#not bad for a 30 year old camera
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I got my first roll of film back today!
#35mm#35mm film#house#vintage#i LOVE this house#victorian#film photography#im so happy with how they all turned out. there was definitely a part of me that was scared they would all be under/over exposed#and the camera would turn out to be unusable#a.txt#not bad for a 30 year old camera#my photography#olympus om10#100+
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hey, so people need to be aware that youtube is now (randomly) holding basic features for ransom (such as being able to pin comments under your own videos) in exchange for Your State ID/Drivers License, or a 30 Second Video Of Your Face.
not to pull a "think of the children," but No Actually.
I've been making videos as a hobby since 2015 (and I've had my channel since middle school), I was a minor when I started and I'm not sure I would have understood the kind of damage something a seemingly simple as a video of your face can do.
this is a Massive breach of privacy and over-reach on google's part No Matter What, but if they're going to randomly demand a state ID or license then they absolutely should not allow minors to be creators.
google having a stockpile of identifying information on teenagers is bad enough, but the Alternative of recording your face and handing it over to be filed away is Alarming considering it opens the gates for minors who Aren't old enough to have a license.
and yes, there is a third option, but it's intentionally obtuse.
a long wait period (2 months), with no guarantee of access (unlike, say, the convenience of using your phone's cameras for either of the other two), with absolutely No elaboration on what the criteria is or how it's being measured.
it's the same psychological effect that mobile games rely on. offer a slow, unreliable solution with no payment to make the Paid instant gratification look more appealing (the "payment" in this case being You. you are the product being offered).
and it's Particularly a system that (I think intentionally) disadvantages people who don't treat their channels like a job. hobbyists or niche creators who don't create regularly enough or aren't popular enough to meet whatever Vague criteria needs to be met to pass.
markiplier would have no problem passing, your little brother might not be able to. and while Mark's name is already out there there's no reason why your little brother's should be too.
something like pinned comments may seem simple, you don't technically Need it. but it's a feature that's been available for years. most people don't look at descriptions anymore. so when there's relevant information that needs to be delivered then the pinned comment is usually the go to.
for my little channel that information is about the niche series I create for. guides on how to get into the series, sources on where to find the content At All (and reliably so). for other creators it can be used for things Much More Important.
Moreover, if we let them get away with cutting away "small" features and selling it back to you for the price of your privacy, then they Will creep further. they Will take more.
Note: I have an update to this post here: [Link]
#enshittification#discourse#youtube#google#evillious chronicles#evillious#ec#this isn't overtly About that fandom#but it is#because it affects how I'm able to run my channel going forwards#I have no clue if I'm going to pass whatever 'test' they're giving my channel#so it's possible there won't be any pinned comments under the tobimisa channel ever again#I won't be able to edit old ones either#as that unpins the comment#which I won't be able to pin again
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Despite the fact that they kill him, Pikmin 4 is remarkably kinder to Olimar than Pikmin 1 ever was.
4 is a sort of AU of Pikmin 1, and Olimar is the focus of your rescue mission rather than your playable character. And YES you fuck up as a rescue team and leave Olimar to die, but undead!Olimar isn't even having a bad time at all. Even kinder than that, they do let you un!undead him, because your doctor Mal Practice is cool with playing God.
When you save Olimar, you can talk with him and he'll "tell your his tale", which lets you play a retelling of sorts of his Pikmin 1 time alone, but now set in this Pikmin 4 AU. And there's something so odd about it because the atmosphere is so so different.
And the biggest thing about it is the fact that Pikmin 1 feels so alone. You are small and you are shipwrecked and there is no one coming to save you. And yeah, you're still just as small in Pikmin 4, but it's in a Borrowers kind of whimsical way... a Ghibli-esque world and you are the mouse with a thimble hat and a sewing needle sword.
Pikmin 1 is not that. It is vast and it is both awe-striking and terrifying. It is sprawling and unnerving, and the camera follows you at the distance of a circling vulture. The world is beautiful, but it is not comforting. The music, the landscapes, the scale of everything, is so very alone. There is Olimar and there is no one else. He lives or dies by his own hand because the only hints at anyone else existing in this universe are Olimar's own solemn wonderings about his wife and children far back home.
I can't help but view Pikmin 4 as a sort of apology to Olimar for putting him through all that. "Sorry about that 'only man alive' thing. And for all the 10-year-olds who played and killed you over and over because the 30-day limit until life support runs out was kinda brutal." Pikmin 4 makes Olimar be the mouse with the thimble hat. They put him in a cute little backyard and give him a dog. They kill him but they make sure Undead-imar has a fun hobby and they let him sorta, weirdly, save other people's lives. They send the universe's most well-meaning but incompetent Rescue Corp after him, and they succeed only after Olimar dies a little. And then they let Olimar hang out at the rescue camp with 20 other people, resting up and well-looked after, letting him compile his ecological notes while someone else takes it from here. They get him his dog back.
Pikmin 4 Olimar is given a cup of tea, a good book, and a blanket. Pikmin 1 Olimar dies alone of trench-foot with a crack in his helmet that suffocates him slowly to death.
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Not A Verstappen: Sibling Rivalry {1}
Pairing: F1 drivers (platonic) x fem!reader
Summary: A little crack!fic as a driver!reader who is Max's little half-sister.
Warnings: 18+ only, lots of bad language, protective big brother, sibling antics, daddy issues.
WC: 2k
F1 Masterlist
NAV: Sibling Rivalry One || Two || Three
NAV: Gridlocked One || Two || Three
There was nothing that irked you more than being called a Verstappen. Yes, you were Max’s sister, but that was where the relationship with the name ended. Your sperm donor, as you publicly referred to Jos, had never been a part of your life and that was one blessing you were thankful for.
Somehow the bastard's genetics had won and that stupid racer’s blood ran in your veins. You liked to go fast. Your mother said that you could run before you could walk and the same went for driving. At 17 years old you had your super licence before your drivers licence, making it legal to drive at 200 mph around a circuit with insane corners but not 30 mph on the street.
Something about that seemed…odd.
It was worth it in the end. You could still remember the look on Jos’ face when you signed for Alpha Tauri. Oh, how the bastard had tried to credit himself with your achievement. But there were more similarities that you shared with your half sibling than you were willing to admit. One of those shared traits was brutal honesty. And you had let your honest thoughts fly when Jos opened his mouth.
Three years later the sperm donor was still bitter. He would surely have to get used to it, especially since you had just been named as a Red Bull driver, alongside Max.
Round One - Bahrain 2022
“This is a historical first, siblings racing together on the same team,” Ted Kravitz said as he walked along the pit, stopping outside Red Bull’s garage. “The two Verstappen's will be fighting each other for the Driver Championship, once again, while simultaneously working together to win the Constructors Championship. A very, very exciting season ahead I can already tell.”
