#we'll be back to our regularly scheduled programming soon ^_~

[serpentinesketches]

Decided to redraw this character I designed back in 2022, give her a bit of a glow-up :D

[detectivemiku]

gon's goals during each arc of hxh will always be fun to me. because you have:

Arc 1. Become a hunter like my dad!

Arc 2. Train to be a better hunter!

Arc 3. Reunite with my friends and find my dad's game!

Arc 4. Search for clues on my dad in his game!

Arc 5. I must kill this one enemy. I need to avenge my friend and atone for his death by killing them. I don't care who I need to hurt along the way as long as they are one of them. I don't care if I lose myself in the process as long as they die by my hands.

Arc 6. I found my dad!

[saffusthings]

second chances

mob boss! lando norris x reader

part fifteen: creature of habit

word count: 1.2k

warnings: smoking, mentions of smoking as an unhealthy coping mechanism, talks of quitting(?)

fourteen | fifteen | sixteen

The moment she slid into the passenger seat of the now familiar car on Wednesday afternoon, she wrinkled her nose. It wasn’t too obvious—not like she meant to do it—but Lando caught it immediately. Her face didn’t quite scrunch, but her lips pressed together, and she shifted slightly like she was trying to put some distance between herself and the lingering scent in the car.

It had been a bad night. A bad fucking night. Lando had barely slept, the nicotine still sitting thick in his lungs after going through nearly half a pack while trying to cool off. He thought he’d aired the car out enough, but apparently not.

“You smoke?” she asked, her voice light but laced with something he couldn’t quite name.

Lando barely flicked a glance her way before putting the car in drive. “Not really.”

She gave him a look. The kind that made it clear she didn’t buy his bullshit but wasn’t going to press him on it either. “Oh,” she murmured.“It smells like smoke in here.”

Lando barely paused as he shifted gears, glancing at her with a blank expression. “Does it?”

She sniffed again, like she was double-checking, then nodded. The thick scent of tobacco hit the back of her throat with every inhale, forcing her to breathe it in through her nose instead. “Yeah.” 

He played it cool, turning his attention back to the road. “Must’ve been the guy who had it before me.”

She frowned slightly. “You let people borrow your cars?”

Ah, fuck.

“Not usually,” he said smoothly. Lando played dumb, shifting the car into drive. “Why?”

She shot him a look before waving a hand slightly in front of her face. “Because it reeks in here.”

He exhaled through his nose, tilting his head slightly like he was considering it. “Huh. Must’ve been the guy parked next to me then.”

Not that I own my own private three-story garage or anything.

She didn’t look convinced.

He kept his expression neutral, his grip on the steering wheel relaxed. She wasn’t stupid—he knew that. But he also wasn’t about to sit here and talk about why he had needed a cigarette so badly after what had gone down the night before.

She turned to the window, clearly put off by the lingering scent, and he caught the way she subtly pulled at the collar of her sweater, like she wanted to block out the smell completely. She fidgeted with the collar of her shirt before deciding it’d be rude to show her distaste so blatantly, instead opting to fidget with her fingers in her lap. Her fingers curled against her thigh, her shoulders tensed just the tiniest bit.

Interesting.

The next day, he brought a different car.

He didn’t acknowledge it. She didn’t bring it up. But when she got in, there was no wrinkling of her nose, no slight shift of discomfort. Instead, when she noticed the scented dangling tree ornament hanging from the rearview mirror, there was a twinkle in her eye.

This car was swirling with the artificial scent of french vanilla – much warmer and sweeter than the overwhelming haze they’d had to inhale the day prior. Instinctively, she smiled.

Huh, it smells nice in here.

Warm scents always had been her favorite, with her always stopping to smell candles that smell like vanilla or snickerdoodle or s’mores whenever she found herself at the mall. And now, her lips curled in a subconscious display of approval as she sat beside him, before she began to delve into all the details of her day.

It was stupid how much that pleased him.

A week later, his boys started noticing.

“Alright,” Max Fewtrell said, arms crossed, watching Lando fidget with something in his hands. “Enough of this shit. You’re fidgety as fuck, mate. What the fuck is going on with you?” He eyed Lando, watching the way his fingers twitched slightly on the table. “You good?”

“What d’you mean?” Lando muttered, scowling as he flicked an unlit cigarette between his fingers. He exhaled sharply, tapping his fingers against the table. He’d been doing that a lot lately. Twitching. Tapping. Clenching his jaw. Running his hand through his hair. All the fucking things he used to do before he ever picked up a cigarette.

Max Verstappen raised an eyebrow. “You’re miserable.”

“I am not miserable!” Lando snapped, then hesitated, rubbing a hand down his face.

