#but these designs are....interesting to say the least

[trashytracktales]

Inked | LN⁴

. ݁₊ ⊹ summary ──── While Lando is away for a triple-header, she decides to surprise him with something bold. The moment he catches sight of it as she gets ready for an exclusive event, he’s completely captivated and, what begins as surprise quickly ignites into passion, as Lando makes it clear just how much he appreciates every inch of her inked skin.

. ݁₊ ⊹ pairing ──── Lando Norris x she/her reader

. ݁₊ ⊹ rating ──── explicit

. ݁₊ ⊹ category ──── F/M

. ݁₊ ⊹ warnings ──── 18+, mature/sexual content, descriptive language, smut, swearing, detailed depictions of sex, public teasing & suggestive behavior, possessiveness & intense emotional intimacy, praising, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, fingering, overstimulation, continued intimacy after initial climax.

. ݁₊ ⊹ word count ──── 4.2k

. ݁₊ ⊹ date ──── Jan. 25, 2025

. ݁₊ ⊹ a/n ──── Inspired by anon & based on THIS ASK 🤍 I couldn’t get BackTattoo!Reader out of my head, so now I am subjecting all of you to my interests. I have nothing to say except that this is simply, pure filth hehe. Enjoy ^^

. ݁₊ ⊹ dedication ──── @landooscurls this one’s for you, sweetie. No, I won’t elaborate, you know why 💋

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IT’S EIGHT O’CLOCK when Lando adjusts the cuffs of his tailored suit. His tie is still untied around his neck, a clear indication of his second-guessing habits.

His focus has been elsewhere completely ever since he got back home. More specifically, his girlfriend. After a triple header, sponsorships are the last thing he wants to deal with being back in Monaco, but he is content with the fact that she can accompany him this time.

On the counter, his phone is constantly buzzing with messages about tonight’s event. It’s supposed to be a big deal, but for Lando, every contract is the same. More or less.

No tie, he decides in the end.

Across the hall, she’s still in the bedroom, standing in front of the floor-length mirror. She’s chosen a dress that perfectly fits the grandeur of the event — a sleek, midnight-black gown with an open back that dips low, revealing her shoulders, spine, and the ink she’s been keeping a secret for a couple of weeks now. She is a bit nervous about it, because she’s been planning this for a long time, and his reaction might make or break her heart.

She’s aware of Lando’s opinion on tattoos. For now, at least, he wouldn’t get one, but he designed most of his helmets, merch and has a pretty good taste in cars. Even though she’s not sure yet how, she’s convinced that his ability to recognize art is transferable.

As she adjusts the delicate straps of the dress, she catches sight of herself in the mirror. Her tattoo is intricate, sprawling across the lower part of her back. The design is abstract, a mix of delicate lines and bold shading, flowing with the natural contours of her back. It’s a piece she’s thought about for years, and it feels like a part of her now.

Lando, finally deciding to stop stalling, heads toward the bedroom, calling out, “Babe, have you seen my cufflinks? I’m not sure—” he steps into the doorway and freezes mid-sentence, while eyes widen, immediately locking onto her reflection in the mirror. “What is that?”

She startles slightly at his tone, meeting his gaze while deliberately holding back a smile.

“Surprise?” she asks a little unsure.

Lando’s jaw tightens as he takes a step closer. “Turn around,” he says, his voice a mix between demand and curiosity.

She arches an eyebrow but obliges, slowly spinning before turning her back again. “You like it?” she asks lightly, glancing over her shoulder at him.

“Like it?” he echoes, his hand already reaching out instinctively to touch her. His fingertips hover over the ink, tracing the air above it before gently sliding on her skin. “When the hell did you get this?” asks Lando, still questioning the authenticity of it, even though the proof is right in front of him.

“While you were away,” she answers, her smile widening. “I... please, be honest.”

“Well,” Lando begins, stepping closer until his chest nearly brushes her back. His hands slide to her waist, holding her firmly as he studies the tattoo, his breath warm against her neck. “It’s incredible,” he admits, the sincerity in his tone making her stomach flip.

Her laugh is soft, “Really?”

Lando’s eyes slide down her back, inhaling sharply, “Yeah. I think it’s fucking hot, baby. Let me see you.”

She closes her eyes for a short moment, her heart beating faster, but she’s more relaxed now.

“You’re supposed to be getting ready,” she says, turning around in his arms. “Come on, we’re already late.”

Lando scoffs, “I’m supposed to be doing a lot of things,” he agrees, his lips brushing against hers, while his eyes remain glued to her reflection in the mirror, “But I don’t think I can leave this apartment now.”

Her cheeks heat, stepping out of his hold. “Yes, you can. You can admire it later.”

“Later,” he repeats, sighing dramatically. “As if I’m not already obsessed with it.”

She moves back to the mirror, adjusting the delicate drop earrings she’s chosen, while Lando watches her with a mix of admiration and lingering distraction.

When she catches him staring, she smirks. “Where’s your tie?”

Lando puffs out a sigh, stepping back toward his side of the room. “I left it on the counter. Don’t feel like wearing one tonight,” he says, his gaze flickering back to her every few seconds, unable to help himself. “Just so you know,” he continues, his voice trailing off as he shakes his head, “I’m done for tonight.”

“Mission accomplished,” she quips, throwing him a wink.

THE VENUE IS screaming with opulence, a grand hotel perched high above the marina, its sprawling terraces and gilded architecture lit up against the night sky. Expensive cars line the valet entrance, and the air hums with a quiet kind of wealth — the kind that doesn’t need to flaunt itself because it’s simply understood.

Inside, every detail is curated to perfection, from the massive crystal chandeliers casting warm light onto marble floors, to the intricate floral arrangements placed at every corner.

Lando’s hand rests instinctively on her lower back as they walk in, the warmth of his palm sending a shiver down her spine. He’s polite and attentive as he nods to the occasional familiar face, but judging by the firm touch, his focus is clearly on her.

After chitchatting with various people, they stop at the bar to grab drinks, and as she leans slightly forward to give her order, the light catches the details of her tattoo again.

Lando exhales sharply, gripping his glass tighter than necessary.

“It’s gonna be a long night,” he says under his breath, just loud enough for her to hear. “Can you at least stop doing that?”

She glances over her shoulder, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Doing what?”

“You know exactly what,” he counters, his voice low, but there’s a heat behind his words that makes her cheeks flush.

Before she can respond, another guest approaches to congratulate Lando on the sponsorship deal, and he’s forced to shift his attention momentarily. But even as he chats politely, his fingers find their way back to her lower back, tracing light circles against her skin, a silent claim, and a way to keep himself grounded.

A couple of hours later, Lando sits next to her at their table, his hand casually resting on the back of her chair. His smile is charming, seamlessly participating in the conversation that flies around the table. Yet, every so often, his eyes drift to her, taking in the way the delicate fabric of her dress.

She catches his gaze, raising an eyebrow in question, but he only grins and pulls out his phone. A few seconds later, a vibration hums against her thigh.

Lando: I’ve been thinking…

Reader: Not good.

L: We never did it in public, did we?

Her breath hitches, and she glances at him sharply, finding his expression impossibly casual as he sips from his glass.

She types back quickly.

R: No, we didn’t. Also, offended you had to ask.

L: Just making sure. So...?

R: NO. That’s illegal.

Another vibration follows almost immediately, his reply making her cheeks heat.

L: Only if we get caught 👀

She clenches her phone tightly, her flushed cheeks betraying her as she stares at the glass in her hand. Lando chuckles softly beside her, the sound silent enough for only her to hear.

His hand moves from the back of her chair to her bare back, his fingers brushing gently against her skin, the warmth of his touch giving her goosebumps.

L: ?

L: ??

L: You look so hot when you’re ignoring me.

L: Yeah, just like that 🥵🥵

Her grip tightens on her glass, and she dares a quick glance at him. He’s typing something else, his thumb moving lazily over his screen as if they weren’t in the middle of a packed room.

L: Turns me on almost as much as that tattoo.

She swallows hard, her cheeks catching fire. Her back straightens slightly as she tries to maintain composure, but his next text nearly makes her choke on air.

L: I’m thinking doggy tonight?? Wanna stare at it while you’re wrapped around me.

Her hands drop to her lap, pressing the phone down like it might combust. Lando’s fingers trace slow patterns along the edge of her tattoo now, his touch light but intentional.

Then, another vibration.

L: Non-negotiable.

She turns to him again, and he meets her gaze with a smirk so smug it nearly makes her gasp.

Lando leans in, brushing his lips close to her ear under the guise of conversation, and whispers, “Something wrong, love?”

Her only response is a roll of her eyes, and a desperate sip of her drink, which he watches with clear amusement.

While caught in their bubble, the room buzzes with chatter, laughter, and the clinking of glasses, but it all fades into background noise as she places her palm on Lando’s thigh under the table. Her fingers glide upward with deliberate slowness, inching closer to his already semi-hard length. The moment she palms him through his trousers, Lando’s breath stutters, and he shifts in his chair, pretending to adjust his posture.

