#it's all interpretation innit

[hellisntreal]

a power of peace and healing//your bones run strong

I spent a very long time trying to work out a Stone design and I'm still not settled! I'm sure like my other humanizations of Fallen London entities, I'll come up with a few <3

[bredforloyalty]

that's why i wrote that i wonder if it makes me look mental, it's more of a reflection of me than them. and that's the thing about celebrities and all forms of "rpf", we're talking about the shadow of the shadow, twice removed, because no matter how many songs and interviews and books and documentaries there are, we'll never know those people 🥴 that's just my opinion and how i approach parasociality, that even in a real life, possibly intimate relationship, you always see someone through your own eyes and use your own unique tools to make sense of individuals and of the world. there's no ultimate truth, not inside your best friend or in the relationship of those brothers from manchester, it's just my perspective and your perspective and all of it is coloured by what we've experienced and uhh who we are

[cassmouse]

Just over 12 hours until my second maths paper and I am sitting here crying at Liebestraum No. 3

[oceanxveiined]

Special Dish: Sea God’s Catch

Base: Sashimi platter

❛❛ The fish and garnishes seem oddly cut, but nonetheless the meat is chilled, tender, and its fragrance holds a sweet zest to it and an odd hint of spice from the side made to go with it. With Danae’s usual lack of culinary skills, it seems she must have put lots of practice into this. And been a bit overeager in her efforts, the overwhelmingly hearty portion considered. Your expression seems to fluster her. “What?! A proper meal’s good to keep up your strength! So eat up! Wh–you want to share it?! I...ugh, fine, I’ll help you finish– ❜❜

[popsicle-stick]

if they're in their 20s in 1897 wouldn't that make them in their 40s in the 1920s?

depends how you do the maths and your own personal hcs i guess

for me, mina's roughly 23 and i personally imagine the text to take place in 1893, so 27 years later in 1920 she'd be 50

[fairene]

good for you / ln4, part one

lando norris x fem!reader

no use of y/n, as always.

in which you and lando have parted ways, but on what terms? at what cost is he willing to get you back, and how far down are you finished with him? what lengths with the two of you go, battling with your hearts, before you can be together once more? he knows that no one is good for you, except him.

a/n⋯ a collaborative piece between myself and the lovely @jamminvroomvroom. she will be writing the next chapter, so keep your eyes out! we don't have a total idea of how long this'll be, but we are so thrilled to have it ready for you all. jas is an amazing writer, and i am so, so lucky that she wanted to do this with me. shower her with all the love, and i hope you enjoy this. as usual, reader's clothes are left up to interpretation. this is for you afterall;)!

warnings⋯ smut, MINORS DNI 18++. language, drinking, choking, p in v sex (wrap before you tap!), insecurity, arguments, exes to lovers(?(we shall see!)) possession, jealousy. if i forgot any warnings, feel free to let me know.

wc⋯ 5.2k (unedited.)

the night began well. the boy you were with was well. you were well. that was the most important thing, wasn’t it? it must be. it had to be, you convinced yourself of that very fact. truly, you had no reason to complain. your friends supported you, loved you, were obsessed with you. and you had a man on your arm who felt the exact same way, and would kiss the ground you walked on.

but others, another, would worship you. used to. but now you were alone, a goddess left untouched, brazen in this world of antagonists. yet, it was a change. it was a change that you needed. this relationship you had with damian was one of new blood. a shift from your tumultuous routine that felt liberating over a life you once mourned. 

damian was a man of respectful nature, good upbringings, and he was a good chat. he was fit, treated you with a sweet tenderness that you adored him for, and didn’t devolve into a flaming lair of toxicity to keep you trapped. 

and, he was a football player, which was a bonus. he played for barcelona’s team, and you couldn’t be more proud of him. after your previous relationship concluded, the pair of you were introduced by mutual friends, namely the ferrari driver, carlos. you were apathetic at first, unsure of if this was the right move. if it was too soon to want to jump into something. 

but damian was kind. he adored you. what else did you want? 

more. 

you danced with him. in the night life of monaco, you were showered with his attention. the attention of your friends. it was a weekend off for the drivers, so you were able to meet up with the other girls you knew. kika and alexandra in particular, who’ve been entirely supportive of you these past few months. 

they danced with one another, cheering you and your now boyfriend on, shouting pleasantries of how good you looked at his side. 

damian’s hands around your hips felt good. it felt right. when the bass dropped, so did you. he caught your seductive actions and his eyes widened. there were no words to describe his expression besides admiration. you loved his eyes the most about him— his dark hair, tanned skin, muscular physique— 

shit,

maybe you did have a type.

you spun back around, latching your arms around his neck, and he cradled your lower back with his palms. “what?” you questioned his stare that was unrelenting. 

“nothin’,” he scoffed. “you’re just absolutely beautiful, innit?” 

your head fell back with a laugh, patting his chest as a means to quiet him, but he kept going. 

“‘m serious,” your name was low on his tongue. “you’re practically glowin’, love.” 

you peppered a kiss on his lips. he met you halfway, swallowing your mouth whole. his tongue entered your mouth, and you could only respond with a noise deep within your throat. he felt the vibration against his lips, and continued his movements. 

the pair of you were swaying against each other’s bodies, tongue down one another’s throats, and for a moment the world washed away. something that hasn’t happened in ages, you felt like a makeshift paradise was born between the both of you. a hideaway. 

but mirages only serve their purpose for a short time before they fade away into nothingness. 

you broke away from his kiss. he looked surprised, offended, but you said nothing of his expression. you brought your lips to his ear for a brief kiss, “i’ll get us drinks?” 

he nodded, letting you go. 

you brushed past him, trailing your hand up kika’s arm. she immediately spun towards you, alexandra’s attention drawing as well. they beamed when they saw you, following you right over to the bar. the triad of you loitered there, swirling the drinks you ordered in hand. 

“so?” kika asked you, as if she’s been dying to hear this story the whole night. alexandra glowered at her, pestering her to be quiet, but you’d answer her regardless.

“it’s good.” 

the girls looked at one another. 

“that’s it? good?” kika looked baffled. 

“what? what else do you wanna know?” you took a sip of your drink, feet hanging from the barstool that you were sat upon. 

“anything!” alexandra exclaimed. “haven’t seen you this happy in months.” kika made a face at her, telltale of not to bring up what happened. ah, you thought, what happened. none of you discussed in great details of what happened that night, but they knew it was intense. intense enough for you to lock yourself away for a week with no contact. it was a horrid sight, and they were terrified for you. 

“well,” you shrugged. “i am. really. damian’s a great guy.” 

the girls squealed, grabbing your free hand. “he seems lovely, doesn’t he? ugh! you look so good together, too!” kika was more excited than you expected her to be, but her support meant the world. along with alexandra’s approval, you felt like you were taking the great steps that were needed to…move on. a dreadful phrase that has been bouncing back and forth in your mind. 

“you really do. and he’s an excellent photographer. i mean, look at these pictures he took of you—” alexandra passed you her phone, damian’s instagram story open. it was of you, looking divine beneath the yellow-hues of the club. you’d give him credit where credit is due— you looked fantastic. 

your hand flew to your mouth, covering your smile. that only had the girls squealing out more, finding your bashful attitude enough to answer their wearisome concerns. they were so worried about your state after the breakup that they would hound you. would stay as invested as they could in your life, until they were rather annoying. but you were grateful for them nonetheless. without them, you would’ve never met damian. without them, you may not have ever found happiness. however temporary it may be, it was what you felt at the moment. 

when damian’s drink arrived in front of you, you swung off the stool and bid them a sweet goodbye with a kiss in your palm, blowing it in your direction. you sashayed through the crowd, slithering through the stalks of grass, and made your way into his arms. he reacted instantaneously, holding you close to his chest. his chin rubbed against your shoulder, clean-shaven, and whispered to you.

“thought you ran away on me.” he said with a hushed tone. you swiveled to hand him his drink, which he took, but not before pressing a kiss to the palm of your hand. 