Deep breaths. Get your shit together Norris. For fuck’s sake.

“Okay, maybe a little. But nothin’ more than usual, you muppets.”

Carlos Sainz paused in the middle of their game of pool, watching his boss like the kid was a puzzle missing half its pieces. “Didn’t you just buy a fresh pack the other day?”

Ah, so there’s a brain in there after all.

“Yeah,” Fewtrell agreed, his analytical gaze scanning Lando from head to toe and back again. “And then I saw you throw it in the bin an hour later.”

Can’t you ever mind your own fuckin’ business?

Lando snarled in nor particular direction, twirling the unlit cigerette between his fingers while he stared at it as if it had personally offended him. If he stared at it any harder, the poor thing would likely disintegrate.

Daniel Ricciardo, ever the opportunist, grinned wide and knowing. Mirth danced in those warm brown eyes. “I mean, hey, if you’re quitting, you could just say so.”

Lando let out a sharp breath, leaning against the counter. As soon as he pocketed the stupid cigarette, his fingers twitched like they wanted something to hold. A moment later, he had his lighter out instead, flicking it on and off in repetitive motions. “It’s not quitting.”

Fewtrell narrowed his eyes. “It looks like quitting.”

Daniel snorted. “Bullshit. You’ve been chewing gum like it’s your last meal and looking pissed off for the last three days.”

Fewtrell narrowed his eyes. “You are quitting.” He grinned. “What, you on a sudden health kick? Givin’ up joints for spring rolls?”

Lando sighed through his nose, his jaw tightening slightly. He didn’t even like smoking—never had, not really. It was just something that came with the job, something that filled the space between the cracks.

But now? Now it was annoying him. He found himself thinking about it in a way he never had before.

Max Verstappen lifted a brow, actually looking up from his phone. “Since when do you give a shit about that?”

Lando scowled. “It’s just—” He exhaled through his nose, frustrated, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well– Erm, it’s– It’s just not right, y’know?”

Silence.

Carlos exchanged a glance with Fewtrell. Verstappen’s eyes narrowed slightly. Daniel just looked amused, using every once of self control not to burst out laughing in front of everyone. Oh, this was hilarious.

The guys exchanged glances.

Not right? Since when did Lando give a shit about right and wrong?

Carlos raised a brow. “Since when do you care?”

Lando didn’t answer. Instead, he flicked the lighter shut, shoving it into his pocket.

Fewtrell tilted his head. “Not right… how?”

And since when? He wanted to ask. You’ve been smokin’ a pack a week since you were old enough to reach the checkout counter at the corner store, so what’s this bullshit?

Lando pushed off the counter, grabbing his car keys. “Don’t worry about it.”

Daniel grinned. “Ohhh, I see.”

Lando barely looked up from where he was flipping a lighter between his fingers. “Dunno what you’re talking about. Y’don’t see shit,” Lando muttered, flipping him off as he walked out the door.

Daniel’s grin widened. “Whatever you say, boss.”

a/n: if this feels too filler again, i'm sorry. i'm just trying to build their dynamic a bit, but hopefully the upcoming chapters will be more interesting for you guys. thank you for reading!

[shouyuus]

view, 7:17 on a thursday night

[meguwumibear]

ive got more to say about force sensitive megumi.........

The Jedi Masters are in fact pissed when Megumi staggers back to the temple with a fresh patch of inky blue bruises blooming across his flesh like burgeoning miniature galaxies. The Masters are so pissed, in fact, that Master Gakuganji even recommends his dismissal from the order. Yuuji tells him not to worry. Apparently the old geezer is always trying to dismiss Younglings and Padawans who struggle with The Code.

Megumi isn’t worried. Not because he’s certain Master Gakugani’s hold over the High Council is as frail as the man’s boney fingers, but because he couldn’t fucking care less if all the Council members agree with the goon and vote to dismiss him. Fighting is his lifeblood. He just fights the Jedi’s battles now instead of his own.

And, anyway, Megumi has other, more important things to worry about. Like the fact that he can’t stop envisioning the scrappy young girl from the ring who beat him so badly he popped a fucking boner.

At night he dreams of her. Of you. Wretched, ugly dreams that tear screams from his throat as he bolts awake. Dreams that leave his sheets soaked in sheens of sour smelling sweat. In his dreams, you are fighting and you are losing. You are losing over and over and over again.

Then the morning comes and bits of yellow sun begin to crawl their way across his bed, banishing the dreams. Or so they should. Thoughts and images of you beaten and bloody plague him during his daily lessons. They eat at him during mealtime. Visions of your body, broken, bleeding consume him while he mediates.