“Something wrong, love?” she copies his tone from earlier, the corners of her mouth rising in triumph.

As a response, Lando places his hand over hers, and for a brief second, she thinks he’s going to push her away. But instead, his long fingers cover hers, guiding her movements, and her smile flatters. Her breath hitches at the boldness of it, and she turns her head slightly toward him, her eyes wide with a mix of shock and anticipation.

Lando flashes her a smile, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear as he whispers, “Seriously, baby. I don’t know why you’re acting like I’m not going to bend you over this table and fuck you in front of all these people.”

She swallows hard at his affirmation, her heart pounding wildly in her chest as she whispers back, “Maybe because I want you to.”

His smile turns into a wicked smirk, his eyes flashing with something dark under his long, thick eyelashes. Without another word, Lando removes her hand, intertwining their fingers and pulling her to her feet. She blinks in confusion, but follows his lead, her heels clicking against the polished floor as he guides her toward the exit.

THE DRIVE HOME is pure torture, the air in the car thick with tension. Lando grips the steering wheel with one hand, his other hand firmly holding hers. Every now and then, he brings her knuckles to his lips, pressing tender kisses to her skin as if trying to soothe the storm brewing inside both of them. Her chest rises and falls nervously, her thighs pressing together to quell the ache building between them.

When they finally reach the apartment, they barely make it through the door before their hands are on each other. Stumbling backward, they move toward the bedroom, Lando’s lips brushing hers in quick, heated kisses. His hand blindly fumbles for the light switches along the way, filling the space with bright light.

“I want to see everything,” comes his excuse, breathing heavily against her lips, his voice husky with desire.

“You look so handsome,” she says as a realization. “Should’ve told you earlier—”

“Technical details,” Lando cuts her off, his hands already slipping beneath the straps of her dress.

One by one, their clothes fall to the floor, leaving a trail of discarded fabric they’re bound to trip over in the morning.

When her dress slides off her shoulders and pools at her feet, Lando freezes for a moment, taking her in. Every inch of her seems like has be sculpted for his eyes only, making her blush intensely under the weight of his gaze, knowing what kind of thoughts run through his mind.

The lights casts soft shadows over her skin, accentuating every curve, forcing a low groan out of Lando, as he strokes himself, pumping his cock a few times in his hand while his eyes drink her in.

“On all fours,” he orders gently, his voice thick with need.

She shifts into position, her movements slightly rushed, yet sensual, and the sight of her like this nearly makes him lose it. As he positions himself behind her, his hands trail reverently over her hips and down her thighs, grounding himself in the reality of the moment.

Almost obsessively, Lando’s hand starts tracing her tattoo, his fingers skating over the inked lines like he needs to memorize every detail as quickly as possible. The sight of it beneath his touch makes him harder, his cock pressing insistently against her ass. He lets himself rest there for a moment, one hand gripping her hip to angle her just right while the other slides between her legs. Gently, he parts her folds, and the moment he feels her slick heat, his breath catches in his throat. She instinctively presses into his touch, a small whimper escaping her lips as her body responds to him like it always does — so ready and inviting.

“That’s my good girl,” his thumb circles her clit briefly, satisfied with her silent response before he removes his hand, and gripping her hip to steady her as he lines himself up.

When he pushes in, the tight warmth is making him suck in a sharp breath. Her sensitive walls clench lightly around him, and he can’t help but let out a shaky moan. Her slickness allows him to set a rhythm effortlessly, each thrust accompanied by the soft slap of skin on skin.

His hands guide her hips, ensuring her rhythm matches his, while his eyes remain glued to the ink on her back; it is hypnotic, his palm sweeping over the tattoo as if claiming it along with her.

“Lan…” her eyes close in pleasure, pushing back against his slow, agonizing thrusts.

“I know,” he rasps, his voice breaking as he goes deeper; she lets out another moan in response, her body arching to meet him with every stroke.

The connection between them feels ancient, profound, electric, her breaths mixing with his in the air around them.

As his speed increases, Lando needs to adjust himself, grounding his foot against the mattress and lifting one knee for better leverage. The new position gives him absolute control, his thrusts precise and devastatingly deep. She feels as if he’s splitting her in two in the best way possible, as he alternates between slow, teasing movements that leave her whimpering, and hard, purposeful thrusts that have her crying out his name. Again, and again, until her voice cracks under the weight of euphoria that circulates throughout her body.

The sight of her beneath him, trembling with pleasure, and that tattoo that taunts back at him sends Lando careening toward the edge. He feels his climax building, but before he allows himself to exhale in relief, be pulls out abruptly but just in time, leaving her gasping at the sudden emptiness and clenching hard around nothing.

“Lando!” she protests, her elbows giving out as she collapses into the pillows. “Fuck, I was so close!”

A deep growl rumbles from his chest, his jaw flexing as his eyes darken. “My bad,” he breathes heavily, his hand wrapping around his slick cock, stroking himself with urgency, his swollen tip brushing her lower back.

With a guttural moan, he comes, his release painting her tattoo in warm, sticky streaks. The thought alone is enough to make her whimper at the sensation, her body so close to collapsing, as she realizes that’s just how he wanted to leave his mark on her this time.

Not quite done, Lando leans down to press a kiss to her shoulder, his breathing uneven and deep. Then, pulling back, he watches intently, almost mesmerized as he presses the pads of his fingers into her skin, spreading his release over the lines of her tattoo. There’s something maddening in the way he admires it, the contrast of white against her ink drawing a low hum from his throat.

His hand slides lower, gripping her ass as he speaks in a raspy voice, “You did so good with this. Putting on such a show for me from now on, hm?”

Her breath catches, but before she can respond, his palm lands a light slap on her ass, his grin smug as her body jolts slightly under his sudden touch. His cock twitches at the sight, still hard and insistent, and without another word, he guides himself back inside her.

The sensation pulls a moan from both of them, and he thrusts a couple more times, savoring the way her warmth envelopes him again. But his body gives in to exhaustion, and he collapses onto the mattress, pulling her with him. At that, doggy evolves into reverse cowgirl effortlessly, her thighs bracketing his hips as she straddles him. His hands find home on her waist, steadying her as she adjusts to the new — and quite unexpected — position.

Lando’s voice is low, encouraging, as he tells her, “Your turn, love. Let me see how beautiful you are.”

It is a good thing, she tells herself, that Lando can’t see her blush right now.

With a newfound determination, she starts to move experimentally at first, before finding her own rhythm. Each motion is hypnotic, her body arching and curving as she bounces on him, her head tilted back in pleasure.

Lando’s eyes trail her every move, from the sway of her hips to the lines of her body, and finally to his release, still glistening and dripping faintly from her lower back.

The sight is almost too much for him.

“Fucking hell,” he swears, his hands tightening on her waist as his hips lift slightly to meet her movements; he is well aware that this is her moment, but he can’t help himself. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

Her pace quickens, the control she has over her pleasure intoxicating. She rides him with confidence now, her movements purposeful and demanding.

Lando watches her in delirium, his gaze locked on the tattoo that started it all. Every bounce and every grind, pushes him closer to losing his mind, and he can’t help but let her see exactly what she’s done to him, his eyes burning with admiration and lust.

In the haze of pleasure, she glances over her shoulder, curious to see him. The sight makes her heart skip more than one beat. Lando looks completely undone — his lips parted, curls damp and clinging to his forehead, his chest heaving with uneven breaths. Every muscle in his body is tense, his hands gripping her like a lifeline as his eyes remain locked on her tattoo.

“Oh, fuck,” he exhales, voice hoarse and strained. “You look so good. Don’t stop, baby, please don’t stop.”

Her cheeks flush deeper at his praise, her own breathing ragged. Their bodies are slick with sweat and her wetness where they’re joined, the obscene sounds filling the room every time her hips meet his. The lewd rhythm of it only spurs her on, her movements growing more impatient.

“Yes,” she moans, the word drawn out as her head falls forward, overwhelmed by the intensity. “Can’t—shit, Lando.”

Her mind spins, every nerve alive with pleasure as she loses herself completely to him. Her body tightens around his cock, the pressure finally snapping as she falls over the edge, a cry of bliss leaving her lips in the form of his name.

The way her walls clench and pulse around him pulls a deep groan from Lando, and his grip on her waist tightens impossibly further.

“Fuck, that’s it. Fuck,” he repeats, his hips stuttering as he stills deep inside her, his release spilling into her this time. His head falls back against the pillow, jaw slack as he moans her name like a prayer, the pleasure washing over him in waves.

No one dares to move, but they’re both trembling from the intensity. The room feels warmer, the air heavy with the scent of sex and satisfaction as they catch their breath.

After she comes back to herself, she slowly rises to her knees, Lando’s cock slipping free, slapping against his lower abdomen, coated in the remnants of their shared pleasure. The slick mixture trails down her thighs, warm and unmistakable, and the oversensitivity makes her thighs press together instinctively as she falls beside him on the bed. Her breath still comes out in shallow pants, her body shaking with tiny replicas, completely spent.