“me?” you made a ‘pfft’ motion with your lips. “never.” 

but oh,

how right he was. 

damian let out a soft laugh before the two of you made a ‘cheers’ motion with your glasses, and danced the rest of the night away. it was a beautiful evening, truly, and you shouldn’t be feeling the way you were. devoid. 

you pushed down the feeling as much as you could. 

when you and damian left the club that night, you were happy. glittering with the sparkles of what young love was meant to be. you’d only been dating for two months, but it had you on the edge of your seat. fantasizing about what a life you could have with him. 

but some things just stay fantasies, don’t they?

“you sure you’ll be alright?” damian asked you when you unlocked the door to your flat. you hummed with appreciation, feeling the buzz of alcohol through your system. 

“i’m sure, my knight.” you said with dramatics. he smiled, appreciating your small antics. they kept him on his toes. 

“whatever you say, babe.” he shook his head, holding the door open for you. you stepped inside, gripping the wood, and turned to face him.

you kissed him once good night on the lips, “i’ll text you in the morning.” he nodded against your lips, unwilling to let go, but did when you laughed against him. he was sweet. a sweet, sweet boy.\

“goodnight.” you cooed. he returned the phrase, and you shut your door and locked it. 

now alone in your apartment, you threw your bag to the empty countertop and sauntered over to your room. fuck taking a shower tonight, you were just too tired for all of that. you stripped of your dress and threw on an old tee shirt that you had, unknowing of its origins, and laid in your bed.

on your phone you scrolled briefly on instagram, but froze on a singular post.

it was a suggested post. you were instantly gripped. the man draped over this girls body was instantly recognizable. his tanned skin. the stubble on his chin. the curls atop his head. the curls that you used to be obsessed with, running your fingers along his scalp.

you stared at the description:

paradise!

paradise. you scoffed to yourself. 

tagged in the photo was the man himself. you clicked on his profile, curious, though you promised yourself you wouldn’t. once wouldn’t hurt, would it? too late, anyways, as you were down the rabbit hole of his feed. 

the first post was a feature of him at his races. then, the second slide was a picture of him and her. what was this feeling? how could you find the audacity to let your stomach churn, your heart race? it wasn’t your place anymore. your place, albeit fought for, was not at his side. 

he looked happy.

but so were you.

you were.

you are.

but the suggested post of his new girl had you hooked. it had you seething. biting your thumb nail with your front teeth, you made an impulsive decision.

you liked the post. 

the night was just beginning for lando when you were in your bed. in the club with his mates, he was bumping to the rap mixes they played on the speakers. drenched in the mix of sweat and alcohol, he was living the life he dreamed of having. it was everything to him, picture perfect that no one could argue. 

but there was something missing.

the girl at his front, his girlfriend, grinded against him with radical intentions. she was beautiful, of course, but that was all the words that lando had for her. she accessorized well, was in the media spotlight, and that’s all the boxes it took for him to swoop her off her feet. it was easy, truthfully, and their relationship has been a breeze.

but lando didn’t want a breeze, he wanted a storm. you were the eye of the hurricane that he yearned for. nothing about that has changed– and he feared, deeply, that nothing will ever turn his head. he’d been fixated on you since he laid eyes on you, your attitude. you kept him on his toes, not laid down and bored. 

the girl, samantha, spun around to wrap her arms around lando’s neck. his hand traveled to her lower back, holding her close to him. she shouted and cheered with her girlfriends, lando’s own doing the same. but he said nothing, and brought his cocktail to his lips, gurgling a deep swallow of the bitter liquid that heated his throat. 

with his bloodshot eyes and weary smiles, he’d attempt to be picturesque for the media. media, media, media. everything returned to the circulation of photos that’d come out with him and his girlfriend. girlfriends. you. he’d never felt so protective of you, of anyone, than the relationship that you had with him.  nothing could compare, especially how samantha boasted in every post that he was with her. 

her following count jumped well over five hundred thousand since he came in the picture. of course she never said anything, made it a point to speak about, but he knew. lando watched. scrolled endlessly through his phone in the middle of night, drinking up every word that his fan spewed out. a folly of comments asking where you were. what happened between the two of you. but he never made a post about it. it had been radio silence on his end, just as it was the same for you.

but it’d end with him throwing his phone to the side, and promising himself that he didn’t care. he couldn’t care. not when you weren’t his anymore, and that you walked out on him that night with valid purpose. he failed you, and that was on him.

in the meantime of your absence, samantha was there to fill the gaps. to soothe his broken heart with her painfully long acrylics that dug into the back of his neck, her pathetic moans of pleasure when he fucked her better than anyone ever could, and the rocking of his hips against her own in the darkness of the night club. 

for now, it was enough. just barely, as it scraped the surface, but lando would down cup after cup to glue the pieces of his heart that you shattered. 

samantha continued her movements. lando didn’t relent either, finishing off his drink, slapping his palm against her ass. the crowd around them erupted in cheers, and lando plastered a bolstered smile across his face. this is what they wanted. the surface level teasing, the sultry nature of grotesque actions. but it is not what he wanted. he craved the solitude, the comfort you brought him in the hours of the night before his races. he’d been a phantom crawling through this season, a ghost in the shell of a formula one driver. 

“you alright?” samantha asked him. apparently he hadn’t been good at hiding the turmoil from his expressive face. her puckered lips had his eyes shifting downward. her bare chest, barely covered tits. 

he’d say nothing in response and simply go in for a kiss. a deep one, aggressive, filling her mouth to the brim with his tongue. maybe this could erase the memories of you, however stubborn they were on placating in his mind as permanent fixtures. 

his hand came around the back of her neck, angling her head better for him to swallow her whole. the bracelet, silver imbued with his logo, clanged against her large golden hoops. it was a loud noise that samantha pulled their lips apart. she turned her head to glance at the jewelry, and her lip curled with disgust. 

the bracelet. the bracelet you gave him. 

she scoffed and he could hear it, but he opted to say nothing in rebuttal. instead, she stalked away from him, looming large near the bar. he followed her tail, knowing that this spat between them wouldn’t last long. 

she ordered a drink. lando’s head spun as is. 

samantha pulled out her phone, bringing her drink to her lips, and damn near spit out the liquid. she covered her mouth from it spilling, and lando watched with a raised brow. 

“what?” he asked of her. 

“she liked it.” she. who’s she? who is she?

“what? who?” lando begged for clarification. samantha spun her phone around to shove it in his face. the screen illuminated him beneath the barely visible hues of light, and his eyes nearly popped out of his skill. 

you liked her post with him. 

you who swore you wanted nothing to do with him ever again. you who snapped the chain of the necklace he got from you, though made of the toughest silver, the metal was nothing beneath your furious fingertips. 

lando swallowed, though it did little to stifle his salivating mouth, his racing heart. he clutched the back of the bar with one hand, feeling the world collapse in on him in that moment. a singular like on a photo he didn’t even want to be posted. all it took to have him breaking out into a cold sweat, feeling nausea tug on his stomach, was a like on instagram. 

fucking pathetic, wasn’t he? 

his thumb came to spin the bracelet around his wrist, twirling it in front of him. samantha hadn’t noticed, too hyper focused on your account. she uttered words that he couldn’t make out. things along the lines of, ‘weird,’ ‘she’s obsessed, ‘innshe?’ but they never made sense to his ears. if anything, you were obsessed with staying away. obsessed with anything but him, contrary to his own feelings. he wasn’t even sure if they mattered to you— did they?

in retaliation, he knew only one thing to steady his heart. he took samantha by her wrist to the nearest restroom, a single stall, and banged on the locked door.

she stood there, speechless, but had a feeling how this night would end. it brought a cruel smile to her lips, but she covered it with her phone in hand. she knew this is how she’d get some of the best sex of her life, when he was riled about his ex, brimming with fury. she didn’t care that she was being used as an outlet, for she was using him for the same. 