You had been pulling your helmet on, about to climb into the RB18 when you heard the comment. The short temper you were well known for flared and you sauntered into the pit lane. “Hey, Ted Crapitz,” you called out as he stood writing in that little notepad of his.
He looked up a little stunned and his eyes darted at the camera that was always following him around. “It’s, uh, Kravitz.”
“Oh, my apologies, I thought it was just normal to make up offensive surnames. No?” you asked as you arched an eyebrow at him. “Because Verstappen isn’t mine, so don’t ever call me that again.”
“S-sorry, my mistake,” he stammered, but you were already shoving your helmet on and grabbing the halo to climb into your car. “A bit of a slap on the wrist for me there.”
You had no doubt that the video would go viral and the comments would call you a bitch but you didn’t care. Jos was a piece of shit and your mother didn’t raise you all on her own, working two jobs to pay for your karting years, just for you to be called a fucking Verstappen.
There was no better feeling than pulling out of the garage and heading to the track. The finely tuned car purred beneath you and you could feel the restrained power of it just waiting for you to pass the pit marker so you could push the throttle and free the beast you had worked hard to control.
“Radio check,” your engineer, Nicholas, ordered through the headset.
“Tell big bro to keep his mouth closed during the race. It can’t be healthy to eat my dust.”
“Understood.”
The jeroboam size bottle of Ferrari Trento looked enormous in your hands as you shook it up and sprayed Charles and Carlos back after drenching you first. You may have been on the bottom step of the podium but you celebrated as if you had taken 1st place. Turning the bottle on the crowd, you spotted Max at the front with a wide grin on his face as he cheered with the rest of Red Bull.
It was a little disappointing that he had DNF’d but there was always next week to battle it out again. In the meantime you enjoyed the adrenaline of the podium finish and the image of Jos standing to the side with a face like a slapped ass. It was a feeling you could definitely get used to.
Round Eleven - Great Britain 2022
The leaderboard changed almost every week, flipping like hotcakes between you and Max. It was labelled as sibling rivalry, and for once the media got it right. Though you hadn’t grown up with Max there was an innate need to know who was better, who could push the limits harder and who could get away with it. Some weeks it was you, some weeks it wasn’t. It was all part of the fun.
Fun. Now that was something that came in spades. The camaraderie that came with the competitiveness was always something you enjoyed moving up from F3 and F2 before reaching F1. With only 19 other people sharing the same experience with you, it was impossible not to grow close to them.
“Can you let Max in front today?” Lando asked as you walked along the grid. “Please?”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because he’d rather look at your ass than Max’s, if he can hold third place.” You turned to the other McLaren driver to see a grin splitting the Australian’s face.
“Aww, Lando, the real English gentleman,” you tutted sarcastically as you pulled your balaclava off your shoulder and snickered when it slapped Lando across the back of his head.
“Unnecessary violence, Spitfire,” he gasped before muttering under his breath, “I know who you get that from.”
A growl pulled back your lips and you punched him none too softly in the bicep, which was a double edged sword because it was far harder than you were expecting and you felt the hit in your knuckles.
“Oh, Lando, Lando, Lando,” Daniel chuckled as he walked off to his car. “When are you going to learn?”
“You know the car goes faster with less weight,” Lando said as he rubbed his arm.
“Yeah, so?”
He shrugged sheepishly. “All that baggage you carry is weighing you down.”
“Well, that’s just stupid, metaphors weigh nothing...” You pulled your balaclava over your face as you walked from the second row to the front where the two Red Bulls were parked side by side.
“Hey Lan,” you called out as you turned back with the urge to lighten the mood after he had looked crestfallen. “Don’t get too excited when I warm up my tires, that’s not me shaking my ass for you.”
You could see the corners of his eyes wrinkle with a smile that was hidden by the balaclava he pulled on. “A lad can dream, Spitfire.”
You had earned the nickname of Spitfire from dog-fighting your way to the front of the pack and it was one you were proud of, it certainly beat being called a bitch day in and day out.
“Just keep it to your dreams, yeah? I’m already paying too much for therapy.”
“You can talk about your daddy issues later,” Max interrupted, tossing your helmet into your waiting hands. “Get in your car, zusje.”
You grinned to yourself as the formation lap began and you started weaving across the track to warm your tires. All Lando would be able to think about was your ass as the rear wing swayed side to side and the thought of made you laugh since you lived to torment the guys on and off the track.
“Radio check.”
“I can’t wait to show everyone the upgrades.”
“Understood.” There was a pause before Nicholas returned. “Uh, you weren’t scheduled for any upgrades.”
Your start was terrible as Max flew away at lights out and then you were nearly clipped in the first turn by Lando, the swerve you took to avoid a collision letting Charles slip straight past.
“DRS activated this lap.”
You passed the starting line on the heels of Charles, Lando close behind but not close enough to use DRS just yet. The Ferrari was quick but he was out of Max’s DRS range and your straight line speed was far superior, it was only a matter of time before you reached the first DRS zone and made your move to overtake.
“Did you just use indicators?”
You laughed as you hit the buttons on your console before pulling out of the slipstream, the rear wing opened to reduce the drag, and flew past the red car. You hit the new button the electrical engineer had rewired before pulling in front of Charles and laughed as you saw the replay on the big screens around the circuit.
“It’s only polite to indicate when overtaking. Have you never read the road code?”
“I’m more worried about the FIA regulations than the road code.”
“You worry too much, Christian can afford a little fine.”
“£150,000 for a laugh! Are you taking the mick outta me?”
You tried to keep a serious face as you faced Christian but one look at Max’s amusement had a smile cracking through.
“No, you don’t get to laugh about this,” Christian snapped, pulling your attention back to him. “You too, Max. It’s like having a couple of fucking children around here.”
“It was nothing to do with me,” Max argued. “I would never pull a stunt like that.”
“You have something on your nose,” you said as you pointed and he wiped at it. “Nope, still brown.”
His lip twitched before he snickered and playfully shoved your shoulder.
A heavy sigh of disappointment filled the private room in the motorhome and you both looked at Christian. “With Max winning last year we are going to be under even more scrutiny, and this sort of behaviour isn’t going to earn us any favours. Cut the shit out and pay the fucking fine.”
You started to open your mouth to point out the fine was charged to Red Bull not you but a sharp elbow from Max had you clamming your lips closed again.
“She’ll be better behaved,” Max promised with a glare that warned you to stay silent to save yourself from lying.
“Fine, get out there before the interviews are finished.”
You were never a fan of the post-race interviews but you left Christian’s office like it was lights out, racing ahead of Max to get to the media pit.
You skidded to a halt at the side of the stage and Charles patted the empty space between him and Lando just as Max arrived. The other space on the couch was at the end beside Lance and you looked at Max with narrowed eyes before making a break for the better seat. Lando had to jump aside as you slammed into the seat just before Max but it didn’t stop him from planting himself on top and you groaned at the weight.