Lando shifts beside her, reaching out to press a soft kiss to her temple, his lips lingering as he murmurs, “You’re a fucking masterpiece. I’ll never get enough of you.”

She lets out a soft moan, unexpected but undeniable, as his hand drapes her leg over his hip. Her body moves on autopilot, her hips rolling ever so slightly against his thigh, seeking a relief she doesn’t fully understand.

At that, Lando’s brows furrow in curiosity as he looks down at her, his voice gentle but slightly concerned. “Are you okay?”

Her answer is a shaky sigh, her body betraying her as her pussy presses harder against the solid muscle of his thigh. Lando’s gaze sharpens, his concern turning into realization, his lips curving into a faint smirk.

“Tell me what you need, baby,” he pushes her.

Shyness blooms across her face, and she shakes her head, her voice barely audible as she speaks, “Nothing, I’m fine.”

Lando leans in closer, his voice soft yet insistent. “Then why are you still squirming, hm?” his hand cups her cheek, tilting her face so their eyes meet. “Keep lying, and I’ll make you beg for it.”

Her breath hitches at his words, her body already responding as her hips move again, this time more deliberately.

Lando’s hand slides down to her waist, steadying her as his lips ghost over hers, his voice a whisper against her skin. “Such a needy little thing.”

The vulnerability in her eyes fades, replaced by desire, and with a small nod, she surrenders to him once more. Lando smiles, sitting up slowly, gazing down at her with a look that’s a mix of confidence that he knows her too well, and pure, unfiltered love.

She looks utterly radiant, sprawled out in his bed, with her skin glowing, her hair messy, and her lips slightly parted as she catches her breath. Moments like these always remind him of just how lucky he is to have her.

With a low grunt, Lando leans forward, positioning himself between her legs. His hands trail gently up her thighs, and as he hovers above her, he finally presses a soft kiss to her lips. It’s tender, an ephemeral moment to savor before his lips begin a journey down her body. He kisses her jaw, her neck, the soft swell of her chest, all while his hands roam, one cupping her breast while the other is tracing the curve of her waist.

As his lips descend, so does his hand, sliding between her thighs. His fingers part her folds gently, and he exhales deeply at how wet and warm she is. Without hesitation, he pushes a finger inside her, the slickness allowing him to glide with ease. He starts working with calculated moves, curling and pumping in and out, watching her reactions as her hips instinctively rock into his hand.

“There’s my pretty little liar,” he tells her in a low voice, filled with accusation. “Squeezing my finger so sweetly… Want more?”

She nods, making Lando smile just as his lips return to her skin, kissing her breasts, taking her nipple into his mouth and slides a second finger in, scissoring them to stretch her further. She whimpers, her body arching off the bed, fisting the sheets as the tension within her builds.

He doesn’t stop, his pace increasing, his fingers waving into her, hitting the perfect spot, again and again. The sound of her wetness grows louder, mixing with her soft moans and the whisper of his praises.

“So good for me, look at you,” says Lando, studying her face in admiration just as her body tenses, her head pressing back into the pillow as her orgasm washes over her. Her cries fill the room, and Lando continues stroking her, coaxing her through it, not stopping even as her thighs tremble around his hand.

Without warning, she gasps sharply, her body quivering as a sudden gush of liquid escapes her, soaking his hand and the sheets beneath them.

Lando freezes for a moment, his eyes wide as he realizes what just happened. “Holy shit,” he breathes, utterly amazed.

Her moans grow louder, her face flushed with pleasure and embarrassment. “Fuck. Sorry, I can’t stop—”

He cuts her off, leaning down to kiss her. “God, look at the mess you made,” he adds while his fingers trace the wetness on her thighs, completely captivated. “The sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Lando’s eyes sparkle with excitement as he sits up quickly, his cock already hardening again at the sight of her, his pride evident in the way he bites his lower lip. Impatiently, he strokes himself once, then presses the head of his cock against her drenched folds, slapping it lightly against her clit, the wet sound echoing in the room.

The obscene noise sends a thrill through both of them, but he still finds the power to smirk down at her.

“You look so beautiful like this. I’m kinda offended you’ve never squirted for me before,” Lando’s voice trails off, mesmerized by her leaking hole. “You’re fucking dripping, baby,” he continues, his hand dipping back between her legs, unable to resist touching her again. “Come here, I’m not done with you yet.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ MASTERLIST . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Thank you for reading!

None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

© trashy track tales, 2025

[abby-howard]

I love everyone's outfits in Scarlett Hollow (especially Kaneeka's) so I wanted to ask how do you go about designing multiple outfits for each character that are different yet still fit that characters general aesthetic. Also do you have a favorite/least favorite outfit.

Aw thank you!!

Designing outfits is definitely not something that came very naturally to me at the start of Scarlet Hollow, but I've been gettin' the hang of it as I go-- I'd say a lot of it is about the vibe. I sketch a new outfit, and if it feels like they're in a costume, I scrap it. Color in particular gets tricky... one color can throw off a whole look and make them feel like their aura is off. Picking a palette in advance is a good idea!

I think it's mostly about understanding your character and the kinds of choices they make; Kaneeka cares a lot about how others view her, so she presents as very put-together, thus her outfits are always a little complicated and carefully constructed. Whereas Stella is laid back and probably hates having to think about what she's wearing, so she goes with roughly the same combination of jeans and a t shirt every day.

More of my rules for each main character under the cut! Minor spoilers for Scarlet Hollow:

I answered a similar question during an AMA, so I'm paraphrasing from those answers~

Stella: her shirt must match the theme of the episode while also being a believable cryptid/folklore t shirt design. She has a red/neutral theme, plus jeans. Butch sense of fashion with casual sensibilities.

Kaneeka: is a nu-goth, so no corsets or elaborate frills, and no techno-goth or scene/emo accoutrements. Her emo days are far behind her... so now she wears all black, no color besides her red braids, with interesting clothing shapes and the occasional lace or metallic accent. This is pretty close to how I dress so I just think about if it's something I would wear.

Oscar: he's a professional! So suits and button-ups, except his undershirt episode. He has a tan/yellow theme with unsaturated red accents, which he shares with his daughter Rosalina. His outfits are the toughest to mix up, because he dresses nice for work and only owns one suit. But I try to get creative where I can!

Avery: a plant theme, which includes mostly greens, with some purples, oranges, and earthy yellow allowed. Definitely has the widest palette, since they have to have interesting patterned button-ups. Can have a coat if needed, always tan, and nice dress pants that have a little bit of a bellbottom.

Reese: Wears whatever. A vague blue theme. Nothing looks like it fits him right. I have given him a cool jacket for Episode 5, but I can't post that sprite... too spoiler.......

[succo-al-limone]

The goobers line up

Close ups under

[anonymousewrites]

Apple of My Eye Chapter Nineteen

Harry Hook x Child of Snow White! Reader

Chapter Nineteen: That's How You Know

Mouse Note: I'm back!

Summary: Harry and (Y/N) are both growing aware of just how strong their feelings are.

            “Hey, Harry,” said Evie, peeking her head into Uma’s room where her crew could almost always be found. “Can you go and find (Y/N) for me? I need to go over some designs for them Reunion Ball outfit.”

            “I don’t know where they are,” said Harry.

            “Apple Cottage,” said Evie. “There are signs. Thank you!” She left the room.

            “What are you waiting for? Go on,” said Uma. “Go and fetch your royal.”

            “They aren’t—”

            “Harry, you’re my first mate. I’ve known you since we were babies,” said Uma. “I know you. Go and get your royal.” She smirked. “Who knows, maybe you’ll even have the guts to ask them out.”

            Harry coughed, stood, and left without responding. A few moments later, Evie opened the door to the dorm again.

            “Did he go?” said Evie.

            “Oh, yeah,” said Uma. “Do you think this will help them admit each other?”

            “A romantic meeting in the woods by an idyllic cottage has better atmosphere than fencing, even if that’s good for flirting,” said Evie. She crossed her arms. “And if this doesn’t do it after weeks of hopeless flirting, then we’ll really step in. After all, I am really meeting with (Y/N) for their outfit.”

            “And Harry and I are helping Carlos set up decorations for the ball for Jane,” said Uma.

            “Good. Carlos has as great relationship with Jane. He’ll be able to help get Harry to confess or at least give him some ideas of how,” said Evie. “And Mal and I can work on (Y/N).”

            Uma laughed. “I haven’t had so much fun with a plot in a while.”

            Evie grinned. “Well, to get our best friends to date is a worthy cause.”

l

            “Highness?” said Harry, walking into the clearing of the woods.

            Apple Cottage, a small, quaint, and pretty little house, stood in the middle of the clearing. It was a replica of the dwarves’ cottage from Snow White’s life, and it was used for guests coming near Auradon Prep and (Y/N) when they wanted to get away.

            The door of the cottage opened, and (Y/N) stuck their head out. They smiled. “Harry.” They stepped outside. “I didn’t expect you.”