so she didn’t care.

the man in the bathroom left with a curse but lando didn’t seem to give a fuck. he pulled the girl inside and slammed the door behind him, locking it without a care in the world. against the wall she was pushed, ravished by the company of his lips. he sucked and tugged at her lower lip, becoming so bold as to bite the flesh with his top teeth. she smacked his arm and he relented, knowing damn well that you would’ve been moaning with pleasure. 

his lips left no surface untouched as he trailed down the surface of her body. along her collarbones, her bare chest, but he left no marks. he never did, much to her dismay, as if he were saying that she was never really his. because she wasn’t, his thoughts were rampant. this should be you. 

lando hiked up the fabric around her cunt, scrunching the dress in his hand. his other made work around his pants, shuffling them down so his blistering cock could spring to life. it did, but with the work of you in his memories, and not the girl who was spilling her breasts for him in face. 

he didn’t spend long serenading her with his tongue, though it would be a different story if it was you beneath him. he spared no effort where his lips rejected, the only way he found himself happy would be with your own against his. they were claimed for you and you alone. 

it would be a fair assumption to say that you utterly ruined him. 

his dick slid into her with ease with the help of his spit across his hand. he had slipped a condom on, too, tearing open the packaging and threw it to the ground. samantha’s hands came to wrap around the back of his neck, her claw-like nails digging into his skin. it had him curl his lip, not finding the sensation enjoyable, but he didn’t care. not when you were thundering on his mind. his storm, his sunshine. 

she moaned deeply at the contact, finding her g-spot with no effort whatsoever. she was already a mess beneath him as he solidified a pace, grunting in the wake of his thrusts. 

but he wasn’t thinking of her. ‘course he wasn’t. he was thinking of the first time he had you. you in your light-toned dress, you with your big, sparkling eyes. it would be there, beneath the moonlight of his monaco apartment, that he’d taken you to his bed for the first time. and that was the first time you’d ever came at a man’s touch, and lando wouldn’t forget that he was the first you spilled a name on your tongue. 

how you voice was so iridescently sweet. how it curdled his heart into a bow, tying it off with a kiss. your scent had him stirring with craze, frenzied as he ate you out that first time, and nothing ever compared. your cunt was the nectar of his life, fueling him day to day whilst he could have you. when you were his. now he was a man running on fumes, on the oils you’d left behind in his apartment. there wasn’t much he could spare, but that fucking liked photo seemed to do the trick. 

it’s enough to hold him over for the time being. the pace at which hips were thrusting increased, sporadic. his hand came to clutch the base of her throat, but samantha slapped his hand away. the wall would suffice, but knew you’d beg him to hold you. clutch you with your life in his hands, bestowing him the greatest trust he could ever earn. he’d have you tearing up, whining, mewling with pleasure from his hands alone. now, the sex was black and white, when you were the whole world. ripped away from his clutch, he’d be empty handed. 

she shouted his name, “lando–!” while she came over his cock, tightening around him. he’d groan, forehead flush against the concrete of the wall. 

he was reaching his own. those photos of you on your instagram. the feed of your soft launch with that fucking football player. how your friends posted the pair of you— how you were glowing in every light that caught your face. you were so fucking beautiful, so perfect, that he couldn’t help but cum at the thought of you.

but this time, he made a mistake. 

it had been your name that flew past his lips when he filled the condom to the brim. it was your name that he grunted in her ear. not samantha’s.

she was furious. disgusted. she shimmied out of lando’s hold, tugging her underwear up and her dress down. 

lando knew he fucked up. this wouldn’t be the first time, and ultimately, not the last. 

before she left with tears streaming down her face, she had words. “you’re pathetic,” she spat. “take off that fucking bracelet. you know she won’t want you back.” 

and then she was gone. 

lando was left in the empty stall of the bathroom with his head draped against the wall. his breaths were rampant, coming down from the high of his orgasm, but there was no regret in his mind. there was nothing there except the distress of his memories, the titration of you that fumigated him, held him in a chokehold. 

he fixed his pants, washed his hands, and glanced at himself in the mirror. sweaty, bloodshot, exhausted, he didn’t recognize himself. he didn’t recognize the man that was there; unshaved, overgrown hair, sloppy dress attire. this wasn’t him. he was nothing without you, it seemed, and it would drive him into the fucking ground sooner, rather than later. but he was betting on the latter. 

aggravated, he let out a curse, “fuck.” before he left the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him. 

when the both of you were in your beds that night, you tossed and turned. a whirlwind of emotions swaddling the both of your beneath the comforters, you kept checking your phone to see if he texted you. you wouldn’t ever say it, but you’d unblocked him a week after you broke up. you wanted to see if he’d chase you. but he didn’t. he didn’t. 

he was on his phone, too, fresh out of the shower. waiting. looming on instagram to see if you’d like any of his posts, but he saw no activity. but he did see that his fans caught wind of your liked post. confusion was stirred, wondering if the pair of you were friends again. he couldn’t help but chuckle at that insinuation, because he was wondering the same fucking thing. 

but when you both put your phones down and settled in for the night, you were consumed by your memories, and so was he. 

you’d dragged him from the event that night back to his flat. when you opened it with the copy of his key he gave to you, you threw your bag on the sofa without a word. you made move to run right to your shared bedroom, but lando wasn’t far behind, and grabbed your elbow. 

“what is it?” he asked, confused, and that only angered you more. 

“you’re serious?” you said, mouth agape. you couldn’t believe he claimed to not have a single clue what he’d done. what this mess had been amounting to for quite some time. 

“clearly, otherwise i wouldn’t be asking,” he said with a bite. “would i?” 

you rolled your eyes, attempting to pull your arm out from his hold. but he didn’t relent. he kept his hands firm on you, keeping you settled. 

“don’t be daft,” you hissed. he simply raised a brow, shrugged his shoulders. “how you treated me.” 

he was still clearly at a loss, free hand coming to rub the back of his neck with a scoff. “and how did i treat you, then?” 

your hands flew up with contempt, finally loosening his grip. “this! like this!” your voice raised. “first you hate to post us, and then you say ‘we’re not that serious’?” 

that night you’d been standing beside lando, keeping him company with his mates, when they popped the question about the sincerity of your relationship together. you’d expect him to answer with a smile, saying that you were very much in love— because he’s told you that numerous times— but he simply batted the question off with a ‘not too serious, innit? here for a good time.’ 

“you know i didn’t mean it that—” 

“oh…! here we fucking go.” you turned your back on him, head falling into your hands. you ran them over your face, “you say that. you always say that. ‘it doesn’t matter,’ ‘they don’t know the truth,’ then why don’t you tell them?” 

he couldn’t believe what you were saying. that you didn’t trust him, didn’t have faith in the words he spoke to you in the peacefulness of your bedroom. 

“we don’t owe them shit,” he spoke your name in a controlled tone, gritting his teeth against one another. 

“and when i get flamed on instagram? twitter? for taking you away from them?” the fanbase that lando acquired was some of the most valiant people you’ve ever witnessed, but could also be the most brutal. 

“you know how they are—” 

“i didn’t sign up for that.” you retorted quick, shouting this time, which had his face going a ghastly white. “i’ve done nothing but love you. cherish you. and you can’t owe me the decency to speak kindly on my name. defend the ‘love of your life,’ — as you’ve so called me before!” 

lando was stunned to silence. 

“and what do you have to say to her now? while i get numerous death threats, how they’ll kill my family, tarnish my work.” you waited for an answer, turning back to him with your hands up. 

he said your name again, stepping closer to you. but you threw your hand up in front of him, halting his steps. 

“no. no. what would you say?” 

lando swallowed the thick, anguished lump in his throat. 

“i’d tell her i was sorry.” he took a step closer, letting your hand rest on his heart as he bumped into it. your lip quivered, finally coming to terms with how emotional you’d gotten. “i’d tell her that she means the world to me, and that i’m the biggest fucking mug she’s ever met.” 

your breath stifled. arm relaxing, he closed the distance. 

you began to believe him. 