“Second place again, Max Emillian,” you wheezed as you tried to push him off and looked at Charles. “A little help?”
“Sorry, there are universal rules: we can’t interfere with sibling rivalries,” he said with an apologetic smile.
“Arthur’s my favourite Leclerc.”
Max took full advantage while you were distracted, staring daggers at Charles, and shoved you aside to take the cushioned seat with a smarmy grin. “Remember, best behaviour,” he warned as he got comfortable and accepted the microphone handed to you.
He should have known that the challenge couldn’t go unanswered and so you stood up, but you weren’t admitting defeat. His smile fell when you sat down on Lando’s lap, much to everyone’s surprise.
“Hands off my sister, Norris,” Max quipped, but Lando’s hands were still in the air from where he froze, not knowing what to do with them or where to put them.
“This is quite comfy,” you noted as you wriggled around. “Maybe this can be my spot every week.”
“Fuck, fine,” Max growled as he stood up and walked down the line to sit with Lance. “Take the fucking seat.”
Charles laughed as you slipped into the seat and he held his fist out. “Everytime.”
You bumped his fist and smirked as the interviews finally got underway. “Every damn time.”
Click here for part two.
#crack!fic#Max Verstappen x reader#sibling!reader#platonic!reader#f1 x reader#f1 imagine#f1 fanfic#max verstappen imagine#max verstappen x you#formula 1 fanfic#formula one imagine
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I never really share anything personal on here because I'm a pretty private person, but there's something so profound about getting passed down my Grandpa's old camera collection.
Like what do you mean he took pictures of my Grandma with them 30+ years ago? That the A-1 Canon that's now in my room was the camera that took my parents' wedding photos? I stuck a roll of film into the same place he did? The thought of him loving photography as much as I do is the most tear-jerking emotion I've ever experienced even if we're not that close.
I just got the A-1 Canon working again after upwards of 20 years of being unused and sitting in a cupboard. Hearing the shutter go off as I took a picture of my dog was something special, and I don't even think I can describe it in a way that makes sense. It was like I was holding my own family history in my hands.
I was genuinely surprised it was in such good condition in the first place - I barely had to do anything other than look over it to make sure nothing was broken and mess with a few areas of concern. My grandpa kept his A-1 in immaculate condition despite his pretty bad health; the same with his other cameras as well.
As much as I want to keep them all in a glass case and have them stay perfect, I can't imagine not using them the same way he did. Of course, up until I have to retire them for my own kids to use one day in just as pristine a state.
#random rambles from a nineteen-year-old who loves history and old stuff too much#I set all of them up in a few cubbies on my bookshelf for now until I can get the parts I need#I can't wait to get them working again - even if I have to sink a few hundred into repairs it'll be well worth it#I don't think I'd ever be able to work in a museum I'd cry at literally everything I see#so many stories#just felt that I needed to type this out#lots of emotions today
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Hazbin Hotel redesign ideas p. 2
I am a bit of fashion, especially men's, history nerd, and I'm also a bit of radio nerd, so here I go, biblically accurate Alastor.
ALASTOR:
Alastor was a radio host (a radio star?) who lived and died in Louisiana. He was shot during a hunting accident, in the head, somewhere in the 1933, during radio's golden era. He cares greatly about his image and always smiles to show no weaknesses. He hates modern technology and doesn't allow his face to be captured by video recording or non black and white camera. His is mixed-race Creole.
Nothing about Alastor design make sense and it pisses me off. Not only it doesn't fit the time, it also doesn't fit his character! Besides, he is too red. He disappears into the background, especially walls of the Hotel.
Alastor cares about his image greatly, yet his clothes are torn. He is supposed to be like Hannibal, yet he looks like an edgelord wannabe. It's awful. I learned nothing about him from his design, other than "he's and old-time radio deer guy", and that's really bad.
Fashion in 30s was inspired by Hollywood, and sport and movies celebrities.
Back and white fashion in this period wasn't that different, at least for men, as long as you weren't poor, but here are some photos of specifically black fashion in 30s. In general I recommend that website if you want to look more into the fashion of this period.
His hair is completely wrong. And it's also really ugly lol. For richer black men a shiny straightening hairstyle was the go to since 1920s. One such style was "the conk" where one would chemically straighten their hair. It left hair shiny, but the process was painful and expensive. It literally could burn your scalp.
Another popular style was the brush wave. It's creating narrow waves rolling on top of head with the sides cut short and smooth. This hairstyle is still present to this day, but nowadays it's done on the whole head.
Other than that, men just wore their hair naturally, but short.
There is no focus on trousers or vest in Alastor's outfit. (Which is wild considering zipper fly was introduced in the early 30s, but was got popular by the mid ’30s). This was time of experimenting a bit with vests. If you wanted to look fancy and/or formal, you would wear a vest. Pants were wide legged, had a high waist and a single pressed line down the center of the leg. Some trouser waistbands were unique in the 1930s, for example a Hollywood waistband trouser. It had an extra wide band with a double row of buttons. They fit very high, overlapping the ribs. they often had netal ring tabs on the sides to tighten the pant to the correct fit without the need for belts or suspenders.
Also, monocle? Really? …Really? Here you go, read this if you're curious. Lots of pictures of glasses included. Glasses stayed essentially the same in 30s as they were in 20s. They were "round with a center bridge in the early years and an upper bridge in the later years. Frames could be tortoiseshell, black plastic, or thin metal."
Moving on from fashion, because I could never shut up, microphones!
The most probabale one that everyone who is redesigning Al is drawing is a good old classic Carbon mic. It looks like a ring with a metal star and the microphone inside. It can be hand held or a staff.
But, if you wanna draw something different!
Other than Carbon mic there is also a Ribbon microphone (first row) and Moving Coil mic (second row). Unfortunately, they killed Alastor in the best part of the radio golden age, so the mics are still a bit ugly, not gonna lie.
How would I design him:
First things firsts, either he is mixed or he is white, because right now it just feels like a cheep excuse to have an "evil voodoo" character without getting too much backlash. Let's be honest, nobody thought he was a POC and that white face doesn't help. Again, just like I mentioned with Vel, when you're drawing a character with human like skin tone you have to be careful and think how it ties to their race.
Second - fashion. His outfit and hairstyle is a disaster. He has always tried to 'dress to impress', so obviously I would give him well maintained clothing and that 'high quality', formal style. I would give him the dark brown Hollywood trouser with buttons and dark crimson shirt, like dried blood almost. Under a coat or jacket he would have a brow vest, both the same colour as the pants. Highlights would be golden and green or purple. I for one would love to see him start out with a jacket/coat which he stops wearing inside the hotel after he bonds with the people inside it more, but he would still wear it outside and in the finale would put it on again, after his breakdown in the tower. This would show he began to trust the hotel residents a bit before he 'realises his mistake' after the battle. I would give him short haircut, because not even white people wore hair like that. (What in the Karen-core is it supposed to be?). Say goodbye to that monocle. Why is it even there there? Because he is old-timely? What is he, a children's cartoon villain? His design doesn't need more soulless clutter. Give me something that tells me about him as a character. I've seen people give him old radio as teeth or chest and I love it! When it's not too detailed, it's a great idea to make Alastor less like a living human but also less of… just a deer. He just looks like a deer demon. I would keep his shoes, hands and antlers, and give him ears that would fit the hairstyle I would go with.
