#technically a repost but not really

[frenchublog]

70's....

[brodyfoxxsmassivetits]

so... poweredd huh???

drew 2024 but man it REEKS of 2023 ough.. still cute though

also preceeds this post but technically both are tangentially related...cool!

speaks to how many ideas I have clanking around I forget about, call me captain unoriginal babey!!!!

[serendippertyy]

you know you've got a decent reach in a fandom if your art jump scares you on a random tiktok at 2 am

[dailyhtfboards]

I lava this storyboard so much because it shows how expressive mole COULD have been 💔💔 LOOK AT HOW REBELLIOUS HE IS!!

I think it’s only made better with the caption cus it’s “Mole is ready to riot” and I love that line

(From TV episode 2C Don’t Yank my Chain)

[patrothestupid]

How mad would you be if once a week I ate one of your undies without you knowing and you're slowly drawn into madness over your clothes seemingly vanishing.

Don't worry about your socks. They're fine and definitely not in danger

litteraly you

[shinnyshining]

Guess who accidentally deleted the og post

Shining!

[funnywizard3000]

Reading a random guy's flickr caption listing all the jobs he has had (there's like. 40. And near the end it just says 'drug dealer' and then a few roles down there's 'acolyte' ?

[roaringheat]

Prettiest cowboy ever <3

[volchitsa-writes]

The Invisible Man by volchitsa

r/Dramione Top Fanfics 2024 - 8th place Top (Yet) Underrated Fic and 10th place Voldemort Wins AU

Rating: E Length: 192,497 words, 63/63 chapters posted (complete) Warnings: MCD, non-con (not between DHr), graphic violence, explicit sexual content, PTSD/trauma. Please mind the tags before reading! Featuring: Morally Grey Hermione, tortured Death Eater Draco, Theo/Pansy side pairing, a medium to slow burn enemies to lovers, eventual smut, an ensemble cast of Slytherins and Death Eaters, sentient magic, danger around every corner, a dozen of my favorite tropes in a trench coat, mischief, madness, murder, and more secrets than you can shake a stick at. Trauma with a happy ending.

[regancastlelion]

the medieval event is so funny to me rn because my mc lore is that she finds out that she's the heir to a duchy and thus is given her title. right now she's dressed in the Yellow Wolves tunic.

[wodimewoahtime]

gintama episode titles be like:

A Man Without His Balls Is Like An Angel Without Its Wings!!

[satellite-evans]

his person

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Summary: you are lando’s person <3

Word count: 2.3k+

Warnings: fluff

A/N:

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, talks, vents, recommendations or just simple questions are always welcome.

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

If you asked anyone — anyone who’d known Lando even half as well as the world thought it did — who his best friend was, the answer came easy, automatic, like muscle memory.

Max Fewtrell.

It was almost too obvious. They’d been inseparable since their karting days — the kind of friendship that was stitched together with inside jokes, shared playlists, matching scars from dumb teenage stunts, and years of standing side by side through wins and wipeouts. They were co-founders of Quadrant, partners in crime both on and off the track, the human embodiment of controlled chaos whenever a Twitch stream went live or an Instagram story popped up. If you ever bet on who knew Lando best — who could read him like a page out of his own life — your money was safe on Max.

But if you asked Lando — really asked him — his answer wouldn’t even take a breath.

“It’s her,” he’d say, soft but steady. Certain.

“It’s always her.”

You.

The girl who had known him before the podiums, before the fame, before the world chanted his name like a stadium-wide heartbeat. The one who saw through the swagger and the quick wit, the one who called him out when his ego got a little too comfortable, and who held him up when the weight of expectation became too much for one pair of shoulders to carry alone. His girlfriend, yes. But more than that. His person. His safe place. His best friend in every sense of the word.

And God, Lando could never seem to shut up about you.

It was an unspoken rule among his circle — one that started as eye-rolls and playful jabs but eventually softened into quiet acceptance. Your name had a habit of slipping into conversations without warning, as if his mind couldn't help but orbit around you even when you weren’t there. His engineers learned to expect it, Max would mock him with exaggerated groans, but none of it ever stopped him.

“Mate, we asked about tire strategy, not your girlfriend,” his race engineer would tease over the radio mid-practice, when his focus momentarily drifted.

And Lando, without missing a beat, would just laugh — the kind of laugh that sounded like pure ease, like home.

“Same thing, really,” he’d reply, grinning under the helmet. “She keeps me grounded. Technically part of the setup.”

On race weekends, it didn’t matter how chaotic the paddock got, how many fans called his name, or how tightly his schedule was packed. His eyes would always search the crowd — cutting through the noise, the flashing cameras, the blur of faces — until they landed on you. Like some unspoken radar tuned to a single frequency.