“and i’d tell her she’s more than what the internet says.” that had you flickering your eyes up. was he still not going to make a statement? “and that their words are meaningless.” 

you raised a brow at his indecency. 

“threats that they’ll find my parents? dox them, send feds to their house?” you backed away from him. he realized that he fucked up again, and that it could cost him everything. 

“you know that won’t happen—” 

“and if it does?” you were still firm with your statements, however desperate he looked in his eyes. “what then, when i get a call that my parents house was ransacked? what would you do, oh lord of fame?”

he took a step back from you as if your words pierced through the thick flesh of his heart. he didn’t see it that way, didn’t see how you saw it. the words of hate he received online were toilsome, ignorable, but it was different from you. you didn’t ask for any of this, and he knew it more than true that you didn’t deserve it. 

but he made the discovery too late. 

“that’s what i thought.” 

you moved to grab your bag, your phone, brushing past him whilst he was locked in place. his heart was bursting out of the cage of his chest, his mind pushing him forward, but he was terrified. terrified that if the next words he’d say, you’d be gone. 

“don’t fucking call me until you figure your shit out. i’m not playing—” 

you were stopped when you were pulled against lando’s chest. his stubble grazing your shoulder, bringing you a greater comfort than you’d sooner die than admit. you felt his heart against him, racing with a speed greater than his car, and let the tears slip from your eyes.

“stop,” you shook your head, begging him to let you go.

“don’t,” he begged, not even sure what he was truly begging for. “don’t go, baby, don’t leave.” 

but your mind was already made up. though his begging could suffice if the circumstances were different, but he’d already made his mind up, too. he embarrassed you, threw you under the bus, and allowed you to be tormented in the eyes of the media. you knew it wouldn’t be easy, but you also thought he’d defend you. 

yet, you were met with radio silence on his account. 

and nothing but an endless stream of apologies, but no solution. 

“let me go.” you said. metaphorically, physically. your hand went to the necklace around your neck, picking at the chain. 

he shook his head, refusing. 

“lando…” you hissed, trying to weave out of his grip. you finally turned to face him, seeing the tears falling from his eyes. 

you were crying, too. it felt like something was ending, though you didn’t wish it to be true. but you couldn’t let this media abuse continue any further, and needed to protect yourself, your family, when he failed as its guardian. 

“don’t go. please.” he begged, forehead coming to connect with yours. you sucked in a tight breath, wishing to relieve him of his sadness, but your own was overpowering. 

“i have to,” you said, holding back a sob. “i’ll be back once you find a way to fix it.”

it was enough to bring the formula one driver to his knees, falling to the carpeted floor. he shriveled beneath your disappointment, unable to keep himself afloat with your wishes. 

“get up.” you hissed, wiping away the tears from your own face. 

but he didn’t, and laid his head on your stomach, pushing his face into you as hard as he could. you could feel the indent of his nose, his lips. the quivering of his jaw, the shaking sensation of his fingertips as he wrapped around your waist. 

“don’t leave me.” 

to be continued

tags ; @landoslutmeout @basicallyric @mybluesoul1 @toriiez @customsbyjcg-blog @sofs16 @strengthandstay @mybluesoul1 @f1fantasys @cmleitora @idgasb @amalialeclerc @laneyspaulding19 @staurdvst @oreosareara @sideboobrry11 @mortallyblueninja @fionamiller123 @2pagenumb @marvelfangirl04 @brune77e @allabouthappiness @tellybearryyyy @ringdingdingdingx @tillyt04 @danywonderland @rosebud224 @simpfortoomanymen @nataliambc @forcesensitivesoulmate @sweate-r-weathe-r @norlestappen @madszoca @milkandcookhot @fionamiller123 @16f1lc @jwiltsz @plotpal @inevesgf @theonottsbxtch

[wufflesvetinari]

ok i'm going to write a ted lasso episode. whumpy but in the way canon can be whumpy. ready? here we go

it's early season 4. ted is back, with henry flying in soon to stay in richmond for a year. ted's set up his bedroom, stocked the apartment with Nerds (henry's favorite candy and a bit harder to find in the uk), even bought a goshdarn ps5. this is going to be great!

meanwhile, jamie has an extremely difficult session with dr. sharon where he ends up unexpectedly unpacking amsterdam for the first time. she did NOT know this was coming when he started telling her the plot of major motion picture the fault in our stars and she did NOT lead him into it as gracefully as she would have liked. you can tell that she's trying to end the session in a less raw place but it is NOT working because she lets him sob about stroopwafel for too long (in an attempt to end on positive memories with his mum) before realizing it's not about the fucking stroopwafel

when the hour is up he bolts out of there despite her best efforts. she drops her rock-solid professional neutrality, presses her forehead into her hands, and says "maybe fucked that one"

but you know what? jamie is handling it. he wakes up the next day, cleans all the snotty tissues off his bed, and comes up with a PLAN.

see, the thing is, he was WAY more stable when he was a prick. and he's practiced so hard NOT being a prick, so...it's overtraining, innit? he forgot to rest his emotion muscles so now he's raw everywhere and cries too much in therapy and wants to fucking scream all the time. so the obvious solution is to take a rest day from having emotions. easy!

and you know what makes it super easy to not have emotions? being a massive prick! it's fine. it's for his health!

MEANWHILE, ted wakes up to news that a storm's grounded henry's flight on a layover. and that something went wonky with his ticket so the airline couldn't immediately find his reservation/rebook him, which was super scary for henry bc the flight didn't have someone attending him the way they were supposed to. and as much as he wants to be with his dad it's already stressful to be leaving the US for a year

so everything's gone wrong, and he called ted like four times but ted slept through it. so by the time they connect henry's super stressed and kind of. yells at his dad for the first time.

so that's a bad start to the day! ted is so disoriented he brings the shopping bag of Nerds to work instead of his lunch

jamie shows up to the locker room having pasted his s1 body language onto his s3 self. he had meant to keep to himself today, but unfortunately his prick persona is an ENTIRE persona, and it doesn't super feel like a choice when he starts making snide comments and sneering at everyone. it feels a bit like one of those horror movies where you can't take the creepy devil mask off, EXCEPT IT DOESN'T, because feelings are absolutely not happening right now, which is! great! fine!

everyone is disturbed (except for ted who's caught in phone tree purgatory with british airways, sorting nerds by color on his desk). jamie insults colin's new threads, implies isaac can't handle the captaincy, turns down a high five from dani with a roll of his eyes, says hi to sam.......actually, he talks to sam completely normally. everyone makes vigorous questioning gestures at sam behind jamie's back. sam shrugs

it gets worse on the field, where the mood is already tense and darkens further when jamie refuses to help richard up after a tackle. beard and nate accuse roy of having given jamie the prick signal by accident somehow. roy denies it but starts second-guessing himself under scrutiny, trying to dissect whether jamie had interpreted the extra paprika he'd put in the curry when meal-prepping for jamie this week as a fucking. secret signal or something.

meanwhile ted is offering his life to british airways. indentured servitude. anything. he would take back 1776 on behalf of his people if he could. he is constantly on the verge of a panic attack and that REALLY bothers him, because it feels like all his progress is going up in smoke over henry hanging up on him

higgins finds him alone in his office gently thumping his head against the desk. "you know, you're such a great dad," ted tells him. "you've built a beautiful family. there's no...gnarly intergenerational emotional knots, no conflict in the House of Higgins. how do you do it?"

higgins blinks at him. "ted, dana knocked terry's tooth out last month. lindsay is a priest."