[Edit: I forgot to mention, I would give him a time accurate hat or a free wavy lock of hair to cover the mark on his forehead where he was shot]
Thirdly, the microphone! My love. I remember the microphone used to be able to talk, but now it doesn't, unless I'm wrong, but I'm pretty sure. Now it's just a weird look staff microphone with an eye and that's about it. But imagine something like a moving coil with the metal sign on top of it were the letters on it change. It could be a way it's communicating, in a simple way. This was it could still have a unique shape. That would have been fun to see. I can certainly imagine it being something of an 'unfiltered voice' of Alastor, where it would change it's writing into "Shut up", "Die" or something like that and he would hit it in a reprimanding way to reverse it to "Smile!". I'm just saying, that's a cool idea.
Well, this took forever to make, I actually forgot about this, so it just sat in my drafts. Anyway, if you want to see brilliant use of costumes and detailed, accurate depiction of fashion (especially black and queer) through history in New Orleans I recommend "Interview With The Vampire" (2022). It's also a great show.
#hazbin hotel#alastor#hazbin hotel alastor#hazbin alastor#hazbin hotel redesign#hazbin hotel fanart#redesign#hazbin hotel criticism#hh#hazbin hotel critical#hazbin hotel critique#men's fashion#men's style#menswear#mensfashion#fashion#fashion history
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Girl Bradshaw
Summary: memories of Russia start to resurface and you decided to take a step and talk to Pete. How does he react?
Pairing(s): jake seresin x (fem)(bradshaw) reader
Warning(s): language, PTSD, nightmares, daddy issues, absent father figure, violence/abuse against reader (don't read if you're not comfortable with violence/abuse)
Part 5: Tears for the father
It's cold. So very cold. Your body's shivering and your undergarments do little to provide you warmth. You don't know much time has passed and you feel your body fading. Shit, you want to be back in Oceanside with everyone. You want to be eating Mexican food at the Ruiz family restaurant with everyone and laughing. You want your family.
Your body's weak and you feel your eyes getting heavy. No, you can't close your eyes. If you do, you won't ever open them again. It doesn't sound so bad, now that you think about. You'll finally be with your mom and dad again. The pain has long since faded and you let out a shuddering breath. Jensen will understand. He and everyone will understand if you close your eyes. But, your heart aches. You don't want to leave them. Not yet. There's still so much you haven't done.
You think about how Bradley will find out. Will they show up at his doorstep with news of your death? Will it be your team who tells him? Is he even going to be the one to answer the door? Maybe his partner will, or his kid. A weak chuckle escapes your lips as you think of Bradley's potential children. Without a doubt he'd name them after your late parents.
Or maybe it's Pete who's doorstep they set on. Your beloved godfather. You remember your mom telling you that when you were born, Pete cried tears as he held your small body. He whispered sweet nothings to you as Nick asked him to be your godfather.
"My baby chick," a sweet voice says from somewhere in the dark, small room. You know that voice, you've heard it before. But, you don't who it belongs to. "It's okay," it reassures and you nod. It's ok to let go.
You head shoots up at the sound of footsteps coming closer. Not now, please, not now. You're not sure if you could survive another beating. Your breathing picks up before you force yourself to get a grip.
The door opens and you stare at the dark figure. The lights behind the person hide their face and you give them a smug grin. "Couldn't wait to see me again?" you muse, every part of your body aching. The figure snarls and steps into the room. They grab your hair and you yelp as you weakly hit their arm.
"Let's so how much you run your mouth this time, girl."
You jolt up from your bed and press a hand to your chest. It feels like your heart is gonna beat out of your chest. Your fingers curl around the ratty t-shirt that you're wearing. Jensen's scent fills your nostrils and you can feel yourself calm down. He gave you the shirt a while ago but it still smells like him.
The apartment is quiet when you decide to get up. A look at your alarm clock and you see it's 4:30 in the morning. Your body's still trembling and you grab your blanket. Quickly, you make your way to living room and open the cabinets under the TV. For the next couple minutes you're connecting wires to the TV before popping a DVD into the DVD player. You let the video play as you lean against your couch.
"Baby, you are beautiful. Just like your mama. You're smaller than your brother was when he born. You're like a baby chick! That's what I'll call you, baby chick. My chick." Nick's voice fills your apartment and tears immediately fill you eyes. "I'll always protect you, Chick. I'll always love you." You wipe your tears with the blanket and sniffle.
"I miss you, daddy." You take a deep breath as the video ends and a different one plays. A gentle smile takes over your face as you watch. A five-year old you cluelessly walks across the stage as a ten-year old Bradley and Pete cheer wildly from next to the camera. Carole's giggle can be heard and the camera momentaily shifts from you to them. It goes back to you and wide smile is on your face as you catch sight of your family. You excitedly wave to them and pout as a teacher ushers you off the stage and back to your seat.
You look at the clock hanging up on the wall and read the time. 5:02 AM. You contemplate the sudden thought you had and quickly get up, your blanket dropping to the ground. You rush to get your uniform on and send a quick text to Jensen to not come by later.
The air nips at your skin a little while you're making your way to the gym on base. It's early in the morning and there's only a few people up and around camp. You make it to the gym doors and take a deep breath. Ava's words from last night replay in your head and you open the door.
Pete's grunts are the first thing you hear when you enter. His hair is sweaty and sticking to his forehead. The punching bag swings back violently each time he strikes it and you whistle.
"Wouldn't wanna be that punching bag." Pete's eyes widen as he pants.
"Braidy?" he whispers and you frown a little at the sound of your first name. Pete scrambles to stay something else and you sigh. You take a seat on the bench press next to the punching bags.
"Wanted to come see you," is all you say and Pete nods. He grabs his water bottle from the ground and takes a couple chugs before he wipes his mouth.
"How—uh, how have you been?" Pete cringes at his words. Really? That's the best he can do? He's glad you giggle at his question instead of getting angry. Although, if you did, he'd understand.
You intertwine your fingers and look down at them. "Been better." Well, shit. This is awkward and you're vague replies aren't making this any easier.
"You've got a great team," is the best Pete can think of. He doesn't wanna scare you off. Internally, he's happy beyond belief that you're standing (well, sitting) in front of him. Externally, he's tense and apprehensive. He makes small movements as one would when dealing with a scared animal.
You nod at his compliment. "Been with them for a long time."
"I can tell. They certainly love you."
"Mhmm." You're still staring at your hands with your head down. Pete's lip twitches.