“There you are,” he’d mumble every single time, pulling you into his arms, cameras be damned. “Took me forever to find you.”

“You walked straight toward me, Lando,” you’d laugh against his chest, your voice the one sound that always, always managed to quiet his racing thoughts.

“Still felt too long,” he’d whisper, pressing his lips to your hair like that simple touch could steady the adrenaline still roaring through his veins.

You weren’t just the girl he loved. You were his favorite adventure. His co-op player. His partner in every messy, beautiful, unfiltered part of his life. Nights were spent tangled together on the couch, feet tucked under each other, controllers in hand, or phones abandoned on the table as you scrolled through old memes, trading soft jokes and lazy kisses. But the best part was always the silence. The ease of it. The kind of quiet that didn’t need filling, because being with you — just being — felt like the world had finally clicked into place.

And when the world outside got too loud — when the weight of expectation grew heavier than a leaden race suit, and headlines tried to script his story before he even had a chance to live it — it was always you he turned to.

“Do you think I’m doing enough?” he asked one night, voice quieter than the hum of the television, exhaustion settling deep into his bones after another long, hard-fought weekend. His head rested on your lap, and your fingers moved through his curls with slow, absent strokes — the kind that said I’m here, without needing the words.

“You’ve always been enough,” you answered, not even hesitating. “Wins don’t make you, Lando. You do.”

And something in his chest softened — like your words had reached places even his own self-belief couldn’t always touch. He looked up at you then, eyes warm, like he was trying to memorize the exact way you said it, the exact way it felt to be loved by you.

“See, this is why you’re my best friend.”

You smirked, playful but sincere. “Oh, I thought it was because I make better toast than Max.”

“That too,” he grinned, and it was the kind of grin that reached his eyes — the real one, the one that didn’t need cameras or podiums. “But mostly because you’re the only person who makes this whole crazy life make sense.”

And you always would.

Because even on the days when the world felt like it was spinning too fast, when the pressure of living under a microscope crept too close, you were there. Not with solutions or speeches — just you. Existing. Holding space for him the way only you could.

You brushed a strand of hair from his forehead, your fingers slow and familiar. “You know,” you murmured, “I don’t think anyone will ever understand you the way I do.”

“I don’t want anyone else to,” Lando replied, quiet but sure. “They’d get it all wrong.”

There was a pause, but the comfortable kind — the kind that wrapped around you both like a blanket, no need for more words. His hand found yours, thumb absentmindedly tracing circles against your skin, the rhythm steady, grounding.

“You’re stuck with me, you know,” you teased, squeezing his fingers gently. “For life.”

His lips quirked, soft and lopsided. “Good,” he whispered. “That’s exactly the plan.”

Race weekends always had a way of making that feeling even stronger — like the noise and the speed and the stakes only sharpened the way Lando looked at you, like the world could be spinning at 300 kilometers an hour and still, his attention would only ever settle on you.

You stood by the garage, tucked slightly out of the way, half-hidden behind a stack of equipment cases as the paddock moved around you in its usual, barely controlled frenzy. Journalists darted between interviews, chasing headlines with mics stretched out like fishing rods. Cameras tracked every flicker of expression on every driver’s face, lenses hungry for a story in a single glance. Engineers, crew members, mechanics — they weaved through the maze of people like clockwork, hands full of telemetry sheets and radios, their minds a million miles away, deep in calculations and split-second decisions.

And then, there was Lando.

The second his eyes found you through the blur of it all — the sponsors, the fans, the pre-race nerves knotted beneath his skin — everything else seemed to fall away. His entire posture shifted, tension melting from his shoulders as that unmistakable, boyish grin pulled at the corners of his mouth. The smile that wasn’t for the cameras, or the sponsors, or the sea of people waiting for autographs — the one that was just for you.

Like clockwork, he jogged toward you, cutting through the paddock like gravity had decided to rewrite the rules, yanking him toward the only place he ever really wanted to be.

“There’s my good luck charm,” he greeted, voice bright but edged with exhaustion and adrenaline — the kind that no amount of coffee or sleep could fully shake before a race. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your cheek, the contact lingering longer than it probably should have given the dozens of eyes watching, but Lando had never cared much about timing when it came to you.

“You should probably be focusing on the race,” you teased, fingers finding the zipper of his suit, giving it the lightest of tugs, grounding him even as the rest of the world tried to pull him in a hundred different directions.

“I am,” he replied, tilting his head slightly, those warm eyes locking onto yours like they always did. “You’re the best part of it.”