            “Evie is lookin’ for ya,” said Harry. “Somethin’ about clothes for a ball.”

            “Oh, right, I lost track of time,” said (Y/N). They brushed dust from their plane blue shirt. “I was cleaning up. I had a sleepover with some of the girls a few days ago.”

            Harry looked in through the door. “Nice place. Definitely a princess cottage.”

            “My mom wanted me to have something welcoming,” said (Y/N), chuckling. “Like how the dwarves welcomed her, I could be safe here.”

            “You mean ya aren’t at home at Auradon Prep?” said Harry.

            “I am,” said (Y/N). “But sometimes I want to be alone, get some privacy, that sort of thing. Being in a dorm can be tiring.” They chuckled. “So I come here.” They glanced at Harry. “You’re free to come here, too, if you need a moment away from everything.”

            Harry smiled slightly, softly. “Thanks. I do miss havin’ the ship to go to.”

            “You could ask Adrian to go out to eat with him. His family has a ship or two,” said (Y/N).

            Harry scowled. “No.”

            “He’d say yes,” said (Y/N).

            “Still, nah,” said Harry. He really wasn’t interested in going around with (Y/N)’s ex. It was the same way that Nazarin—Naveen and Tiana’s daughter—had flirted with him, he had immediately rejected her. Harry wasn’t going out with (Y/N)’s exes. No way. (Also, he had some irrational jealousy of that fact that they got even one date with (Y/N)).

            “At least ask Ben or Mal to find a ship,” said (Y/N). “You, Uma, and your crew could have some fun sailing. Maybe take a few of the Auradon kids, teach them.”

            “Would you come?” said Harry.

            (Y/N) smirked. “I could be convinced.” Harry grinned. “Now, I should get going before Evie comes down to get me. You should be scared when she offers to make you a suit.”

            “She did,” said Harry.

            “Good luck,” said (Y/N). “You’re living in her world now.” They laughed and dusted themself off again. “Pity I can’t change out of my cleaning clothes. Ah, well.”

            “Here.” Harry pulled off his red leather jacket.

            “Oh, no, you don’t need to,” said (Y/N) quickly.

            “Come on, Highness, take it. I know ya want to,” said Harry. He winked. “And you’ll look dashing in it.”

            “Flattery, how original,” teased (Y/N), but they did take the jacket and slip it on.

            “Damn, Highness, quit lookin’ so good in me clothes. Can’t take ‘em back now that I know ya look so good,” said Harry.

            “I’m not letting you give me your closet,” said (Y/N).

            Harry slung a hand over their shoulder. He winked. “Just sharin’ my good taste with ya.”

            “Good taste? You have a high opinion of yourself,” laughed (Y/N).

            “Well, I like you,” said Harry. “Don’t I?”

            (Y/N)’s cheeks warmed, and Harry grinned.

l

            (Y/N) walked into their appointment with Evie. “Oh, Mal, hi,” they said, smiling. “It’s nice to see you taking a break.”

            “After what feels like a thousand meetings, I need it,” laughed Mal.

            “Up on the podium, I’ve got to drape you,” said Evie, getting straight to business. She paused and smiled. “What’s this I see? Harry’s jacket?”

            (Y/N)’s cheeks warmed. “I have a little bit of dust everywhere from cleaning Apple Cottage. He knows that I like to look presentable.”

            “So it wasn’t a romantic gesture?” said Evie.

            “No,” said (Y/N), cheeks now on fire.

            “Of course it was,” said Mal. “Harry—even good Harry—doesn’t do stuff like that.” She leaned forward on her arm. “I think he likes you. Really.”

            “Not you, too,” said (Y/N). “Evie teasing it bad enough—”

            “We both have True Love, we know when we see it,” said Evie, folding the jacket and putting it aside. She tutted. “If only one of you would be honest.”

            “…You told him to come and get me at Apple Cottage,” said (Y/N), crossing their arms, unimpressed.

            “Guilty,” said Evie in a sing-song voice. “But it’s for a good cause.”

            “Maybe I should cast a truth spell on you both,” said Mal, grinning.

            “Mal!” exclaimed (Y/N). Mal burst out laughing. They groaned and buried their head in their hands. “I just—He’s teasing and open with everyone. How do I know he loves me?”

            “Love?” said Evie with a smile.

            “You love him?” said Mal with a soft look in her eyes.

            “…I do,” admitted (Y/N). It had snuck up on them for so long, but they did love Harry. They could only hope it was true.

«

            “Where’d your jacket go, Harry?” said Uma, raising a brow as Harry arrived.

            “Highness has it,” said Harry.

            “(Y/N)?” said Carlos, smiling slightly.

            “Yes,” said Harry. He rolled his eyes at Carlos’s tone. “Get ya mind outta the gutter, dogboy.”

            “I wasn’t suggesting anything,” said Carlos, holding up his hands. “I’m just saying, I only give my clothes to Jane, and she’s my girlfriend.”

            “It’s called being charming, not that ya’ve hurt of it,” said Harry.

            “Uh-huh,” said Uma, smirking. “Harry, you’ve never tried to be charming in your life.”

            “I’m a charming, attractive pirate,” said Harry.

            “For (Y/N), maybe,” said Uma. “We all know it.”

            “That obvious?” said Harry.

            “Yeah,” said Carlos, patting Harry on the shoulder. “But, hey, (Y/N) is a great person. So it’s not bad.” He smiled. “And they definitely like you back.”

            “Highness can do better than me,” said Harry. “Ima a pirate. They’re a royal.”

            “They’ve never cared about that stuff,” said Carlos. “They were the first person to be nice to us, outside of Ben. They’ve always judged people on their heart.”

            “And me cold heart’s enough?” said Harry, dubious.

            “Harry, would they banter with you if they didn’t like you?” said Uma. She put her hands on her hips. “Buck up. Put your brave pirate hat on and tell them.”

            “Yeah. You just need to show them you like them,” said Carlos, smiling.

            Harry looked between Carlos and Uma. “How do I show them I love them?’

            Carlos grinned. “You love them?”

            “If a villain can love—”

            “Have you seen Mal and Ben or Doug and Evie? VKs have a lot of love to give,” said Uma, laughing. “Come on, Harry. Be honest.”

            “I love them,” said Harry softly, the words so honest as they spilled from his heart. He had been entranced by them the moment he met (Y/N), yet the word of love had grown like a flame—an ember that grew into a roar. It felt so natural to say it, like it was meant to be. He could only hope that it was meant to be.

            “So, tell them,” said Uma.

            “Show them you love them,” said Carlos.

            “What if they don’t love me back?” said Harry.

            “You’ve got to show them, first. They’re probably—”

            “Definitely,” interjected Uma.

            “—as nervous as you,” said Carlos.

(Carlos) “How do they know you love them? How do they know they’re yours?”

            Uma hit Harry on the shoulder.

(Uma) “How do they know that you love them? How do you show them you love them?”

            Harry rubbed his shoulder as Uma put her hands on her hips and Carlos smiled at him. Uma might not know love, but she knew action, and Carlos knew the heart. They were going to teach Harry a lesson.

(Uma and Carlos) “How do they know that you really, really, truly love them?”

            They circled Harry as he watched them in surprise.

(Uma and Carlos) “How do they know that you love them? How do you show them you love them? How do they know that you really, really, truly love them?”

            Carlos jumped onto a decoration for the ball—a podium for taking photos for friends. It was covered in flowers, and he leaned against it romantically.

(Carlos) “It’s not enough to take the one you love for granted, You must remind them or they’ll be inclined to say—”

«

            (Y/N) sighed as Evie draped fabric over them and Mal smiled.

(Y/N) “How do I know he loves me?”

«

            Uma stepped towards Harry.

(Uma) “How do they know that you love them? How do you show them you love them?”

«

            (Y/N) looked at Evie and Mal as Evie pulled the fabric back and it floated like a bird through the air, as gentle as the love in (Y/N)’s heart.

(Y/N) “How do I know he’s mine?”

«

            Uma tapped Harry on the chest, a commanding captain.

(Uma) “How do they know that you really, really, truly love them?”

            Harry frowned.

«

            Evie picked up a collection of notes from Doug.

(Evie) “Well does he leave a little to tell you, You are on his mind?”

            “He gave me his sash to think of him,” said (Y/N).

            Mal held up a bouquet of flowers from Ben.

(Mal) “Send you yellow flowers when the sky is grey? Hey~”

            “He grabs me my favorite food when I’m late to meals,” said (Y/N).

            Evie and Mal each put a hand on (Y/N)’s shoulder and smiled into the mirror.

(Evie and Mal) “He’ll find a new way to show you, A little bit every day!”

            They looked at (Y/N), and Evie gestured to the pirate jacket. Mal squeezed their shoulder with a smile.

(Evie and Mal) “That’s how you know, That’s how you know, He is your love!”

            (Y/N) laughed, and their cheeks warmed.

«

            Carlos spun around on the podium and pointed at Harry.

(Carlos) “You’ve got to show them you need them, Don’t treat them like a mind-reader, Each day do something to lead them, To believe you love them.”