"You ok? You've got that look on your face." You finally look at him and laugh.
"I had this dream. Wasn't a good one and I was watching these old videos that I have. There was one of my kindergarten graduation and I just— needed to see you. Make sure you were real or something. I don't know." Pete frowns at your explanation and takes a step towards you. You flinch at the movement, but the older man isn't deterred. He slowly and softly places a hand on your head and crouches down. You let him wrap his arms around your body and close your eyes.
You've missed him. As much as you tried to deny that you didn't, you did. Pete feels like home. He feels safe. He feels like family. You don't realize you're crying until Pete's wiping away your tears, his own falling softly.
"Why—why'd you leave me?" you whisper, voice broken and timid. Pete frowns as he takes a seat next to you. He wraps his hand in yours and sighs.
"After you called me and told me that what happened with Bradley, I thought that if I left you, that you and Bradley would make up. You're brother and sister, you need each other."
"I needed my dad," you countered. You both stare at each other and Pete smiles softly.
"It hurt me to leave you. You were my little girl, blood or not." Silence follows as you and Pete just sit next to each other. You lick your lips and your leg starts to bounce.
"You and Bradley have been in Miramar for the past two years," you say and Pete let's go of your hand.
"Yes."
"Did you guys think of me while you were together."
"Braidy, I think of you all the time."
"You didn't answer my question."
Pete swallows deeply and a pit grows in the pit of his stomach. "We didn't talk about you." That's all you need to hear before you stand up. You wipe your nose and nod before walking to the door. Pete's quick to grab your wrist and you stop. "Braidy, we miss you. Bradley misses you. Please, just talk to him."
You scoff in response and rip your wrist out of his grip. "It was nice talking to you, Pete." You exit the gym as quickly as you can and walk. You don't where you're going, but you just keep walking.
Taglist: @potato-girl99981 @winterrebel04 @caitsymichelle13 @darhk-angel @madkill44 @cherrycola27 @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @clockworkballerina @krismdavis @phantomxoxo @piceous21 @laneyspaulding19 @multifandomfangirll @moron-says-what @rhirhikingston @startrekfangirl2233 @mightiestheroes @awesomebooklover17 @gizmodear @meritxellao @adaydreamaway08 @letsgomamas @midnightzonzz @imaslytherin0 @thesewordsxlibrary @shawnsblue @theficthatwaspromised @lily-jean94 @havlindzk @hypatia93 @madsothree @oneelleandaneye @a-beaverhausen @dempy @alissa3000 @boltgirl426 @bcon24 @inthestars-underthesun @tsnelf7 @nataddz @topguncultleader @harrysgothicbitch @sadpetalsstuff @rogersbarnesxx @loganrwebb @tom-cruiseishot @thewulf @nikfigueiredo @spencvrr @yogabigooby @coldmuffinbanditshoe @tye-dyemango @blahblechblah @keenmarvellover
#top gun maverick x reader#top gun reader insert#top gun fanfic#top gun maverick#jake seresin x reader#jake seresin#bradley bradshaw#pete mitchell#y/n bradshaw#bradshaw reader#top gun x reader
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Talk Show (e.o)
Requested <3
LizziexG!P Reader
There hasn't been mega Requests but there's been more than there was and I love it haha I still have a couple to get through but they will be done tomorrow because its almost 12am and by the time I finish this it will be closer to 1am haha but enjoy! And thank you to everyone Requesting ♥️
Y/ns POV:
"Babe you look amazing just look into my eyes ill be right by your side and you'll be amazing honey I know its scary being your first talk show interview but you'll have me and scar and Hemsworth you'll be fine" I nod my head looking into my girlfriends green eyes as she cups my cheeks calming me I lean in and kiss her gently I've been so nervous for this interview I joined the mcu last year and were just getting to the premier "thank you lizzie" I gently squeeze her waist and smile as our names get called one by one lizzie grabs my hand and we walk out hand in hand making me blush a little as soon as we're all seated and settled Jimmy looks right at me with a smile "so y/n how does it feel being the newest member of marvel" lizzie squeezes my hand as I take a breath "well Jimmy first of all thank you so much for having me here with my amazing Co stars and to answer your question it's been amazing so good I can't wait for everyone to see it" lizzie looks at me with a look of love as she rests her hand on my thigh a little to high for my liking Jimmy moves on to talk to Scarlett and Chris as lizzie rubs higher up my thigh I'm glad we're sitting on stools behind the couch with the guys blocking most of us "what are you doing baby" I whisper so only lizzie can hear she says nothing and looks at me with an innocent smile as her hand grazes my bulge as I moan a little and lean closer "baby stop it youre waking my not so little friend up" I feel my full body heat up trying to act like nothing's wrong lizzie continues to rub my hardened dick through my pants after a few minutes I move her hand and lean forward covering myself so she can't touch "that was so bad what if someone saw or what if the camera saw" I whisper as she giggles.
2 hours later
We head out to the car hand in hand as we climb into the back seats "I can't believe you where rubbing my dick during an interview" i groan, lizzie giggles and places her hands on my chest "I wanted to feel it stop being a baby" we spend the next 30 mins talking and kissing and cuddling on the drive home once we arrive lizzie runs inside as i thank the driver and walk in like a normal person not a hyperactive 5 year old but she makes me laugh and shes the love of my life so i let her be "baby where are you" I yell as I walk inside locking the door and taking my shoes off "I'm upstairs baby can you come help me" I bet she's stuck in that dress I giggle as I run upstairs into our bedroom my mouth falling open immediately at the sight of my naked girlfriend spread out, yep my not so little friend is definitely awake now "w..why are you naked" I stutter a little as she giggles I watch as her hand travels down her body towards her core "because I wanted to see that look on your face and that growing buldge in your pants" she says with a smirk I walk towards the bed discarding my clothes leaving me in my sports bra and boxers as I climb on to lean over lizzie for a kiss "oh no no no sweetheart just you sit right there you're not aloud to touch you can look that's it" I groan a little annoyed but more so because the thought of her touching herself infornt of me turns me on so much "fuck youre so sexy" she bites her lip and rubs her clit as soft moans slip past her lips my eyes glued to her fingers "oh fuck" she continues to moan as I bite my lip she spreads her lips as she sinks 2 fingers inside her dripping cunt my dick somehow getting harder "oh god baby feels so good bet you wish these where your fingers" I nod and moan as she thrusts her fingers faster the sound of her wet pussy driving me wild I push my boxers off and let my dick spring free "oh fuck y/n yes yes right there oh god I'm gonna cum yesssss"
I can't help but grip my dick and run my hand up and down my shaft the sight infront of me enough to send me over the edge "oh fuck baby" I groan as she looks up at me eyes meeting mine as she cums all over her own fingers her chest rising and falling rapidly I rub my member faster as she sits up and stops me "did I say you could touch yourself baby I don't think I did the only way you get to cum is by fucking me and shooting your load inside me" I look at her as she smirks "b..but what about a c.condom baby you never let me fuck you raw let alone cum inside you" she crawls closer and kisses my nose "well tonight I just want to feel you I want to feel you inside me I want to feel you shooting your load deep deep inside me" I moan as she swaps my hand for hers rubbing my dick slowly "what if you end up pregnant" I moan as my eyes run up her body "then well bring a beautiful baby into this world I'd like a mini you running around" she says sweetly that's all the convincing I need I quickly flip her onto all fours as I position myself behind her teasing her clit with my tip before moving to her entrance and sliding all 8 inches inside her tight cunt "oh my god" she moans loud as my member sinks deep inside her unprotected "fuck why didn't I let you fuck me without the condom sooner Holy shit you feel fucking amazing" she squeals as I start to thrust slow but hard pulling almost all the way out just to slam in deeper and harder "uhhh fuck baby it does feel so much better without a condom youre so fucking tight and wet and warm uh fuck i can feel you so fucking much" I speed up my thrusts or I'm gonna end up nutting to early both of us are moaning messes I grip her hips with bruising force as I thrust faster my head falling back as I feel the knot inside me snap I can't control it I slam deep inside my precious girlfriend as my thick white cum shoots deep inside her as soon as she feels my cum filling her cunt she screams like never before as her orgasm crashes over her I stay still for a minute both of us sensitive before I slip out of her and walk to the bathroom to clean myself I get a damp cloth and walk back to a sleepy lizzie "I think we might have made a baby" she mumbles with a smile "maybe we did honey but for now I have to clean you sleepy head" I quickly and carefully clean lizzie before climbing into bed she instantly wraps her arms and leg around me making me smile I play with her hair as I hold her close before falling into a deep sleep with the thought of knocking my girlfirend up on my mind.