And the way he said it — soft, steady, without even a hint of his usual playful sarcasm — left no room for superstition or charm. Just the truth, plain and simple.

You reached up, brushing your fingers along the edge of his balaclava, adjusting it slightly before your thumb traced the sharp line of his jaw, a familiar and quiet ritual between the two of you — like you were handing him the last piece of calm before the chaos.

“Go win,” you murmured, your voice low but sure. “I’ll be right here.”

“You better be,” he said, stepping backward, reluctant but smiling, his eyes still drinking you in like he could store the moment away for later. His race engineer’s voice crackled over the comms, pulling him back to reality, but even as he turned to go, he glanced back — once, twice — like the distance between you was the only thing that ever felt wrong.

And when he finally climbed into the car, helmet on, gloves tightened, visor down — the world might have narrowed to tire temperatures and corner speeds, but you were still there. A fixed point. The face he’d always find, whether he crossed the finish line first or not.

Later that night, long after the champagne had dried on his race suit and the headlines had already written their version of the day, you and Lando found yourselves right where you always seemed to end up — curled up on the hotel balcony, wrapped up in a blanket you’d stolen from the foot of the bed, legs tangled together like the world didn’t exist beyond that little pocket of quiet.

The city stretched out below you, lights blinking lazily in the distance, but neither of you paid them much attention. His hand rested on your knee, your feet propped comfortably in his lap, his fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns along your ankle — like his body hadn’t quite figured out how to sit still, even if his mind finally had.

For a while, you both just sat there, letting the silence settle. It wasn’t awkward or heavy — just easy. The kind of quiet that only ever existed between two people who didn’t need words to fill the gaps.

But of course, Lando couldn’t resist breaking it.

“You know,” he said eventually, voice light but thoughtful, “it’s kinda ridiculous, isn’t it?”

You turned your head slightly, raising an eyebrow. “What is?”

He let out a soft, amused huff, like the thought had been bouncing around his head for hours. “I spend all day surrounded by thousands of people — cameras, fans, the whole circus — but the second I step out of the car, the only face I ever want to find is yours. Like some lovesick golden retriever.”

You snorted, nudging him with your elbow. “You? A golden retriever? Please. More like a raccoon hyped up on energy drinks.”

He laughed, head tipping back slightly, the sound warm and genuine. “Fair, but still. You’re basically my human GPS at this point. Doesn’t matter how big the crowd is, somehow I always spot you first.”

You tilted your head, playful but sincere. “Maybe I’ve just trained you well.”

“Oh, definitely. Pavlov would be proud.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Guess that makes two of us, though. I could be anywhere — grandstands, the grid, the middle of a fan mob — and my brain’s only ever tuned into you.”

He grinned at that, the kind of grin that was all soft cheeks and crinkled eyes, and for a second the teasing dropped away, leaving only something honest and quiet between you.

“God, look at us,” he said, nudging your shoulder with his. “Disgustingly sappy.”

“Max would be physically ill if he heard this conversation.”

“Max would disown me,” Lando agreed, lips quirking. “But he already knows I’m screwed when it comes to you. No point in pretending.”

You stretched your legs out, nudging his thigh with your foot. “You’ve been screwed since the moment I stole your fries that one time, haven’t you?”

He chuckled, shaking his head like the memory was still fresh. “That was the moment. I knew I was done for. Anyone who can steal the last fry and not feel guilty? Dangerous.”

You grinned, leaning your head back against his shoulder, your voice soft but full of playful affection. “And you let me do it anyway.”

“Let you?” he scoffed. “I offered. You just didn’t hear me over the sound of your victory.”

You both sat there for a second, wrapped up in that perfect kind of comfort that came from knowing — truly knowing — you belonged exactly where you were.

Then, without looking away from the view, you murmured, “You’re my person, you know.”

He glanced down at you, his hand finding yours under the blanket, fingers lacing through yours with a quiet certainty. “You’re mine too. Always have been.”

You turned your head, catching the soft, lopsided smile on his face — the one that always gave him away no matter how hard he tried to act cool. “I hope you know I’m keeping that in writing. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

“Good,” he said, pressing a kiss to your temple, his voice lower, softer now. “Because I wouldn’t know how to be me without you.”

You leaned into him, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under your ear, and let the moment stretch. No flashbulbs. No roaring engines. Just the two of you.

And it hit you all over again, the same simple truth that always seemed to sit quietly at the center of everything: You weren’t just his girlfriend. And he wasn’t just your boyfriend.

You were each other’s person. The constant in the chaos. The soft place to land. And the best part of every single day.

Always.

[winter-spark]

Reposting a Reblog as a separate post!