"well hey now, that's not inherently--"

"no, but it does suggest the presence of some interesting intergenerational emotional knots."

ted blinks up at him. higgins smiles; takes a seat. he says, "fathers and sons."

back outside, roy's starting to lose it. he's becoming honestly scared for jamie, but every time he tries to start a conversation jamie fucking...twists it into a fight, and roy fucking FALLS FOR IT like an IDIOT even though he knows better. because he's gotten out of practice dealing with Prick Jamie and also because jamie knows all of his weak spots now. it's freaking him the fuck out

and jamie is also starting to scream in his own head a little bit. like yeah he'd actively decided on Rest Day, but now he isn't sure how to stop doing Rest Day, and everybody is looking at him weird and that makes it worse, doesn't it, because his stupid lizard brain says he's under attack.

the prick persona is protective, so he keeps on pricking. ignores dr. sharon's phone call. ignores keeley's suspiciously-timed text about getting mimosas. ignores nate trying to give him a helpful-mean speech on the sidelines. ignores--well, no, he slaps sam on the back like usual.

can't be a dick to sam. it's sam, like.

roy mimes furious questions at sam, who's accepted this day for what it is and shrugs harder

ted's out on the sidelines by now, but he's still on the phone. he finally gets henry's ticket sorted, and calls him back in the airport. henry's in tears apologizing for yelling, but ted is just happy he's okay!! and he's going to be with him in london soon!! and...maybe ted didn't handle that perfectly, but it doesn't have to be some grand referendum on ted's parenting ability or his mental health. it's just a missed flight. slow progress is still progress. he's ok. they're both ok

practice ends. jamie slinks back into the locker room with everyone else. he changes into his street clothes lazily, dismissing any attempt to talk to him (ignores jan, ignores zoreaux, ignores roy, says "bye sam" - roy yells "fuck!" around the corner)

the locker room's almost empty. ted calls, "jamie, could you just stop by my office for one sec?"

jamie braces himself. ted fucking lasso is the last thing he needs. ted's the final boss of Rest Day. ted's going to say something that makes him feel fucking terrible about his behavior, and he's not even going to be able to apologize because he's fucking stuck like this, isn't he? like a car stuck in reverse. all he can do is go further back into prickdom: bluster his way through until ted gets fed up and sends him home.

he slams the door closed behind him. "so you got any pearls of wisdom for me, coach? some yoda shit? because i'm getting pretty tired of you pretending to be my fucking dad when we both know--"

"just wanted to give you these," ted says calmly, tossing him a ziploc bag. it's full of yellow Nerds. several little boxes' worth.

"what" jamie says

"i know you only like the yellow ones. needed something to do with my hands, so i sorted some out for you. we won't tell roy, ok? a little extra sugar never killed nobody. except i guess for diabetics, but, well--"

jamie stares at his bag of nerds. he stares harder. he bursts into tears and sinks onto the office floor.

after a beat, ted sits down there with him, waiting for him to get the words together--he babbles something about dr. sharon, and how bad today's been, and about how he really didn't mean to be awful and he thought he was over all this already--both over amsterdam and over treating his friends like this (ted has no idea what "amsterdam" means here but he nods sympathetically)

and he tells jamie about henry, and about how badly he panicked today, and about how progress isn't linear. and it's nice. and jamie gets a hug and puts himself together well enough to run out and catch up with the team for drinks

the rest of the coaches creep back into the office.

"how the fuck did you do that?" roy demands. he is texting jamie as he speaks. he will make him a big, bespoke breakfast tomorrow after their run and glower about it. he will fail to put any of these feelings into words. "how did you--fucking--manually override prick mode?"

nate's eyes are a little shiny for reasons that are NOT projection. "yeah, ted. i mean, things haven't always been smooth with you and jamie, but it's like you've...learned, over time, just what to say. i really do admire that about you."

"oh, well," ted says from the floor. he nods absently to himself, pushing his tongue around the inside of his cheek.

beard leans back in his chair. "you had no idea any of this was happening. you have no clue what we're talking about"

"nope,” ted says. "no, sir, i do not. just thought the kid would like some nerds"

"FUCK" roy says

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

Clarification before I attempt further discussion. Once again,

Y'ALL MAY I HAVE YOUR INTERPRETATION:

SO YOU THINK THIS WAS JOKE - MEANT AS AN INSULT OR NOT?

Why I ask -

I've been discussing Peter B. Parker a lot lately and the motive behind some of his actions, and notably throughout the post I mentioned Hobie disliking or even hating Peter.

And yeah, that's kind of what I assumed, based on this line.

But some people I've been talking with have expressed the exact opposite - they believe this line shows that he does like Peter, and that he meant it completely as a joke.

And Hobie does joke a lot, he's a warm guy - but why would he call Peter a 'Humbling Reality' - and is that meant as an insult, or a welcome to a friend?

If I'm correct, this line is the ONLY line Hobie ever speaks towards Peter.

So did you think he meant it as an insult? Or a friendly joke?

Here's why I took it as an insult:

'Humbling Reality Spider-man', MayDay, and why I think Hobie and Peter aren't friends at all.

First, Hobie makes no other deprecating jokes AT ALL throughout the movie.

Hobie is a very casual, very laidback guy (most of the time..) - and he's known to joke around with the people he's close with. But when we look back at all his other jokes - NONE of them approach anywhere near as neutral or negative as being a 'Humbling Reality'.

Hobie affectionately calles Gwen 'Gwendy'. And he even calls Miles 'Peter Pan', despite not knowing them. Pav is 'Madlad Pav' etc.

No one else but Peter gets this kind of..I don't know.. backhanded? I never took 'Humbling Reality' as a good thing, I took that as being 'so depressingly average and mundane'.

And being average and mundane is not something Hobie would call someone he's particularly fond of.

Even those he feels neutral on - Miguel and Jess, he doesn't address this was. He just chooses not to engage with them.

Hobie had every chance to walk into Miguel's lair and make a comment like this, but he didn't.

To me that showed that Hobie's feeling towards Peter differs from his feelings towards people like Jess and Miguel as well as Pavi and Gwen.

Hobie calls people pet-names. This doesn't seem like a pet-name

Second, Tone.

I don't know, I always read this tone as unusually dry for Hobie.

Usually when making jokes so deadpan, he's speaking about a situation, not a person ("It's a metaphor for capitalism." / "A bit much, innit?"). And even when speaking to Jess, his tone is more casual than this line to Peter.

We see how Hobie approaches someone like Pav, which clear excitement, warmth and proximity. But this is completely absent towards Peter.

Hobie makes no attempt to move towards Peter or further greet him in anyway.

Third, Peter's Reaction.

Hobie says that line LOUD. You hear the echo.

And Peter just ignores him. He doesn't laugh, he doesn't look at Hobie, he doesn't mention him at all in the scene.

And that's not to say 'oh, Peter secretly hates Hobie and wants to ignore him' -

I just think that Peter didn't take that as a full-on joke. Or rather he didn't expect a warm welcome from Hobie. Because they aren't close.

Throughout the whole scene Peter ONLY addresses Gwen and Miles.

While Hobie says one line to Peter - one that isn't even clearly that friendly - Peter says nothing to him, not even stopping to pat his shoulder.

Based on the fact that Hobie and Peter are BOTH touchy, I feel like that in itself shows that they aren't friends. Both of them are the type to greet their friends when they enter a room, but neither do. Not properly anyway.

They seem to be acquaintances at best - or with my assumption that this was an insult, less than that.

I mean, Hobie is still a teen, he's still a friend of Gwen's. Peter has every reason to treat him warmly, or openly greet him.

But Peter makes no attempt at all to be like "Hey Hobie, what's going on."

Whether or not you think Hobie hates him is one thing, but I feel like Peter's reaction, and how he disregarded the comment without being shocked or responding in any way shows:

Hobie has said stuff like this to him before, and it's not too shocking

Him and Hobie aren't nearly as close as him and Gwen, and they aren't friends enough to greet each other.

Hobie & MayDay

I've also seen it mentioned that Hobie's connection with MayDay shows that him and Peter are friends.