            He pulled a loose rose from the display and tossed it to Harry. He caught it and stared at it. One way to show his love could be gifts—like a jacket. Like a rose.

«

            (Y/N) fell back from the dais, and Mal and Evie lowered them to the ground. They smiled at each of the girls, took the fabric, and draped it dramatically around themself. They danced and spun, the skirts swirling around them in waves like the sea.

(Y/N) “Everybody wants to live, Happily ever after, Everybody wants to know their true love is true!”

            They dropped the fabric and looked at Mal and Evie with a lovestruck and hopeful look in their eyes.

(Y/N) “How do you know he loves you?”

«

            Uma pointed at the rose and gestured to the variety of flowers around them.

(Uma) “How do they know that you love them? How do you show them you love them?”

            Harry needed to really show his heart to (Y/N), show that his feelings went beyond friendship, show his love.

«

            (Y/N) picked up the jacket and spun with it. Mal and Evie laughed at the loving look in (Y/N)’s eyes as they held the item close.

(Y/N) “How do you know he’s yours?”

«

            Uma pulled out more flowers from the buckets ready for display and pressed them into Harry’s arms. Carlos pulled out paper and a ribbon to tie the bouquet together.

(Uma and Carlos) “How do they know that you really, really, truly love them?”

«

            Mal took the jacket while Evie took (Y/N)’s hands. She spun them around and swayed with them, hugging their back to her front. (Y/N) laughed.

(Evie) “Well, does he take you out dancing, Just so he can hold you close?”

            “He asks me to fence, and we get close with that,” said (Y/N), smiling slightly. Evie squeezed them tighter in encouragement.

(Mal) “Dedicate a song with words meant just for you?”

            “I’m the only one with a nickname,” said (Y/N) slowly.

            Mal grinned. Evie squeezed (Y/N) and let them go. Steadily, they were going to get Harry and (Y/N) to realize their interactions were anything but platonic.

(Mal and Evie) “He’ll find his own way to tell you, With the little things he’ll do, That’s how you know, That’s how you know he’s your love.”

            Evie took (Y/N)’s hands from the front and smiled at them.

(Evie) “He’s your love.”

            She sang softly, trying put all the honest words and truth of Harry’s feelings into (Y/N)’s heart.

(Evie) “That’s how you know he loves you, That’s how you know it’s true!”

            She spun (Y/N) and grinned at them. Mal caught them from the spin and draped the jacket over their shoulders.

(Mal) “Because he’ll wear your favorite color, Just so he can match your eyes.”

            “I do like red,” said (Y/N), smiling.

(Mal) “Rent a private picnic by the fire’s glow, Oh!”

            “He customized a sword for me for fencing,” said (Y/N) fondly. “That way I always have one to use.”

(Mal and Evie) “His heart will be yours forever, Something every day will show!” (Evie) “That’s how you know!” (Mal) “That’s how you know!” (Evie) “That’s how you know!” (Mal) “That’s how you know! (Evie) “That’s how you know!” (Mal) “That’s how you know—” (Evie and Mal) “That’s how you know he’s your love!”

«

            Carlos and Uma pressed the finished bouquet into Harry’s arms—flowers of red, yellow, and blue wrapped in white paper and tied with a golden bow.

(Carlos) “That’s how they know that you love them.”

«

            Evie and Mal hugged (Y/N) and swayed them to the music, leading them in a dance.

(Evie and Mal) “That’s how you know!”

«

            Uma squeezed Harry’s hands closed around the bouquet.

(Uma) “That’s how you show them you love them.”

«

            (Y/N) laughed and joined in, twirling with the jacket of the man they loved held tight around them.

(Evie, Mal, and (Y/N)) “That’s how you know!”

«

            Carlos danced around Harry, nudging him forward towards the door and demonstrating how to bow and give the flowers with exaggerated movements to the beat of the song.

(Carlos) “You’ve got to show them you need them.”

            Harry held out the flowers to Uma, no ceremony, and she rolled her eyes.

(Uma) “Don’t treat them like a mind reader!”

«

            Mal and Evie took (Y/N)’s hands, took each other’s, and they danced in a circle.

(Mal, Evie, and (Y/N)) “That’s how you know!”

«

(Uma) “How do you know that you love them?”

            Harry tried again, bowing and offering the flowers with all the love in his heart—because he did love (Y/N)—and Uma and Carlos nodded approvingly.

(Carlos) “That’s how you know that you love them!”

«

            Mal and Evie hugged (Y/N) close, and they laughed.

(Mal and Evie) “He’s your love!”

«

            And, at the same moment that Uma and Carlos grabbed Harry to haul him towards Evie4Hearts, Mal, Evie, and (Y/N) smile and threw their arms up.

(All) “It’s not enough to take the one you love for granted!”

Taglist:

@neenieweenie

@hampterfae

@american-idiot-jpg

@lunalixya

@roo024

@unholycheesesnack

@paastaboi

@lbee13

@rory-cakes

@theeghosted

@newttheglue250

@bridkesby

@yappydoo

@echoheartza

@pain-in-the-ashe

@sugarrush-blush

@sanaxo-o

@ara-theo

@zomb-1-egutzz

@simpy-simpin

[shmisky]

So... Another thing that makes me love the post-Weirdmaggedon Stans dynamic so much is the tension caused by the fact that Stan’s enormous inferiority complex and lingering resentment at Ford have nowhere to go anymore. Knowing how strongly those two repress emotions, it’s just a matter of time before unresolved issues start to rear their ugly head.

What do I mean by that? Well, just look at Stan’s behavior in Weirdmaggedon, hahah. My man was just utterly done with Ford. I do believe he had a right to be at least somewhat petty after the way Ford treated him, but no one can question his resentment. It’s really incredible how all that seems to just... conveniently disappear... the moment Ford changes and apologizes and invites him to sail away together.

Or does it?

I don’t think it does.

I think Stan still has a lot of reasons to feel inferior in relation to Ford. Not that he should, but. The fact he was declared the town hero and saved everyone in Weirdmaggedon wasn’t that much of a triumphant moment for him if he said, “guess I was good for something after all!” as he had his memories erased.

Through the series, we learn that Stan is very sensitive regarding his inferiority complex towards Ford. He is easily upset by, angered by, and fueled (out of spite) by Ford’s perceived and/or implied superiority in any way, shape, or form.

Again...

And again...

And again...

He’s always trying to prove his worth, to others and to himself. Is he even convinced of what he’s trying so hard to prove? I find it interesting that he says he’s not always the bad twin, instead of simply saying he’s not the bad twin at all, period.

And then there’s the fact Alex said that, while Ford is smarter and fitter and would always win a physical fight against Stan if they were sober, Stan could win it if they were drunk and Ford was a bit off his focus — because Stan wants to win against Ford way more badly than Ford wants to win against Stan. After all, Ford doesn’t have an urge to prove himself.

Ford’s character was literally designed to be, in Alex’s own words, the biggest chip on Stan’s shoulder that the writers could think of. So of course Stan acts petty all the time. Not only is Ford an ungrateful asshole, but also (in his own mind) an ungrateful asshole that just happens to be better at everything! Stan was once the brawn to Ford’s brain, but he can’t even be that anymore because Ford is stronger and badass now and... and doesn’t need nor want Stan... at all...

But wait! Ford apologizes for all his mistakes and thanks Stan and invites Stan to sail away together! Everything is fixed now! 🩷

Except Stan didn’t go to therapy. Except Stan seemingly thinks that having his mind erased was his biggest accomplishment. Except Ford pulled Stan back into the extremely codependent dynamic of their childhood.

The way Shmebulock the Gnome describes the Stan twins even after Weirdmaggedon is... not ideal...

And while one could go and say that their dynamic is just going to revert back to their childhood dynamic, I’ve defended previously that no, it very likely won’t (for all these reasons), and, in what concerns Stan’s inferiority complex and need to feel useful, Ford now 1) doesn’t need his help defending himself physically, 2) is in better health conditions than Stan and his dentures, orthopedic pillow, hearing aids, girdle, etc, and 3) is much more confident 🦚

The thing is that, now, Stan can’t just act petty, like he started acting ever since Ford’s display of ungratefulness. Because Ford, now, isn’t being an asshole anymore. Ford is being nice. Loving. Supportive. They’ve already made peace.

I can see the little moments slowly piling up on top of one another, and Stan continuing to repress, repress, repress his feelings. It’s okay, Stan, who cares if Ford is better than you? You’re together, that’s all what matters.

Until it finally blows up in the most inconvenient of moments like it did in Weirdmaggedon.

[alpaca-clouds]

Olrox, the Conquest of the Nahua, and Why Hernan Cortez is one of the Biggest Assholes of History

One of my most liked posts here on tumblr - outside of some shitposts - is the one I did about the historical context of Olrox in season 1 of Nocturne. It just so happens that reading a lot of anthropological works during the last year, I also learned a lot about both the Nahua, the conquest of their culture, and about what a massive fucking dick Hernan Cortez was.