[I'm too lazy to update the text I legit just copy and pasted the post, I'll strike through dated text if I notice that it's dated, not including what's in these brackets, I just like crossing out words lol. Here's the link to the og post it was a reblog from, I mean this whole sentence. You can click it but there's nothing of real value or note in the og post tbh. lol it'd be funny if you click the link and I haven't deleted the old reblogs yet lol]

{Part 2: The Outfit Moodboards}

Alright I caved.(It wasn't in as short of a time span as it seems I drafted the og post like a day or two ago, then posted it because I was starting to really really want to draw them lol)

Here's the first rough sketches.

This is as hard as I expected <3 But also it is a bit fun so I guess I'm not too upset. I only want to cry a little lol. I think having headcanons is helping a bit so that's cool, I'm using this guide Lavendertowne shared on designing ocs in the video linked in this sentence.(I put it at about the beginning of the section.) It was still a little bit of a struggle to fill out probably because they aren't ocs but also because I'm indecisive so yea.

For clothes, I'm looking at various Zafran outfits that have appeared in game but I'm not at all confident about what can and can't be worn by the royal family and what can be mixed and matched so it's a bit loosey-goosey right now but I can figure that out later.

If anyone sees this, please, tell me what you think so far?

[anothertastelesstetrahedron]

I haven’t even thought of that!! You are so right, Door, it does make it worse/better and much funnier

Angela “You sound just like my brother. Before he left, and he never came back” Ledore 🤝 Desmond “If my daughter were still alive, she’d be about your age, too” Sycamore

just casually mentioning their trauma which is not really brought up again

[dizplicity-draws]

HAPPY PRIDE MONTH!!

To start out this year’s pride month, here’s a repost of my most prideful art 🖤🩶🤍💜

Characters and their canon sexuality explanations under the cut!

Peridot - Steven Universe: canon asexual aromantic. Peridot was confirmed to be aroace by Maya Peterson, a storyboard artist for the show. She said in a post on Twitter, “She’s not about fusion. She’s the ace and aro rep.” And true to her words, in the episode Log Date 7 15 2, peridot was shown to have a disinterest in fusion in a scene where she backed out of fusing with Garnet. I know fusion isn’t a direct allegory to romance or sex, but as an aspec person, this scene was super relatable. Also, my personal headcanon is that she is in a queer platonic relationship (qpr) with Lapis :)

Perry the Platypus - Phineas and Ferb: canon asexual. Perry was confirmed to be asexual by Dan Povenmire, a co-creator of the show. He confirmed this in a comment on TikTok, where someone asked “Hey is Perry part of LGBTQ+”, to which he replied, “Does asexual count?” Some believe he only said this because he didn’t like the idea of Perry being shipped. But that doesn’t mean we can’t still claim him!

SpongeBob - SpongeBob Squarepants: Canon asexual. In 2002, Stephen Hillenburg, the creator of SpongeBob said, “I always think of [the character] as being somewhat asexual.” Technically, this was not said as a positive reference to asexuality, but in order to deny that the character was gay. However, Nickelodeon later posted a pride month post featuring a few lgbt+ characters and SpongeBob was included. A lot of people, including myself, chose to believe this was meant to be in support of SpongeBob being canonically asexual.

Zim - Invader Zim: This one is just my own headcanon, but I wanted to include him because he’s a character that’s very important to me and, as an ace, I have always related to. Also, it’s shown in episode 3, Parent Teacher Night, that irkens reproduce by cloning rather than any natural means. And while I know that doesn’t really prove anything, I think it adds to my headcanon :)

Alastor - Hazbin Hotel: Canon asexual. Vivziepop, the creator of Hazbin Hotel first confirmed Alastor as being ace when she posted a drawing for national coming out day in 2018, which featured Alastor holding the asexual pride flag. Later, she confirmed during a Q&A that he is canonically asexual. During season 1 of Hazbin Hotel, Rosie, Alastor’s friend, jokingly calls him an “ace in the hole.”

[monzabee]

mr work dork and miss work dork lover - s. reid

criminal minds masterlist ||

Summary: spending an early morning with Spencer before both of you need to go to work.  

Pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

Word Count: 0.9k 

Warnings: kissing, gilmore girls reference (we can be friends if you caught that)   

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 

“Look who’s awake, sleepyhead.” You hear his voice before you open your eyes. How he knows you’re awake, you’ll never know, but you imagine it has something to do with the fact that he profiles people for a living.  

You whine out intelligible words that Spencer can’t quite comprehend, but then he manages to understand between your whines, “I’m still sleeping, stop making conversation with me.” 