AN: last one for tonight I hope you guys enjoy it its almost 1am here so I'll do a few more tomorrow hope everyone has a great day/night ✌🏻word count 1.4k
#elizabeth olsen#lizzie olsen#oneshot#fanfic#mcu fanfiction#mcu#marvel mcu#wattpad#smut#lizzieislife94x#wanda maximoff#wandavision#wanda marvel#mommy wanda#wanda mcu#wanda x you#wanda x reader#wanda maximoff imagine#wanda maximommy#wanda maxmoff x y/n#wanda smut
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Michael Sheen: Prince Andrew, Port Talbot and why I quit Hollywood
When Michael Sheen had an idea for a dystopian TV series based in his home town of Port Talbot, in which riots erupt when the steel works close, he had no idea said works would actually close — a month before the show came to air. “Devastating,” he says, simply, of last month’s decision by Tata Steel to shut the plant’s two blast furnaces and put 2,800 jobs at risk.
“Those furnaces are part of our psyche,” he says. “When the Queen died we talked about how psychologically massive it was for the country because people couldn’t imagine life without her. The steel works are like that for Port Talbot.”
Sheen’s show — The Way — was never meant to be this serious. The BBC1 three-parter is directed by Sheen, was written by James Graham and has the montage king Adam Curtis on board as an executive producer. The plot revolves around a family who, when the steel works are closed by foreign investors, galvanise the town into a revolt that leads to the Welsh border being shut. Polemical, yes, but it has a lightness of touch. “A mix of sitcom and war film,” Sheen says, beaming.
But that was then. Now it has become the most febrile TV show since, well, Mr Bates vs the Post Office. “We wanted to get this out quickly,” Sheen says. With heavy surveillance, police clamping down on protesters and nods to Westminster abandoning parts of the country, the series could be thought of as a tad political. “The concern was if it was too close to an election the BBC would get nervous.”
I meet Sheen in London, where he is ensconced in the National Theatre rehearsing for his forthcoming starring role in Nye, a “fantasia” play based on the life of the NHS founder, Labour’s Aneurin “Nye” Bevan. He is dressed down, with stubble and messy hair, and is a terrific raconteur, with a lot to discuss. As well as The Way and Nye, this year the actor will also transform himself into Prince Andrew for a BBC adaptation of the Emily Maitlis Newsnight interview.
Sheen has played a rum bunch, from David Frost to Tony Blair and Chris Tarrant. And we will get to Bevan and Andrew, but first Wales, where Sheen, 55, was born in 1969 and, after a stint in Los Angeles, returned to a few years ago. He has settled outside Port Talbot with his partner, Anna Lundberg, a 30-year-old actress, and their two children. Sheen’s parents still live in the area, so the move was partly for family, but mostly to be a figurehead. The actor has been investing in local arts, charities and more, putting his money where his mouth is to such an extent that there is a mural of his face up on Forge Road.
“It’s home,” Sheen says, shrugging, when I ask why he abandoned his A-list life for southwest Wales. “I feel a deep connection to it.” The seed was sown in 2011 when he played Jesus in Port Talbot in an epic three-day staging of the Passion, starring many locals who were struggling with job cuts and the rising cost of living in their town. “Once you become aware of difficulties in the area you come from you don’t have to do anything,” he says, with a wry smile. “You can live somewhere else, visit family at Christmas and turn a blind eye to injustice. It doesn’t make you a bad person, but I’d seen something I couldn’t unsee. I had to apply myself, and I might not have the impact I’d like, but the one thing that I can say is that I’m doing stuff. I know I am — I’m paying for it!”
The Way is his latest idea to boost the area. The show, which was shot in Port Talbot last year, employed residents in front of and behind the camera. The extras in a scene in which fictional steel workers discuss possible strike action came from the works themselves. How strange they will feel watching it now. The director shakes his head. “It felt very present and crackling.”
One line in the show feels especially crucial: “The British don’t revolt, they grumble.” How revolutionary does Sheen think Britain is? “It happens in flare-ups,” he reasons. “You could say Brexit was a form of it and there is something in us that is frustrated and wants to vent. But these flare-ups get cracked down, so the idea of properly organised revolution is hard to imagine. Yet the more anger there is, the more fear about the cost of living crisis. Well, something’s got to give.”
I mention the Brecon Beacons. “Ah, yes, Bannau Brycheiniog,” Sheen says with a flourish. Last year he spearheaded the celebration of the renaming of the national park to Welsh, which led some to ponder whether Sheen might go further in the name of Welsh nationalism. Owen Williams, a member of the independence campaigners YesCymru, described him to me as “Nye Bevan via Che Guevara” and added that the actor might one day be head of state in an independent Wales.
Sheen bursts out laughing. “Right!” he booms. “Well, for a long time [the head of state] was either me or Huw Edwards, so I suppose that’s changed.” He laughs again. “Gosh. I don’t know what to say.” Has he, though, become a sort of icon for an independent Wales? “I’ve never actually spoken about independence,” he says. “The only thing I’ve said is that it’s worth a conversation. Talking about independence is a catalyst for other issues that need to be talked about. Shutting that conversation down is of no value at all. People say Wales couldn’t survive economically. Well, why not? And is that good? Is that a good reason to stay in the union?”