And I can absolutely see where that conclusion comes from, and it holds weight. I just..kinda have to disagree on the basis that even if Hobie openly disliked Peter, that dislike wouldn't extend to MayDay

Even moreso, If Hobie didn't like Peter, but took good care of MayDay, and MayDay very clearly liked Hobie - which she does (she jumps into his arms, Hobie doesn't pick her up) - then Peter does not seem like the type of father to separate them.

Notice how every time Miguel or Miles is holding MayDay, Peter is talking to them, commenting on how they're holding her, showing them stuff. But when Hobie is with MayDay...nothing. He says nothing to him.

It even goes farther.

When Peter is showing Miguel, Gwen, and Miles photos of MayDay, he makes no attempt to show Hobie.

We know Hobie loves MayDay, but Peter doesn't show him photos of her. Despite showing Gwen, Miles, and Miguel, quite excitedly.

Because I'm assuming him and Hobie are NOT close like that. And/or Peter knows Hobie would not appreciate him getting close to him and shoving a phone in his face.

Miguel is clearly annoyed and Peter even shows him, while not approaching Hobie - who is clearly in a good mood.

Once again, I think that shows that Peter and Hobie are not friends, even if Hobie likes interacting with MayDay and does it well.

I assumed that Peter lets her be around Hobie because he trusts Hobie, not that they were friends.

And the final nail in the coffin Peter isn't enthusiastic about MayDay going to Hobie

This is something I JUST realized on a rewatch, but it lines up so well.

So this scene: Peter is getting ready to change MayDay. We see Hobie standing on MayDay's left and Peter on her right.

[LMAOOOOOO LOOK AT HER I'M WEAK]

MayDay swings towards the right of the screen, aka her LEFT - the direction of Hobie. We as the audience don't see what she's attaching her web to. But she has to attach it to something and she's going towards him.

And Peter pulls her back. Doesn't really say anything or look at Hobie, he just pulls her back.

Then, MayDay goes again, this time bouncing herself into Hobie's arms. MayDay chose to go to Hobie - and like I said before, Peter isn't gonna separate them, if that's what May wants.

But that's not the thing - regardless of whether you think MayDay was going towards Hobie or not - in the shot we see Peter puts his hands on his hips, watching Hobie, and he shakes his head at him.

You can go back to the scene and check, because it really is so subtle and I genuinely only caught it while employing my autistic Hobie sight and staring at them intently.

But he does shake his head, letting Hobie have her. I suggest you go watch it back for yourself, but in my eyes Peter's slow headshake doesn't really seem like the 'Oh, you!' type.

In the next shot we see of Miles, Gwen, Hobie and Peter, MayDay is back in Peter's hands and that's the end of the interaction. We don't actually see them speak, only trade off MayDay.

If they did say anything, I'd KILL to know what they're saying cause like...

idk for both of their characters it feels like such an odd interaction to me

The whole scene, both him and Hobie interact with the people around them, except each other.

And it's only after MayDay literally LAUNCHES herself into Hobie's arms that Hobie and Peter even approach or look at each other.

---------

I've spoken at length about why I think Hobie would hate Peter - mainly for his open neglect of Gwen and his failure to step up as her mentor, his betrayal towards Miles, or the fact HE RATTED MILES OUT TO LYLA (how else would she have know to look for his location? That's one analysis I'll STAND on.)

But whether or not you believe Hobie hates him or whether Hobie has the capability to openly hate someone like that (he does.) I feel like everything I said here is a clear indicator that they are not friends or close.

The one on-screen line between them is vague on Hobie's end and completely ignored by Peter. Peter leaves Hobie out of his activities when showing photos. He shakes his head when MayDay fights her way to Hobie, and only looks at him when Hobie is giving MayDay back.

From my first watch, that kinda made me assume that they're just not close - despite them having Gwen in common.

And combining that with the 'Humbling Reality' comment, I took that as a sign that it's not that they don't know each other. They just don't talk like that.

And that made me ask why. Which led to all my other speculations.

But that's just me.

Did ya'll take the 'Humbling Reality Spider-man' thing as joke? Do you think they're friends, or no? (Not if Hobie hates him - just if you think they're friends/close)

What do you think the situation is?

I'm curious. Let's open the floor.

Is they beefin or nah I gotta know cause that would be funny as hell

[your-local-crypt1d]

followed you simply for empires ctommy. I don’t even like empires but ctommy is my everything,,, any spare bits rattling around in that brain of yours

I have so many THOUGHTS about this dude you have no idea. Also, I do recommend watching Empires not because it's super similar to the dsmp but because it has its own disc war and Jimmy Solidarity is like Tommy but in a different font. Anyway,

My favourite idea I've had so far is cTommy punching transphobes in the face. Unlike the smp where it's like maybe 40-odd people trapped in a cursed land they cannot leave, Empires has citizens, it had loads of people. So like there's bound to be one person in the Grimlands who doesn't like their Count being a trans man. Tommy is having none of that though, he will clobber anyone who talks bad about fWhip while saying something badass like; "fWhip is twice the man you'll ever be"

Am I projecting heavily on that one? Yes.

Similarly, if you ever give anyone shit for Tommy's or anyone else's disability he will beat you with his prosthetic arm. I think on the smp, being disabled is a very common thing (hard of hearing/deaf people, amputees, nerve damage, blindness, etc) thanks to the constant wars, explosions and violence. I headcanon Tubbo to be almost entirely blind because of his execution, so Tommy will shout at you if you are rude to a blind person. He also absolutely knows sign language, which I've been calling MSL (minecraft sign language), so fWhip who is absolutely HoH thanks to being a demolitionist has someone he can communicate with if he doesn't have his hearing aid, and same with anyone else who's deaf/HoH.

In a similar vein to Tommy transphobe-puncher Innit, Tommy doesn't really give a shit about how he presents his gender. If you ask he will say he's a BIG MAN who uses he/him pronouns only, but he's also happy to walk around wearing a skirt (as long as it's a practical one he can fight in). He makes flower crowns for his friends. He can braid hair and has long-ish hair of his own. Hell, I'd say he could even do some basic makeup! Just stereotypically "feminine" things, because he just Does Not Care™. The most trans-allegory cishet man ever.

Tommy seems like the type to not care if he's asked to wear something formal (I.e. the L'manberg uniform) as long as he can still fight in it, Tommy likes to be prepared at all times. He keeps like three concealed weapons on him at all times. People have mentioned kinda worriedly to fWhip that his kid has a "perfect soldier stance", that he more marches wear he walks than actual walking, etc. It's concerning to see a kid no older than 16 walking around like a grizzled war veteran (which he is). Also, when asked to greet another Emperor respectfully, Tommy interprets that as a salute, perfect posture, etc with "It's an honour to meet you, ma'am/sir!" Because that's the only way he knows how to "show respect".

Idk I just want to explore the child soldier side of cTommy more.

Also just Tommy who's literally been homeless before being utterly shocked at the lavish lifestyle royalty/nobility lead. He sees all the food laid out in the dining hall to feed fWhip and his whole staff and is just shocked, there's never been that much food to go around on his whole server and there it all is just sitting there, AND fWhip tells him there's more if he doesn't like any of it!

Tommy really is just Sophia the first in this au lol

[maigetheplatypus57]

Ok so making this its own post but, cTommy as St. Jude the patron saint of hope and lost causes.

So as a martyred saint I'm assuming that St. Jude's lost causes applies to like, causes that you know are doomed but still hold on to anyways, and in a broader Catholic sense I’m assuming it probably means holding onto your faith in God even at risk of persecution. Whatever. But I also love the interpretation of lost causes as causes that other people have given up on. Causes that were left behind by all but you. I think both ways to interpret that fits absolutely for Tommy. Tommy who believes in causes until the end. Tommy who held on to Wilbur, to Tubbo, to L'manburg until there was nothing to hold onto, even AFTER there was nothing left to hold on to. Tommy who refused to give up on Wilbur even when everyone else did, who trusted that he wouldn't press the button (even if he did, weeks later), who followed him around after revival, and when asked why said it's not about giving him second chances, "It's about making sure you don't give up on the people you care about." (credits to @angry-ursidae for the transcript!)