So, let me once again share this with you.

As I noted: In 1783 Olrox says he is 250 years old. While this might be a rounded number, this would mean he hsa been turned around the 1530s. Though given that in season 2 he speaks specifically about how the Nahua Empire fell, I would assume he was at least born around 1500, if not in the 1490s. Looking at the design I would guess he was around 30 years old when he was turned into a vampire.

While I would love to say: "As you know from history class", I am not kidding myself... History class has very probably not taught you much in terms of colonial history - it sure as hell has not taught me. So, I will rather say: "As you might remember from the well established bisexual masterwork The Road to El Dorado, it was the Spanish noble Hernan Cortes, who conquered the Aztec Empire" - though obviously I will keep refering to them by their Endonym, Nahua.

So, today let's talk about how that happened.

Let's Talk about the Nahua first

Let me say one thing first: Us white folks tend to go into one of two extremes when it comes to depicting indigenous people. Either as "wild savages" or as the "noble Indian". Which is why folks really know quite little about the Nahua, because most narratives about the Nahua tend to focus either 100% on the human sacrifice practiced in the Nahua culture, or on the genocide of the Nahua. And otherwise they might know about the Cortes conquest of the Nahua - in which most are not aware that there is a lot of Nahua living in Mexico to this day. More than two and a half million, to be exact. (I do not know how often I had to explain this to people when Black Panther 2 came out.)

The Nahua are an interesting case in terms of colonialism and imperialism - because they were themselves an expanding, imperialist empire. (And mind you, I am fairly certain Olrox being a Nahua is not accidental in this regard.)

By the time America was "discovered" by Europeans, the Nahua were expanding, and waging war against the cultures surrounding their lands. They were quite aggressive against some of the other indigenous cultures. And while they did not practice cattle slavery, they absolutely took war prisoners as slaves. Yes, those could be freed eventually, and usually the status of a slave was not to be inherited, it was still slavery. They also killed a lot of people from those other cultures.

In fact this was the reason why Cortés found support among other indigenous people, when he revealed he was planning on conquering the Nahua. Specifically the Tlaxcala and Cempoala helped Cortés and the conquistadors, because they (wrongly) assumed that the Spanish were safer for them than the Nahua.

This is not to say, that the Nahua were super evil or anything. Just that even among the indigenous cultures, there also were expansionist, imperialist cultures. And that history is more complicated than "good indigenous people" and "evil colonizers". And reducing the entire thing on "indigenous people are pure and good" is also a form of racism, removing the complexity from the indigenous people.

However, this fact does not remove that Hernan Cortés definitely is up there with the top historical assholes to ever do assholery.

Hernan Cortés was horrible, actually

One of the books I read on this tried to go a bit more into the worldview of the conquistadors. Basically going into why those people did those horrible things. And how basically they were so indoctrinated into the Catholic belief, that they thought that indeed if they forced their religion onto someone else on the tip of a sword, they were doing those people a favor. Because in their logic there was no question that people who did not worship the Christian God and Jesus would go to hell. And yes, that is messed up, but yeah, they got indoctrinated from birth, basically.

However, Hernan Cortés himself? He was a fucking asshole bastard, who very much was in for the money. A bit related to Castlevania Nocturne: He was related to the Spanish Governer to what later became Santa Dominque, which at this time was still Spanish controlled. And he wanted the supposed money of the New World. The gold and silver and gemstones.

So, he got some people - who for the most part really were religiously motivated - and was like: "Yeah, we gotta bring Christianity to those folks, and get some money from there. And everyone who comes with me will gets not only to go to heaven, but also a share of whatever profits we make." And then, when he arrived in America (mind you, against what he had been instructed to do - so he commited mutiny to be exact), he ordered his men to set their ships aflame, because he wanted to make sure that nobody is going to flee.

Then he made the deal with those other indigenous folks, before fighting the Nahua together with them and his own forces, who were miserable not being used to this climate. And then when he was done, he enslaved the Tlaxcala and Cempoala, while going to his own men like: "So, we got less money than expected. Everyone only will get 80 Pesos for this. Oh, by the way, you all owe me 300 Pesos for the equipment I provided to you, the food and everything. If you needed medical attention you owe me even more than that."

For reference, if I have not fully miscalculated today (it was hard to calculate, because I did not find a formular for direct calculation, so I had to go from Pesos into Real, from Real into Shilling, from Shilling into modern GBP, and from that to USD), 80 Pesos at the time are worth about 20 000 USD today, So not a whole lot for risking your life half on the other side of the world. And of course the money they supposedly owed him is then about 70 000 USD. Meanwhile he settled down in a nice pretty castle.

So yeah, Hernan Cortés, fucked everyone over. Literally EVERYONE.

Now, mind you. Because some of his people - who for the lack of money, now were stuck in the Americas - started to rise up against him, he basically calmed them by saying: "Yeah, you know what? Let enslave more indigenous people." And the fact that they were like: "I guess that is fine then" says a lot about their morals. But generally speaking... Yeah, fuck Cortés. I sure hope that asshole is somewhere deep, deep, deeeeeeeeep in hell.

And mind you, after Cortes took over what today is Mexico, it apparently got really bad. With a mixture of a famine, the slavery and the sicknesses the Spaniads brought to the place, apparently it was at times after this so bad, that there were literal dead bodies lining the streets. Some died of hunger, some of sickness, and some had been killed by the Spaniads.

[talenlee]

Game Pile: The Comprehensive Videogames History of Grammy-Award Winning 1999 Hit “Smooth” By Santana Feat. Rob Thomas of Matchbox Twenty

Watch this video on YouTube

Thumbnail and script below the fold!

You might have found this because you would Rather Be Listening to Grammy-Award Winning 1999 Hit “Smooth” By Santana Feat. Rob Thomas of Matchbox Twenty. This is because, inexplicably, the internet loves Rob Thomas, a walking meme of a man with whom I have a weirdly complicated relationship, not in any small part because for as long as I’ve been able to tell you what pop music is, he has been part of something in it that’s cool.

Not necessarily something that’s very cool.

But pretty cool.

At least, cooler than me, a guy who thinks Rob Thomas is cool.

Rob Thomas (of Matchbox 20) lives somewhere in the same space as All Star or Lazytown, a meme that is shallower than you think and yet better known and more well-liked than you’d expect. Meme fodder. That kind of memetic status is what led to the time, back in 2015, Nicholas Kula to design a T-shirt with the excessively specific and middlingly funny I’d Rather Be Listening to Grammy-Award Winning 1999 Hit “Smooth” By Santana Feat. Rob Thomas of Matchbox Twenty shirt slogan shirt. Kula put the shirt on Redbubble, it got a little bit of attention, and then it got copied and then it became a wildly successful meme raising upwards of hundreds of dollars, reblogged by Rob Thomas (of Matchbox Twenty), then shut down by the representatives of Rob Thomas (of Matchbox Twenty) for violating the copyright of amongst other people, Rob Thomas (of Matchbox Twenty). The design is back up, now, I suppose?

You might have seen this shirt, maybe on some streamer or the like, a really deliberately ironically un-funny funny thing that exists in that special place of meme magic that has no value but to remind you that hey.

Products exist.

It’s still a thing that put Rob Thomas, who hadn’t had a hit on the radio since, really, 1999 and also, what the hell is a radio, on the radar around that time, so that meant that after all this furore in 2016, it was a time ripe for the retrospect. Rolling Stone took the time to strike while the iron was gone, and three years later (around the song’s twentieth anniversary, I suppose), and it was thanks to a guy named Rob Wesley sharing an excerpt of the article that the conversation takes a turn for the gamer.

What Wesley shared in the thread is a section where the narration outlines the way that Rob Thomas was playing Silent Hill and how that was important to Santana’s relationship with him – that their friendship during the songwriting of the song Smooth was marked by long stretches of Rob Thomas playing Silent Hill games while Santana got stoned and told him what to do.

[Excerpts on screen]

This presents us with an interesting question: Was Carlos Santana playing a videogame?

Now there’s a way to discard this argument pretty conveniently; you can say ‘no,’ and that’s that. That’s fine, if you want to be boring about it, but that also shows an unwillingness to engage with the question, to work out what the question is asking and what kind of answers present ways to view the world.

What Carlos Santana was doing was passing instructions to another player, while probably chemically compromised, and that player – ostensibly enacted their will. How is Carlos not playing that game? If we assume that you need direct control over a game for it to count, then a lot of chess games in history were played by nobody. Fancy lads with fancy hats would send one another letters with chess moves in them, and then the recipient would put those moves in action on their chessboard and send a letter with their own moves in it, in response to the state they were both maintaining. Now in no case did either of these players have direct hand on the chess pieces on the other board, meaning that if directing a player to enact your intention doesn’t count, then these people were playing against literally nobody, and therefore, not playing chess, and therefore, probably didn’t exist.

