cigarette puffed down to the filter. The pictures on Johnny’s phone make it seem easy though. 

Johnny’s been bragging about a pretty bird lately, preening at every opportunity to show her off. He doesn’t know that it takes approximately eight seconds for Ghost’s brain to file the girl in Johnny’s phone under mine, slotting her right under Johnny in that category and isn’t that just perfect because it also takes approximately eight seconds for Ghost to imagine what she might look like under Johnny. 

He hands Johnny back the phone, face down. “You get one week. Then I wanna meet your bird.”

[queens-of-lockscreens]

Adore in some vintage pictures ≈

(like/reblog if u use, kay?)

[ricardolima]

[terabyte-teddybear]

jasmine kennedie lockscreens as a surprise gift for @webpup-gif <3

[villsco]

can anyone link me or dm me some drag race lockscreen pleathe

🫶🏻🫶🏻

[whateveriwant]

The 141 watching their partner give birth

Price

Is absolutely fascinated by the process

Constantly looking down there, slack jawed, telling you, "Honey, you've got to see this"

Makes you warn him waaaay too many times to not whip out his phone and start recording such an exposed view of between your legs

Does, however, receive your permission to take pictures/videos from a more "decent" angle (ones you can actually share with your friends and families, you know)

The picture he takes of you holding your child for the very first time? Yeah, say hello to his new lockscreen

Ghost

Looks down a few times but mostly keeps his focus up by your head

Gives oodles and oodles of soft praise telling you how good you're doing, how strong you are, how he knows you can do this

Has both hands on you throughout the delivery – one holding your thigh open, the other holding your hand for support

Is completely unfazed no matter how hard you squeeze him; doesn't so much as blink even as you almost break his fingers with your death grip

The only time he lets you go is to cut the umbilical cord (and then hold your child so so preciously in his massive hands)

Gaz

Doesn't have the stomach to look, but he does manage to cut the cord

Lots of petting your hair, applying cool cloths to your neck, whispering praise/encouragement in your ear

Reminds you to breathe when you forget to (and realizes he sometimes needs the reminder too)

Finds himself getting a little choked up seeing you in such pain, but has to hold himself together for both your sakes

Maintains his composure up until he hears your child's first cries, and then it's Niagara Falls streaming down his face, tons of wet kisses pressed to your sweaty temple

Soap

You'd think being surrounded by blood and guts on the regular would have prepared him for this moment, right?

Looks down once. Passes out immediately

Poor guy goes down like a sack of bricks and has to be dragged out of the way by a couple of nurses

Doesn't come to until after the birth is over, and is so incredibly apologetic/embarrassed/disappointed when he realizes what happened

But once he finally lays eyes on your child, he's lighting up like he just won the lottery and is smothering you both with all the love he has to offer

[verstappen-cult]

Hi!! First of all i love your fics🩷

I saw you were asking for petitions about lestappen so how about a meet cute between lestappen and an anonymous reader? Like she’s not famous or the child of anyone famous, she’s just a fan of F1 and they meet in like a library or something like that, maybe even the paddock? I don’t know if this makes any sense, probably not.

“Max, for the hundredth time I swear to God we are in a school book.” Charles walks into the library as Max rolls his eyes, trying to understand why is that so important.

“And that’s relevant because…” He was just trying to buy some groceries and bumped into Charles, who was very excited and dragged him out of there even before he could pay for his food. And he can’t say no to Charlie, so.

“That makes us literally legends,” He says, peering into every bookshelf for the correct one. “kids are learning about racing and us. At school.”

“Yea’ that’s actually pretty cool.”

“Oh.” Charles suddenly stops walking, making Max stop in his tracks, bumping into him.

When Max looks up, he’s met with the prettiest girl he’s laid eyes upon. She has a few books in her arms, and is trying to grab one that is on the top shelf.

“Do you need any help?” Charles takes a step closer and then, she’s facing them. She’s silent for a couple of seconds, looking between the two of them.

Next thing they know, she’s smiling brightly at them. “Yes, please. I just need that one.” She points to a black and red one.

Charles tries to grab the book but it’s a little out of his reach. Max tries to hide a smile behind his hands, and doesn’t say anything when the boy turns around, silently asking him for help.

“That’s actually the book we were looking for.”

“You can have it.” The girl pushes the book against Charles’ chest, but he just gives it back.

“You probably need it for school or something.” Max says, giving her his best smile. “We were just trying to see ourselves in that book.”

She raises her eyebrows, immediately opening the book and looking for the picture. “Oh, that’s why you looked so familiar!” She exclaims, turning the book around to show them the page.

And Charles was right, there is a picture of both of them alongside Checo on the podium in Las Vegas last year. There’s a paragraph talking about what is Formula One and who are they.

Yeah, it’s pretty cool.

“So,” Charles says, cheeks burning red. “Do you need it for school? Are you like in senior year or something like that?” Max laughs because he can’t help it. He has never seen him flirting before.

“No, my nephew needs it. I’m just helping.” She then proceeds to introduce herself, saying her name and waving. Max and Charles find it so cute, they seem to have fallen for her charm. And they just met her.

“It’s your nephew a Formula One fan?”

“Actually,” The beautiful girl pulls her phone out of her bag, showing them her lockscreen. She’s there next to a boy in a kart. “He’s into karting and is gonna be so jealous when I tell him I met you two.”

“Well,” Max tries to sound nonchalant but he’s so nervous. He just hopes she doesn’t notice, or Charles because he’s gonna make fun of him for the rest of their lives. “We would be very happy to meet him.”

“Oh my God, seriously? He’ll be so happy if you come to one of his races. He will lose his mind.”

“I was actually talking about Facetime.” Max hates himself when he sees her face falls, but forgets about it the second she’s blushing.

“Just ignore him. Max is nervous because you’re so pretty and he doesn’t know how to talk with pretty girls.” Max wants to punch him in the face. “And you’re like very pretty.”

“You get nervous around pretty girls too, Charles?”

If looks could kill…

The pretty girl giggles, and they turn to look at her so fast their necks start to hurt. “Why don’t you come to the race this weekend and you can see if I get nervous around pretty boys too?”