Also very fitting that St. Jude was one of the 12 apostles, the ones who founded the Church after Jesus' ascension. Tommy who was there from the beginning, who was there to found L’manburg and believed in it wholeheartedly, who died for it even before he could see what it would become. Planting seeds in a garden you’ll never get to see.

@Aurhis-aurelio-innit’s tags also provided some key tommy moments, especially on hope:

#sobbing and wailing #tommy and hope. #do you remember that pogtopia line. #about how what happens if we dont have hope and all that #i dont have it memorized but god im forever thinking about how he views hope as a reason in and of itself to live #ist always him choosing over and over again to love and hope even if everyone tells him theres nothing there #shows him that love will only hurt #and lvoes anyway. #its why i love shroud so much #he got that spider after the prison #and he still had space to hope theres smth better life for them #if i got timelines right anyway possible i didnt #anyway. #ur so right prev u get me #like how lmanburg wasnt meant to be but IS #both works so well #aurebagels

cTommy as the Church of Prime’s Patron Saint of lost causes. Of the unloved. Of Hope.

[mids-stupid-shit]

MK1 Nitara Rewritten

Maybe nsfw? Ah fuck it

I dislike MK1's Nitara, and if you're reading this, you probably do too. From her role in the story being kinda useless her design being boring as hell and Megan fucking Fox, she had big shoes to fill and her feet were just too small.

Please forget I ever said that

Point I'm trying to make is, Nitara in this game is probably the worst she's ever been in any MK media and I want to do her justice that Netherrealm Studios didn't.

Visual character design

When a character is shown on screen, the first thing people take notice of is their design. Nitara's original design was very edgy 2000s vampire lady vibes and I fuckin dig that. She was straight up a drag queen in Deadly Alliance to Armageddon

Nitara's design in MK1 is a complete and utter clusterfuck. What is this Purple dress with red accents? And don't get me started on the hair. She looks like a fucking onion or a dumpling, for crying out loud.

So instead of this complete dumpster fire, I propose a different take on her design, which could be more aligned with her original character, being a vampire and making a bit more sense with why she's working with Quan Chi.

This design I cooked up is not the greatest, and is heavenly inspired by the design that oni18064 made

The reason why I went with a pirate vampire (vampirate for short) aesthetic is because the second thing that caught my attention with Nitara in this game

Characterization

The way Nitara's written in this game is like she's a kid trying to act serious to a group of adults who try not to laugh. Her race of Vaeternian's (who may I add, deliberately made themselves into vampires) is dying out and she needs to kidnap inhabitants of other realms to breed with them. Not to eat them (maybe), but to have unconsentially fuck them to keep their race alive, and she wanted to start with Kung Lao of all people (woohoo, @fantinecore otp mentioned!). She eventually encounters Quan Chi who does some black magic fuckery and makes her immune to sunlight and tricks her into working for him.

Other than the Quan Chi part being kinda cool, everything else a bit shit tho, innit?

How I would have done Nitara is similar to how they treated Ashrah in this game. Keeping elements of her original origin story while adding some extra elements. Nitara would have been sent to Outworld with her very own crew, provided by the vaeternus council to find a sacred jewel that could probably help Vaeternian's escape the shadows. She would sail off to Outworld, losing her crew one by one, each by worse and worse deaths. From being vaporized to eaten alive, she was the last of her crew to still live, and also found the jewel she was looking for. By the time she did find it though, her whole crew was dead. Some evaporated by the sun, some eaten alive by Tarkatans, and some just got stabbed and slashed to death by Ashrah and her kriss. It was later on a day where she met Quan Chi, who told her that he can help her escape the shadows and walk in the sun, only if she hands him the jewel. Nitara, with nothing left to lose, takes his hand and make her sunlight proof. Nitara and Quan Chi went from realm to realm to find the last few members of Quan Chi's ragtag jobbers from Ashrah's chapter and hilarity ensues.

Voice acting

We've all been there. We've all had our own rock bottom, and I think this game might be famous actress Megan Fox's rock bottom. I've seen a few movies Megan has been in, and she was pretty decent. What I interpret is either Megan didn't give a shit or NRS didn't give a shit and just told her to "read between the lines".

If I were to cast a voice for Nitara, it would either be Emma Thompson, who I personally know as captain Amelia from Treasure Planet

Or maybe even Erica Lindbeck, who was Cassie in MK11 and like a million other things

importance

Main story wise, Nitara will still be a side character, but she will be quite an important element in Ashrah's part of the story, seeing as these two had somewhat of an on-sight rivalry in the midway games. Nitara will still be helping Quan Chi and his jobber squad but she wouldn't instantly fight Ashrah... Once--

Okay but hear me out, Nitara would fight Ashrah once in the first fight (like vanilla MK1) and after that, she would use her blood magic to heal her wounds, she would fight instead of Quan Chi, who has escaped and Havik is now her kameo. As Ashrah's approaching Quan Chi to go in for the kill, she's kicked to the side by Nitara who says something like "I am not finished with you, you wannabe angel." After which they start fighting. Nitara gets a slight Power buff and gets beaten anyways. Later when she fights the linguine Lin Kuei along with the jobber squad. After that, she becomes completely useless to the plot of the main story AND Khaos Reigns.

Arcade mode ending

Nitara's ending would probably consist of her returning to Vaeternus empty-handed, making her employers furious, much like in her actual ending. But only the first half.

"That trip to Earthrealm was a complete disaster. My whole team is dead, I was bested three times and worst of all, I lost the gem I needed for my employers. Once I returned, they were pissed, to say the least. Not only throwing me in jail, but after that promoted me to death row. Not long after, when my day has come, I broke out, only to see hundreds of dead Vaeternians in the streets, and once I inspected the bodies and was shocked to see the same kind of slash marks I had when I fought... Her. That demoness is killing my kind for her own damned salvation. And what now? I do what I can to kill that Ashrah, even if it means playing both sides of the war."

I mean, if you're gonna make Ashrah the same she's been in every instalment she's been in but add new shit to make her less outdated, you might as well do the same for Nitara, her nemesis, her rival. Since every character in this game has a reason for what they're doing, like how Reiko and Shao tame Onaga because they're tired of jobbing to everyone or how Kuai Liang Scorpion started the Shirai Ryu because he has a crush on Harumi (now that I say it out loud it's kinda dumb but you can't have a good game without a little dumbassery).

Conclusion

In conclusion, Nitara is a character who has the base of something great but is wasted on this game's mid writing. Hope this helps any sad and desperate Nitara fans. Your welcome and have this as your free therapy session.

Tl;Dr: MK1 Nitara sucks, I am make her cool

[kairiscorner]

HEY RIRIIIIII HI PUKI BEARRRR I HOPE UR DOING WELL TODAY 🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽

ANYWAYSSS

i been rewatching adventure time because like the new fiona and cake spin off show is making me AUAUAU and marshal lees new redesign is so AAAAAAAA

BUT ONTO MY POINT

HOBIE BROWN X FEM!READER BUT ITS LIKE A SONG FIC (OR INSPIRED IDRC) BY THE SONG GOOD LITTLE GIRL SONG IN ADVENTURE TIME

BECAUSE I FEEL LIKE THAT SONGS SO HIM?? AND IF LIKE U WROTE THIS ID GO ACTUALLY FERAL

TYYYYY ILY RIIII (*^◯^*)

-🪴

HI LOVELYYYYY OH MY GOD, YES?????? i was an adventure time kid ever since i was like ... 5-7? THIS SHIT WAS MY JAM AS A KID, I'M SO FUCKING HAPPY ABOUT THE NEW SHOW, I HAVEN'T WATCHED IT YET THOUGH BUT I PLAN TO ... that scene in the original show really is so hobie x reader core omg, I LOVE ITTTT also i'm sorry but the 'puki' got me cackling – (imma explain in the comments if y'all want)

(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)

he's such a bad little boy. – hobie brown x fem!reader

"good little girl... always picking a fight with me."

he was pretty much the most annoying asshole you've ever met–he never took anything about you seriously, pestered you a lot for your height, your grumpy face, your sour mood, your little huffs and puffs in response to his provocation... it was all too cute to him when you'd pick fights with him and be all angry and aggressive as usual. he loved the little banter you two shared, the sleepless nights you two would spend together just running your mouths off at each to sleep–and being pampered yet teased by him all the same. he was the best, worst friend you ever had in the history of ever... and you didn't want to lose him, no matter how annoying he was.