This also runs into the problem of Dungeon Masters or Gamemasters or whatever – after all, in all those games, you have to give your game actions to another player, and then they enact your intentions. This capacity of confusing intention and outcome is a thing I refer to as enrolment, where you become enmeshed in the behaviour of the game. One of those things that games just do is that when you partake in playing in the game, you are committing actions whose outcome is uncertain; not impossible or unknowable, but just that when a game becomes inevitable, it loses something, and players tangibly react to the nature of a game being decided. You know what it means when you’re entering endgame. Players often can predict the outcome of the end of the game when it becomes inevitable and either fold or scrap for their last points.

That means there is some clear element of game playing that is the way that the control mechanism, while maybe feeling good, is not necessarily capable of delivering perfect outcomes. You don’t need your control scheme to be reliable for you to to be playing the game. After all, one-handed play or players for whom an interface is incompatible aren’t not playing a game just because the controller wasn’t designed for them, they’re just dealing with an interface problem.

Now to look at the alternate side of things, how about some people in a similar situation, trying to influence a game, badly, with a control mechanism that doesn’t reliably work, by talking to someone else? Ie, what about people watching a stream?

Stream audiences clearly try to have impact on the game they’re watch. In popular channels, it’s not uncommon for them to cheer, to try and remember or suggest strategies, to try and ask the streamer to take a more explicit or clear route through their thinking process. They will try and influence the conversation happening around the game, where they will invite the streamer to speak on a topic, and that has an impact on how the game is played. There is a stimulus, a response, an uncertain outcome, and a control scheme. They are engaged with the stream, and the streamer is affected by that engagement.

Okay, what about the chat where the player is wholly unaffected?

What about streams where the players are isolated? What about streams without chat, or without the audience necessarily speaking to the streamer? Are they going to have an impact on the game, as it is played? Are they playing the game through their presence? Is their observation an engagement with the game of the stream? Streamers will often explain that the presence of an audience transforms the experience of playing a game – that when you have to be aware of an audience, it changes one’s focuses and reactions. Even if that audience is elsewhere, even if that audience does not interact with the streamer through conventional interface, is the fact of being observed a thing that can be done as the engagement surface of a game?

Well, they’re doing something, right? If the audience, if the crowd, wasn’t a factor in a game, well, the most obvious example of spectators in a game, sports, wouldn’t have a meaningful idea of ‘home team’ advantage. We know that spectators in a sport influence the game that’s being played, after all — if nothing else, there are a lot of times in Baseball’s history in particular where a game was concluded, thanks to the actions of the spectators. Bless you battery hucking weirdoes. Now, hang on, you might argue that that’s not playing the game, and yeah, maybe it’s not. It’s concluding the game, with a different set of priorities. But the knowledge that fans can do that kind of thing, concerns that the reactions of the fans could curtail the game certainly play into the game’s players’ functions. They are an influence on the playing of the game, so we can definitely not say that they are separate from it.

But let’s say that that’s a material concern; that the game is agnostic of the spectator behaviour, and that the game is only defined by the rules that they experience. This is a great big discussion, something you can delve into at length through The Philosophy Of Sport, but that mighty tome is built on the work of Bernard Suits, the author of that book Grasshopper, Life Games And Utopia. From this book I draw my definition of games, where he defines games as the voluntary overcoming of unnecessary obstacles. Under that definition, there are definitely some things to squint at. It’s a very broad definition, after all, and you may feel it includes some things that don’t count. It means that you can’t be coerced into playing a game, and that can ask questions about whether people who are playing a game as a job are still playing a game, if their continued livelihood is contingent on it. It is a definition you use for what it lets you do.

What it lets me do, is talk about games in a way that includes lots of different types of game.

Something that book describes is that just because people are all playing a game together that doesn’t mean they’re playing the same game. Suits describes the way that a player might be cheating, which immediately means they’re playing a different game, since you can’t both play a game and violate its rules. There’s also players playing for reasons to impede the game, the spoilsports, who are following the rules but playing in a way that reduces the play or the fun of the other players. Similarly, what if I’m playing a game with a little kid, and I know the game much better than they do, but I’m deliberately trying to impose rules on my self to ensure that kid isn’t blown out? We might both be playing Rhino Hero but I’ve set myself an extra, additional limitation – I’m trying to beat the game, I’m trying to win, but I’m trying to do so in a way that keeps the game close, while also making sure this other player doesn’t feel like they’re being humoured, and trying to make it fun for myself. This may involve imposing new, other rules on myself. I’m playing the game, but I’m also playing another, nested game on top of it.

If you accept it of game experiences as maximally inclusive, you have a tool for when you can sit at these odd intersections and ask the question: Are the audience playing a game? And if you’re trying to be maximally inclusive, and you want to include the idea that engaging with the game, trying things, hoping, cheering, hypothesising strategies and seeing how your strategies relate to the enacted ones, then you are playing a game, it’s just a game with an entire other game as one of its components. A lottery is a game, and that’s a game where you’re trying to correctly guess a number with exactly one attempt, and the result of that is a stunningly engaging game if the incentives are lined up right.

What about an audience who are completely disconnected? What if we took the audience completely out of the sport, let’s put them in a remote location, where they can’t say or do anything to the players, like the esports community of South Korea’s Starcraft channels. For lower-tier matches, outside of code A (at least ten years ago when I was paying a lot more attention), players weren’t getting a live audience, but their games were being broadcast to satisfy a bottomless demand… and we know in that case, that nerves, choking, all are factors that the audience’s existence can impose on the players.

Okay, so what if we remove the ability of the audience to influence the players. What if the players are somehow, emotionally, unaffectable by the attention of an audience? What if they were cold, efficient, and entirely automated in their play experience in a way that could be equalised and fair? And in order to make sure they’re not too complex, let’s make these game players as simple as possible such that they can’t fail or break or be otherwise impacted, meaning the game can operate in the purest possible way, without any psychological influence of the audience.

Are those spectators playing a game, with these ideas of enrolment and maximally inclusive game definition?

Yes.

In that simplest possible definition, there is a goal, and the spectator is trying to achieve the goal, with a consensually-chosen unnecessary obstacle: Specifically, the goal is to get their chosen simplified actor into a victory position, with a control mechanism that is completely deprived of all functional agency. The spectator wants a player to win, they want to succeed, but the only means they have to influence the game are by cheering and by wanting. They negotiate, they pray, they plan, they strategise, they try to find a way to see their chosen player win, or get better results, or wind up where they want them to be, all through no means at all, through the least effective means possible. They are in many cases, trying to construct visions of the future for what can happen if it does happen, to get the outcome they want, which is itself, a prediction game that can be satisfied or not.

I forward then that the audience are playing a game when they map out expectations, when they cheer, when they connect with one another. They are playing a game just as Carlos Santana was playing a game when he, stoned as hell, gave instructions to Rob Thomas; he wasn’t necessarily playing the same game as Rob Thomas.

…

The story about Rob Thomas and Santana is completely false, by the way. When I first wrote about this was when I learned, because it took me four years to get around to checking the source material.

I mean…

It doesn’t matter if it’s false.

But it is a pretty funny example.

And chances are, you might have thought that Carlos Santana was a Silent Hill fan for some reason.

Check it out on PRESS.exe to see it with images and links!

[thefcguy]

Miraculous Season 6 - First Impressions.

It contains spoilers and some suppositions, so?”, be careful.

Okay, I watched the second episode of season 6… and… it’s meh.

It definitely tries to be a bit more mature and try to deal with some more realistic problems. Like, the main conflict is Marinette not knowing how to act as a couple with Adrien and being anxious.

Which, doesn’t make much sense considering she already dated Luka, and had already faced the nervousness of a date before with Adrien in season 5, but… it is a problem people face when they start dating for the first time, so I will give them a pass this time.

And, at least, Alya and Nino will play a more active role this season. They will be trying to research and find out more about the new butterfly holder. Well, at least it’s what it looks like from this episode.

The episode’s akuma is… a bit underwhelming. Like, they have a fun design and their powers’ aesthetics are very creative but the rest is pretty meh.

Is about a new character who is a little girl who is around Manon’s age who no one pays attention to her drawings, and with some possible daddy issues.

And the timeline is back to being a mess like season 1.

Because this is episode 2 in the list, and it is canon sublimation already happened. Which means that we should probably not expect continuity this season.

Miss Bustier was also confirmed to be one of the first akumas this season, and that she gets akumatized because she feels worried for her baby. She MIGHT be Climatiqueen.

Also, Chrysalis is way smarter than Hawk moth. She never shows her true voice, doesn’t let the heroes know what she is after, and, before suggesting turning her victim into a villain, she speaks with them, and speaks… almost like a therapist. She doesn’t even let them know her Villain Name!

There is also a post credit scene where she says some mysterious things. Like, she is everywhere and she has many faces… and she has been writting a bunch of books.

And, she is even a worse wielded to Nooroo. She doesn’t even let him MOVE.

There is also the fact that Ladybug gave Alya a Kwagatama from Tikki and said she is the next guardian if something bad happens to her… foreshadowing, everyone?

In the end… it was an interesting experience. Even if a bit underwhelming.

At least the characters are communicating now. Even if it is in the end of episode.