Megumi asks Master Gojo in passing if all Jedi have such violent dreams. Master Gojo laughs it off because Master Gojo laughs everything off. A Jedi as powerful as Master Gojo cannot make themselves any more threatening than they already are. They cannot take anything too seriously or care too much about these things. Master Gojo tells him to focus on his youth. He also tells him to mediate more as if mediation can solve all the fucking problems in all the fucking worlds.

It's Master Shoko who asks about his force dreams. He’s in the infirmary for an unrelated injury he obtained on some bullshit mission, so he doesn’t understand at first what she’s asking. Once he does, his simmering rage flares viciously to life, scorching, scalding, because Master Gojo looked him in the eyes and laughed.

For weeks these force dreams have tormented him. Visions that devour. He is so, so angry, and he is so, so scared. He isn’t sure if his visions are of the past or something yet to come. He doesn’t know if the future is fixed. If you’re already doomed. If there’s anything he can do to save you.

Worst of all, he can’t find you. He searches the pits of Coruscant all night desperately trying to catch a glimpse of you, but you aren’t at any of the popular rings. The underground is so large he could spend weeks scavenging through back alleyways and seedy bars and still have moved no closer to you.

The Jedi Masters refuse to help. Even though the Force clearly wants him to intervene, wants the Jedi, the fucking keepers of the peace to intervene, they refuse to help. They tell him his fixation on his visions is leading him down a dark path. That fear is the antithesis to peace and serenity. That if he chooses to feed this hunger, it will lead him somewhere void of light, somewhere filled with shadow.

It's the Chancelor of all people he finally finds comradery with. It’s the Chancelor who tells him that if he trusts his emotions, trusts his senses, they will lead him where he needs to be, that they will lead him to you.

The Chancelor is not a Jedi; he has no knowledge of the Force. If Megumi wants to graduate from Padawan to Knight, he should listen to his Masters. He should learn to swallow up his anger. He should mediate. He should let go.

Instead, he closes his eyes. He lets his world go dark. He searches for you.

prt 1 prt 2

[tboydaantruther]

[zel-zo]

Prometheus

[sparky-is-spiders]

A couple years ago when A Starless Clan came out Nightheart hating his name and association with his (male!!) ancestor and admiring a random Windclan warrior and thinking about how well her name suited her spoke to me (<- person who hated its deadname for reasons it didn't understand to be gender-related and constantly tried to justify in other ways) HARD. And I dreamed up this fun time-travel scenario where Nightheart got stuck back in first arc times and met Firestar and came to actually know him as more than a mythical figure and also realized she was a woman and was eventually able to come back to Thunderclan more confident and sure of herself and who she was (and could maybe even. Request. Her Own Name. Instead of Bramblestar just pulling one out of his ass for her instead).

And then the second book came out.

[gibles-lovely-selfships]

[LOUD at the end]

Hi hello. I forgot I had a blog. And I got sucked up in playing H.ades 2. Sorry about that folks

But hey! Earlier this week, I played a really cool fangame called Playtime with Percy. Very fun game, very nice artstyle, would recommend.

. But it did get very stressful at the end, as my friends ( @marblecore and @dimikissme ) who were in VC with me can vouch NENDNFMDN

[afterdarkprincess]

I'm deep into one hartbreak fic already but dang it seeing soft old man Bret last night is giving me Old Man Yaoi cravings 😭

[zetterbabe]

i don't accept being embarrassed by the bruins 😭😭😭😭😭 hopefully things will change on game two

yeah, it was brutal. I was going to say, at least it wasn't against the 🍁🍃 because i would've shriveled up and perished immediately but I highly doubt this would've been the outcome of game one if it was them 😅. I was being dramatic last night (and this morning lol) but I don't think these panthers would go out like that again in game two. I believe!

[cannibal-nightmares]

constantly in my supposed mind is the sound of a 737 over-speed warning

[emjiroki]

Arthur Morgan brainrot is hitting me very hard right now...

[bumblesimagines]

Howdyyy🤠 Are you writing for Mayans still? Thanks!

I do still write for Mayans! I still write for a lot of fandoms I just... forget sometimes lmao. I haven't finished the final season as I know it was pure ass but I still write for the characters! I'm not taking requests atm though.

[mizuki-foreshadowing]

Mafumom, alledgedly, spilled something on Mafuyu's laptop and told her that's why it's gone now, when she was cracking down on Mafuyu's N25 activity. She "sent it away for repairs" and got away with it all.

But this exchange, it implies Mafuyu's dad knew that had been a lie, that the computer was hidden, never damaged, and I think some part of Mafuyu knows it too; she checked all her files to see if her mom deleted any.

[xx-rpr-obsessions]

Been down in the dumps for a few weeks now...I just want to tear my skin off.