"you know that i'm bad... but you're spending the night with me."

"back so soon?" you ask him as he climbs into your window with his spider suit still on, only taking the mask off once you let him in your room and slumps in your bean bag, smirking all the while. "your room's pretty comfy, like how... good little girls keep their rooms as." he teased, making you pout and puff your cheeks up. "is that supposed to mean something, hobart?" you asked with extra emphasis on his name, making him smirk and shrug. "hey, now, it's up for interpretation." he said with a chuckle, making you groan loudly. "well, at least let me play your guitar. maybe... smash a few simpletons' heads in with this." you murmured as hobie gently took your hands in his, correcting your finger positions on his electric guitar.

"what do you want from my world? you're a good little girl..." he asks you, with slight rhetoric, knowing you were never one to disobey the rules and let alone wish to play loud, 'obstructive' music that would bother the neighbors. you sighed and followed hobie's lead, strumming and playing the right chords he taught you.

"bad little boy... that's what you're acting like."

"can't i choose to have fun, hobart?" you asked him with sarcasm in your tone, making him laugh. "of course, you can have everything you want–that's what good little girls like you deserve, right?" he said as he gently let go of your hands and let you figure out how to play a melody you came up with on the spot on your own. "it's just that... i never thought you'd be rebellious. never did, never will." he joked as you gave him a flat, fake laugh, knowing full well he was serious about what he said. "like, i can be the intimidating-like, 'rebellious' bloke or whatever for the two of us, at least outwardly. i'll take the trouble for you, that's enough, innit?"

"i really don't buy... that you're that kind of guy."

"nah. besides... that kind of hobie everyone else sees isn't the hobie i know." you said as you tuned his electric guitar. he raised an eyebrow at you in intrigue. "go on, dear." "well... you may be a little brash, loud, and you love telling assholes in authority to kiss your ass... but you aren't a total blockhead. you have a heart, you care, and you... you aren't as mean and scary as everyone thinks you are."

"and if you are... why do you want to hang out with me?" you asked him in a partly rhetorical way of your own this time–making hobie pause for a minute to look at you, and soon, burst into a sweet smile on his face. he gently pecked your cheek and wrapped his arm around your shoulders, bringing you closer to him with a satisfied sigh. "i just love to be around my good little girl... can't that be enough?" "then you're lucky i like being around my bad little boy..." you said with a sly smirk as hobie grinned and kissed your lips gently.

you truly were his bad little goody two shoes, and he loved you dearly for it.

tags !! @ii01vq @luvstarrstruck @maxoloqy @k4tsu3 @solecitoszn @toneystank-3000 @arachnoia @popeheywardssecretgf @euphovlq @rohansdisciple @conitagray

[arcsystemworksofficial]

Marcus “M-Spec” McKenzie is a British fighting game player who made news recently with his decisive victory at the Kentucky Round-Robin Melee tournament. With only two years experience under his belt he managed to take down both Armada and Leffen in a devastating upset. Wielding a custom made 250 Kilogram GameCube controller, he destroyed every opposing controller is a game of “GameCube Conkers”, a classic British game from his hometown of Kilsbury. [https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Conkers]

He said, after the tournament:

“Ah it’s just a bit of fun, innit? If we were playing with my hometown rules we'd be smashing the GameCubes together, not the controllers. But there are people here who's lives depend on this game, and I didn’t wanna take it away from them. It’s sad that I didn’t come in first, HungryBox's genius play of interpreting his hands as controllers meant I had no chance against him. But hey, I came pretty far! Not bad for a boy from old Kil, eh?”

HungryBox's hand injuries were bad, but not enough to prevent him from holding that trophy high above his head, and using it to execute the losers, as is his right.

This article has been a tribute to Marcus McKenzie [1964-2023]

May he rest in piece and be remembered as one of the greatest Conkerers of all time.

[yuri-for-businesswomen]

i dont want to reblog that whole messy post again but @deadfish-inabarrel and @iamnothedwig i appreciate you sharing your different opinions in a constructive way its sad i have to highlight that lmao.

at the end of the day what is appropriate or not is quite subjective and all we can do is hear different arguments as to why and why not. yall have me convinced now that it was an (in my opinion still misguided) attempt at very dry humour (british innit). i first came across this via a trans activist post and i thought it was fake news first and was genuinely shocked to see it was real. she probably didnt think about it twice and didnt consider that even as a joke this is insensitive, and that there would be people on both sides who take it seriously. not that others interpretation of her words are her problem but she knows about her impact so i find it irresponsible but then again she is not an elected official or anything just a writer on twitter, and its true i hold her to a different standard because she is the inofficial face of gender critical feminists! im glad her joke landed with some of you though and i thought overall this was an interesting conversation apart from the unhinged individuals 🙃

[tobi-smp]

I think part of the problem of the finale, on a conceptual level, is that it seemed to have tried to find the middle ground between the two farthest opposite extremes of the fandom interpretations of dream and tommy's relationship without realizing that there is no way to mix them without poisoning the batch.

You know that old saying about how the middle ground between decency and genocide is still murder?

There's been quite a few posts insisting that this was a "win" for both dream apologists And tommy apologists, but what that fails to understand is that dream apologists have always been arguing for the merit of their little guy, emotionally invested in a fictional character's reputation to the detriment of all else, while tommy apologists (while not Without that mindset) were largely concerned with the portrayal and understanding of abuse.

There's no world where an abuse survivor who saw themselves in tommy's story sees the finale tell us that tommy was responsible for his own abuse, that there's an action a child can take to make them Deserve it, in a "softer" and more "understanding" light than you'd see from dream apologists in regards to tommy (insisting the problem was that he just didn't know better) and Not feel disgusted or devastated.

Creating a situation where dream apologists believe they've always been right but walk away liking tommy's character a little more will not create the inverse with the other half of the fandom. because most inniters Loved c!dream but were appalled by the abuse apologia. I don't care if dream apologists Like tommy, I care if the narrative validates their beliefs that victims can Earn the trauma they receive, and that having earned it makes the abuser more sympathetic (if not the Real victim entirely).

You can't do a Little abuse apologia to please both sides and play every angle. Either you isolate and hurt those affected by abuse or you don't.

[strawberrystepmom]

kendy my eyes are so big rn i've been choosing birth years and times (rising signs) for blorbs for ever and curating the heavens for self ship synastry is the logical escalation 👁️ do you have all your harem's big 3 picked out?

*tents fingers and nods* i think you and i need to have a meeting of the minds one of these fine days. just staring at each other really hard. super intense eye contact. <3333 happy chewsday innit

tbh i haven't done rising signs for them bc i feel more comfortable leaving that up to my own interpretation but i will gladly show u sun, moon, venus, mars, mercury below:

gojo: sag sun, pisces moon, capricorn venus, scorpio mars (ugh devours him whole), sag mercury

hyoga: sag sun, pisces moon, capricorn venus, sag mars, sag mercury

sanemi: sag sun, pisces moon, capricorn venus, sag mars, sag mercury

umemiya: aquarius sun, aries moon, capricorn venus, pisces mars, cap mercury

kakashi: virgo sun, aries moon, scorpio venus, taurus mars, libra mercury

yami since i just did his yesterday: virgo sun, cancer moon, libra venus, virgo mars (USHGLSKDFJSL:DFJ a favorite placement), libra mercury

also....LFMAOIDFJLSJFKJDF let's not discuss the type here.