On a roll, he talks about how you can’t travel from north to south Wales by train without going into England because the rail network was set up to move stuff out of Wales, not round it. He mentions the collapse of local journalism and funding cuts to National Theatre Wales, and says these are the conversations he wants to have — but where in Wales are they taking place?
So, for Sheen, the discussion is about thinking of Wales as independent in identity, not necessarily as an independent state? “As a living entity,” he says, is how he wants people to think about his country. “It’s much more, for me, about exploring what that cultural identity of now is, rather than it being all about the past,” he says. “We had a great rugby team in the 1970s, but it’s not the 1970s anymore and, yes, male-voice choirs make us cry, but there are few left. Mines aren’t there either. All the things that are part of the cultural identity of Wales are to do with the past and, for me, it’s much more about exploring what is alive about Welsh identity now.”
You could easily forget that Sheen is an actor. He calls himself a “not for profit” thesp, meaning he funds social projects, from addiction to disability sports. “I juggle things more,” he says. “Also I have young kids again and I don’t want to be away much.”
Sheen has an empathetic face, a knack of making the difficult feel personable. And there are two big roles incoming — a relief to fans.
Which leads us to Prince Andrew. “Of course it does.” This year he plays the troubled duke in A Very Royal Scandal — a retelling of the Emily Maitlis fiasco with Ruth Wilson as the interviewer. Does the show go to Pizza Express in Woking? “No,” Sheen says, grinning. Why play the prince? He thinks about this a lot. “Inevitably you bring humanity to a character — that’s certainly what I try to do.” He pauses. “I don’t want people to say, ‘It was Sheen who got everybody behind Andrew again.’ But I also don’t want to do a hatchet job.”
So what is he trying to do? “Well, it is a story about privilege really,” he says. “And how easy it is for privilege to exploit. We’ve found a way of keeping the ambiguity, because, legally, you can’t show stuff that you cannot prove, but whether guilty or not, his privilege is a major factor in whatever exploitation was going on. Beyond the specifics of Andrew and Epstein, no matter who you are, privilege has the potential to exploit someone. For Andrew, it’s: ‘This girl is being brought to me and I don’t really care where she comes from, or how old she is, this is just what happens for people like me.’”
It must have been odd having the prince and Bevan — the worst and best of our ruling classes — in his head at the same time. What, if anything, links the men? “What is power and what can you do with it?” Sheen muses, which seems to speak to his position in Port Talbot too. Nye at the National portrays the Welsh politician on his deathbed, in an NHS hospital, moving through his memories while doped up on meds. Sheen wants the audience to think: “Is there a Bevan in politics now and, if not, why not?”
Which takes us back to The Way. At the start one rioter yells about wanting to “change everything” — he means politically, sociologically. However, assuming that changing everything is not possible, what is the one thing Sheen would change? “Something practical? Not ‘I want world peace’. I would create a people’s chamber as another branch of government — like the Lords, there’d be a House of People, representing their community. Our political system has become restrictive and nonrepresentational, so something to open that up would be good.”
The actor is a thousand miles from his old Hollywood life. “It’d take a lot for me to work in America again — my life is elsewhere.” It is in Port Talbot instead. “The last man on the battlefield” is how one MP describes the steel works in The Way, and Sheen is unsure what happens when that last man goes. “Some people say it’s to do with net zero aims,” he says about the closure. “Others blame Brexit. But, ultimately, the people of Port Talbot have been let down — and there is no easy answer about what comes next.”
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Sorry for a non-horny request lol, but I am going crazy with this idea. This is not exactly romantic but it's upto you if you want to make it such.
Warning: major character death
Morpheus de Endless, is a grumpy old man, who has a number of health issues. He also happens to be a best selling author of all time but he does have some controversies surrounding him, most notedly his high profile divorce with a famous artist with whom he had a son but the baby died only a year later. It is said that Mr. De Endless excused himself from his public life after this incident, still that didn’t stop him from suffering a lot under Rodrick Burgess in whose publishing company he worked. Now, at the age of 65, Morpheus de Endless is an isolated man who only lets his doctor visit him once a week.
And then, his family decides that he needs a caretaker. A decision Morpheus absolutely hates because he can take care of himself, but still a care taker is hired. On Monday morning, a young man, probably in his late 20s or early 30s comes to his mansion and takes on all the responsibilities with ease. He is incharge of all the medicines, food (though Morpheus barely eats, taking Morpheus to parks to feed the birds and other things.
Morpheus doesn't like this new man, but he cannot argue with his elder sister about it anymore so he just settles on grumply leaving left over food on his plate or intentionally not having medicines.
Meanwhile, Hob is astonished by this man. It was as if a 10 year old lived in the body of a 60 something man. And Hob was trying really hard to make Mr. De Endless take care of himself, to keep himself alive. Because Hob knew, in fact on the first glance he knew, that Morpheus de Endless didn’t want to live anymore. So he tries his best.
Then one day, he blows up on Mr. De Endless, shouting that the man should at least try to look on the brighter side, to at least maintain a schedule instead of killing his body slowly everyday. And Morpheus understands miraculously. He doesn't like it, but to just make Hob’s job easier he improves his habits a bit. From here, things start getting easier, Morpheus genuinely enjoyes his trip to the park with Hob and even those conversations in the silence of the night in the comfort of his home office where Hob tells him about a family he had lost long ago and in return Morpheus tells him about his son, whom he dearly misses.
Now, here, either we can go for happy ending, or a bitter-sweet one. Personally I am all for some bitter-sweet cake so here we go: one morning, Morpheus wakes up and steals Hob’s bicycle. He has a camera with him which he used a lot in his youth and he uses it now after years to capture the beauty of modern London. He had not explored London like this in 20 years and his heart is full for the first time after losing his child. He also uses a pay phone to call his younger brother who lives in a separate country and they have a heartfelt conversation.
Then he returns home at evening only to be reprimanded by Hob and his elder sister for disappearing like that but Morpheus honestly doesn't mind. When the next morning Hob checks up on him he finds Morpheus dead in his bed. Of course a whole day of cycling for a man with heart conditions is bad news. But he did leave a letter behind for Hob, thanking him for making his last days better than ever.
Ah, thank you for sharing this with me!! It's such a sweet story. I really do love the idea of Hob being this positive spark in Morpheus’s life. He's retreated in on himself, grown used to being alone and become a little resentful of a world that doesn't seem to want him. Then Hob comes in with his stories, his gentle routine and his all around youthfulness. Morpheus finds it annoying: Hob is loud, careless, a little selfish. But then one day Hob has him sit down and flick through his old photos. And Morpheus recollects that he was also once loud, careless and selfish when he was young. He starts cutting Hob some slack, and Hob in turn also becomes more patient. He learns not to be frustrated by Morpheus’s moods, to be kind instead. They find things in common instead of bickering. Sometimes Hob stays the night with Morpheus and they talk about everything, or just fall asleep together. There's love between them now, and it really doesn't matter what kind of love. They both needed it.