(They also kind of confirmed the heroes won’t be getting akumatized, because they learned with their previous akuma and have a better control of their feelings… why can’t we have nice things?)

[botmilf]

wanna quickly add to this because I've gotten a few snarky messages for this one lol. But not just because of that. I genuinely find this sort of interesting.

"Well he mirrors Sonic and Sonic in the movie is very clearly a child so--" they mirror each other in the game universe too, and they don't have ages there. When Sonic and Shadow were first designed they weren't done so adhering to some age group. Because all the characters in the Sonic Canon have the pretty much the same proportions lol. There is absolutely nothing about Sonic or Shadow physically that confirms them to be children/teenagers if you're going off of human standards and this is also true for the SCU because like, Knuckles looks almost exactly like his dad at whatever age he is now. And sure Sonic might be a kid in the SCU but we're not talking about him, we're talking about Shadow.

"Gerald referred to him and Maria as 'kids' and Walters said 'those are children!'" Yes, and all that was before Shadow was put in stasis for 50 years. Now, again, I interpreted this as more of a grouped-in sense because he goes along with whatever Maria gets up to. He's an alien. He doesn't know how old he is, or even what he is. It's safe to say that the people around him don't definitively know either.

ALSO based on what he says MULTIPLE times throughout the movie about having to live with the anger for 50 years, that suggests Shadow was at least somewhat conscious. He didn't quite know how much time had passed, but arrested development doesn't make you a minor lol and it wouldn't make him one either. Vi from Arcane is a prime example of this. She was thrown into a dark cell on a prison island for like 10 years starting when she was 14. She still does/thinks in ways, at times, that a teenager would rather than an adult, but that doesn't make her a minor. That just means she's deeply, deeply traumatized--as Shadow is.

Here's the thing too: We don't know what the aging process is like for Mobians in this universe. We don't know how similar or dissimilar it is from humans. Shadow doesn't make this any clearer because we also don't know if this SCU version of him is immortal like in the games. We also don't know if he was engineered as-is like in the games either. We just do not know and I think that in the case of Shadow, it's okay for there to be some nuance.

Lastly, I kiiiinda feel like if the movie had any interest on selling the idea of Shadow being a child in a very literal sense, Keanu Reeves wouldn't have been casted and they would've gotten someone who can at least be convincing as a kid lol. I can suspend my disbelief for some things but Keanu's voice coming out of a child? Nah bro come on lmao.

Look, The movie gives us no definitive answers. At the end of the day that's pretty much what I'm saying in a very long sense. Sorry for the long ass post I'm just being a nerd lol.

SCU Shadow the Hedgehog age discourse rant:

The Shadow the Hedgehog age discourse is kind of crazy because Sega retconned everyone’s age YEARS ago and Shadow never even technically had one because in the games he was created in a lab and in the movie he’s an alien that fell from the sky as-is. It’s not that he doesn’t age, it’s that he doesn’t HAVE an age.

Shadow in the SCU universe is referred to collectively alongside Maria as a kid because, like, bro he’s an alien that knows literally nothing about the world and he’s like 4 ft tall fluff ball. You WOULD treat him like a child, not because he IS physically a child, but because he needs the guidance and supervision of one in a world that he doesn’t understand. Also he’s with Maria, an actual kid, all the time just by way of her living at the laboratory, so it makes sense to refer to them both collectively as ‘kids’ because he goes along with whatever mischief she gets into. It makes sense that the soldiers around the facility would view him as a child too. Not because Shadow physically IS a minor, but because you’d have to treat him like one.

Also he’s voiced by fucking Keanu Reeves homie.

Idk man I’m just tired of seeing people’s comments section get lit up by a bunch of dickheads every time they post a thirst tiktok or make suggestive art/fanfic. People straight up saying shit like “ummm he’s 15” like no he literally, canonically is not lol wtf.

He has no actual age and he never will because he’s FUCKING IMMORTAL LOL

[jinxthejubilee]

im sorryyyy but the megaman cdi zelda post made me so sad...they're friends...why are we fighting....they'd both bail you out of jail...we have to stick together

Would they, though? They look like THEY would be the ones in jail for unsavory crimes.

Look at his face, and tell me that he's innocent!

[zivazivc]

Finished!

A lazy summer day by a stream~

I finally put my illustration degree into good use and made a proper traditional illustration (although still fanart 😅). Sometimes I really wanted to just "undo" some strokes or move some things around haha but man was this relaxing and satisfying to work on, also I am just so proud of the outcome. I haven't done a proper traditional illustration on this scale since my thesis so it's been a few years.

I took these photos with a phone outside to try and really capture the colors and details.

[sah-crescentmoon]

Sena is loving hearing all of the gossips. She has friends who do nothing but gossip and she lives for it. Sena doesn't like being involved in drama, but listening to it is another story.

And, I didn't know that. The people in my life who gossips are not the usual traditional people. I mean, I guess the women in my family kinda are? But not really. At least not like the Amish or Mennonite folks.

Ah, that's so interesting about Nayeon's chosŏn-ot design! I think it fits perfectly symbolically and design wise. Nayeon's white fur really allows the bright colors of her chosŏn-ot to pop out. I also love her hat and boots, it's really cute. After reading Tales of Flower Hill, I think the chosŏn-ot colors are perfect for her personality as well (if I am interperting her character accurately. I would have to apologize for that since I am awful at understanding characters). I cannot wait to see more of her in the future.

For Sena, since she doesn't work in hard labor, she would have a longer chima. But, it would be difficult if the chima were the wider ones since she would be working in a narrow area.

Also these tags:

Never in a million years did I think someone would dream of my character lmao. I am honored that Dalnim and Noeul somehow managed to be in your dream.

It is funny on how it starts off normally and then it is just all over the place like any other dreams. I would like to say Noeul would not be that evil, but I blame your brain more than you for that lol. I mean that's better than the people in my dream becoming obsessed with Jojo Siwa. At least that whole thing made sense unlike my brain.

I would say that I don't recgonize any of the other characters from the different franchises mentioned. But, interesting how dreams be merging anything and everything it wants. Though I would say, that all of this is random and chaotic and I love it lmao.

And if Dalnim is being stared at a lot then that poor guy is going to feel anxious the entire time. Also, yes, please be careful on medication regardless of this dream.

Something I did while I was waiting for class.

I don’t know if she would be a new character of mine. But if she was, she would be working as an archivist or doing something based around culture. Idk. She isn’t a character I would place in OFP since she wouldn’t be a solider. She would have been exempted.

The quality came out a bit wonky

[hasturmcfuckface]

SLAMS FIST ON TABLE. NOBODY CAN STOP ME!!!!

(Noel is a Fisher, Oscar a Scottish Fold cat and The Butcher a Jack Russel Terrier.. bc they hunt rabbits)

[seorikkun]

scientists can’t tell the difference (for @quokki​)

bonus:

[pinkfey]

remember how in dao there were always like multiple flirty options u could just spring on ur love interest and it wasn't something that was brushed past it would stop a conversation dead in its tracks to have a cute secondary flirty offshoot with small variations dependent on the flirty option u initially chose with a unique course correction to get back on topic after...... yeah.

[punchouthottakes]

FLAMING HOT TAKE INCOMING, DISCLAIMER FIRST: punch out is a game with no lore and little to no characterization so it’s natural that different people have different takes on a character and I 10000% respect that and I love seeing how people interpret stuff differently from me!!!!! this is not a dig or a diss this is just personal observation!!!!!!!!!!

i don’t get why the overall fandom consensus is that don flamenco is head over heels in love with the blonde lady [that the fandom calls Carmen (this I do understand why)] in his cinematic trailer. it’s always been apparent to me that this guy is supposed to be like a casanova/serial womanizer/harem enthusiast douchebag kinda guy.

1. country of origin and profession: every enemy character in this game is supposed to be an exaggerated cultural stereotype/caricature, so it’s natural to assume that most of their character traits are not meant to subvert audience expectations, and flamenco is no exception! Spaniards are stereotyped as carelessly romantic, and toreadors seem to be associated with more socially conservative or dare I say, sexist/woman objectifying behavior. it would be logical to presume that flamenco also embodies these traits

2. contender intro slideshow: most people (and I as well) like to use the final slide of his contender intro as evidence of his romantic status. however, I fail to see how it shows him as faithful; on the contrary, the fact that the girls around “Carmen” are a. (for one of them) also wearing roses - the same color as the one he’s giving her, in fact - and b. clearly looking shocked and disgusted seems to show me that those girls were also the object of flamenco’s short-lived affection and that the blonde girl is just his next “target” so to speak.

now how to justify his in-battle voice lines referring to his affection for carmen? well look no further than Carmen, the opera by Bizet, where the titular Carmen ends up being with a toreador (like don flamenco). it could be possible that he uses “Carmen” as a pet name for all of his flings rather than the actual name of his one true love

please feel free to prove me wrong bc I see nobody else with this interpretation and I wanna know why everyone agrees that he’s a faithful boyfriend/malewife lmao