Spencer chuckles, his voice warm with amusement. “Technically, if you’re still sleeping, you wouldn’t be talking.” 

You groan in protest, burying your face deeper into the pillow. “Stop using logic against me.” 

You hear the rustle of fabric as he shifts beside you, and then the unmistakable weight of an arm draping over your waist. He’s warm, the kind of comforting warmth that makes it even harder to want to leave the bed. “I read a study once that said waking up to a familiar voice can make the transition from sleep to consciousness much easier,” he muses, his fingers lazily tracing patterns against your hip. 

You peek an eye open, glaring at him half-heartedly. “I hate that you make everything sound like a lecture.” 

Spencer grins, unfazed. “And yet, you still keep me around.” 

You let out an exaggerated sigh, finally turning toward him. “That’s because I tolerate you.” 

His smile softens as he leans in slightly, his breath warm against your cheek. “Oh? Just tolerate me?” 

You hum, feigning deep thought. “Well… tolerate, like, adore—same thing.” He laughs, and the sound is so light, so full of something fond, that you can’t help but smile, too. His fingers continue their lazy movements against your skin, lulling you into that perfect space between wakefulness and sleep again. “Five more minutes?” you mumble, already snuggling closer. 

Spencer presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “We really need to get up for work, angel.” 

“But Spence,” you drag out his name, whining, “I thought you loved me.” 

“I do love you.” He says, chuckling as he presses a kiss onto your pouty lips, “But our bosses won’t be too happy with us if we’re late now, will they?” 

You scoff, “Hotch loves me.” 

Spencer huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. “Hotch tolerates you.” 

You gasp, scandalized, finally prying your eyes open to glare at him. “That is not true. He has a soft spot for me.” 

Spencer raises a skeptical brow. “Hotch has a soft spot for Jack. Maybe for Rossi’s cooking. But you?” 

“Yes, me,” you insist, propping yourself up on an elbow. “Remember that one time I brought him coffee before a case, and he actually smiled?” 

Spencer tilts his head, pretending to consider. “That was more of a… mild decrease in his usual frown.” 

You roll your eyes, flopping dramatically back onto the mattress. “You just don’t want to admit that I’m his favorite.” 

Spencer hums, brushing a stray piece of hair from your face. “You are my favorite,” he murmurs, voice softer now. 

You feel your heart stutter at the sincerity in his tone. He always does that, throws out some offhanded, devastatingly sweet comment like it’s nothing. Like it’s the easiest truth in the world. Smiling, you reach up, tracing the line of his jaw with your fingertips. “Well, you’re mine, too. Even if you do use statistics against me before I’ve had coffee.” 

Spencer grins, catching your hand and pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “I’ll make you a deal—if you get up now, I’ll grab us coffee on the way in.” 

You groan, burying your face in his chest. “Fine. But only because I love you more than sleep.” 

He laughs, wrapping his arms around you. “I’ll take it.” 

“Can I at least get a kiss first before you make me leave our warm bed?” Spencer smiles, leaning in, his eyes flickering between yours and your lips. You can feel his breath against your skin, the warmth of him so close, and you tilt your head slightly in anticipation. Just as his lips are about to brush yours, he suddenly pulls away, smirking. You blink, momentarily stunned. “Spencer Reid, did you just—” 

He’s already rolling off the bed, stretching like he didn’t just completely leave you hanging. “We’re going to be late,” he teases, heading toward the dresser. 

You throw a pillow at him, groaning in frustration. “Work dork!” 

He laughs, catching the pillow mid-air and tossing it back onto the bed. “Work dork lover,” he calls back, grinning at you. 

You narrow your eyes. “Not anymore. You’ve lost your privileges.” 

Spencer raises a skeptical brow. “Oh, really?” 

“Yep. No forehead kisses, no hand holding, no cuddles—” Before you can finish, he’s already moving back toward the bed. In a blur of long limbs and mischievous intent, he cages you in beneath him, his hands pressing into the mattress on either side of your head. 

“You sure about that?” he murmurs, tilting his head as he studies you. 

You swallow, suddenly very aware of how close he is. “M-maybe…” 

Spencer’s smirk deepens. “Maybe?” 

Your resolve crumbles when he dips down, lips ghosting over your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth—but not quite kissing you. “You’re the worst,” you whisper, your fingers gripping his shirt. 

He finally presses a lingering kiss to your lips, slow and teasing, before pulling back just enough to grin at you. “Still the worst?” 

You exhale, dazed. “I take it back. Work dork lover is acceptable.” 

Spencer laughs, pressing one last kiss to your forehead before standing up. “Come on, angel. Coffee’s waiting.” 

And, as much as you hate to admit it, he wins this round.