Poor Hob. Losing Morpheus is so unexpected, because he was sure that despite his frailty he would live a little longer. He could have had 20 years. Hob sits with the birds and just cries and cries because he loves Morpheus so much and they barely even had a year together.
But he has the camera, and that evidence of Morpheus’s last day. Pictures of strangers and buildings and pigeons. They all mean so much and they're bursting with love. Hob will hang onto those. And he's not sure if and when, but one day he'll hold Morpheus’s hand again, and they'll look at the pictures together.
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oh baby I finally played Smile For Me like two years after everyone told me I would really enjoy Smile For Me! turns out, I really enjoyed Smile For Me!! get ready to see a lot of Habit drawings about it
(detailed image descriptions below the cut!)
[Image 1: A black-and-white drawing of Kamal and Habit. Kamal is standing in front, smiling nervously with sweat dripping down his face. He is waving with his left hand and holding a clipboard under his right arm. An arrow pointing to him reads, "Looks like he is currently having a breakdown". Habit is standing behind him, smiling placidly, eyes slightly unfocused, hands in his pockets in a relaxed posture. An arrow pointing to him reads, "is actually currently having a breakdown".]
[Image 2: A colored drawing of Habit and Kamal recreating the "twink boutta pounce" meme. The camera angle is slightly above and to the side of the two. Habit is sitting down, in the middle of speaking, with a relaxed, smiling expression. He has his left hand up, gesticulating. Kamal is lying on the ground beside him, propped up slightly on his left arm, with the right arm folded and resting on top of his right thigh. His head is tilted back and he has an admiring, flirtatious expression with a little kitty smile.]
[Image 3: A colored drawing of Kamal based on an Aqua Teen Hunger Force meme. He is staring at the ground looking frustrated, with a caption reading "I am 20 or 30 years old and I do not need this."]
[Image 4: A colored drawing of Kamal, looking exhausted, holding up a flailing Putunia by the scruff with his right hand, and a flailing puppet-Habit in similar fashion with his left. The art was done in response to a piece of art by JJclownery on Twitter.]
[Image 5: A colored drawing of Habit and Kamal. Habit is shirtless and wearing pink fleece pajama pants with a light blue star pattern, and his hair tied up in a big, sloppy bun, held back with both an orange scrunchy and a pink cloth headband with a blue flower pattern, tied in a bow. He has top surgery scars and an extremely hairy chest, tummy and forearms. He is in the middle of brushing his teeth, with a toothbrush held up in his right hand. His eyes are closed tiredly and his mouth is open, toothpaste-covered tongue sticking out with a "hblehh" sound effect. An arrow pointing to him reads "mostly asleep". Behind him is Kamal, wearing a forest green t-shirt and blue-and-yellow checkered pajama pants, standing hunched over a grey laundry basket, retrieving a nondescript teal-blue piece of clothing with both hands. He is visibly ogling Habit, wide-eyed and blushing furiously, sweat dripping down his face. An arrow pointing to him reads "feeling so normal".]
[Image 6: A black-and-white drawing of Habit and Kamal. Both are wearing t-shirts with rolled-up sleeves, overalls, and gardening gloves; Habit also has his hair tied back in a ponytail. Habit is smiling warmly, eyes closed, placing a straw sunhat gently on Kamal's head with a "POF" sound effect. Kamal looks slightly embarrassed at the attention, and he is holding several packets of seeds in both hands. An arrow pointing at Kamal reads "agreed to help garden", while an arrow pointing at Habit reads "Thriving (trademark symbol)".]
[Image 7: Two colored drawings of Habit. In the first, in the top-left corner, he is drawn from the shoulders up, wearing a pink turtleneck sweater. He is smiling nervously and scratching his chin; he has his natural teeth with several visible gaps. In the second, in the bottom-right corner, he is wearing a peachy-orange ringer t-shirt with a flower graphic drawn on the chest, looking slightly worried with his mouth open, his teeth visibly chipped and with gaps between them. He has his right hand lifted nervously and the left on Kamal's back; Kamal stands in front of him with one hand on his chest and the other reaching up to caress his cheek, and he is smiling warmly. Habit says, "you're sure they don't look bad", and Kamal replies, "positive, big guy".]
[Image 8: A colored drawing of Habit, Putunia and Kamal respectively dressed as Dr. Teeth, Animal and Zoot from the Muppets. Habit is standing in the back, grinning widely with one of his teeth colored in gold, doing a double-thumbs up. He is wearing a fluffy pink top hat with a light-blue feather in the front, a fake bright-orange beard, a fluffy vest colored with maroon, light purple, pink, and pale orange stripes, a long-sleeve red-and-navy striped shirt, and blue jeans. Kamal is in front and slightly to the side of Habit, grinning slightly nervously and holding an orange toy saxophone. He is wearing a navy blue bucket hat, round blue sunglasses, and a loose, low-v-cut yellow blouse with a navy-blue design around the collar, with a light blue tank top underneath. Putunia is directly in front of Habit, smiling widely and holding up a drumstick in each hand. She is wearing a puffy yellow blouse with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows and an M-shaped red collar, a pale orange shirt underneath that, brown pants tied with a beige rope, and a metallic collar with a chain coming off of it.]
[Image 9: A four-panel, colored comic based on a Dr. Habit tweet, which is screenshotted throughout to serve as dialogue. In the first panel, Habit, wearing a frilly pink pajama top with a floral pattern, is looking very serious and thoughtful as he uses his left pointer finger to count off on his right hand. He is saying, as represented by a tweet screenshot behind him (in Habitspeak mispellings) "PSA: I DO NOT sleep talk, I DO NOT snore." In the second panel, he looks behind him to see Kamal, wearing a blue-striped robe and looking exhausted and frazzled, baggy eyes narrowed and hair a mess, glowering at Habit. The third panel flashes back to the two in bed, Habit in his PJs and Kamal in a green TWIN PEAKS t-shirt. Habit, lying on his stomach with one arm thrown over Kamal, is snoring extremely loudly. Kamal, lying on his back with one arm over Habit's and the other lying up over his head, stares into the middle distance. The fourth panel returns to the present where Kamal is glaring and grabbing the front of Habit's shirt with both hands. Habit, shrugging and looking away sheepishly, says (as represented by a tweet screenshot behind him) "Hee hee okay maybe just a 'little'"]
#anonymous puzzler art#smile for me#boris habit#kamal bora#putunia mollar#i love this weird little family. so much. you have no idea#these three were very targeted content for me specifically.#tw bare chest#habismal#almost forgot that was the ship name LOL had to go back and tag everything!! darn my memory!!
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Why does Casey refers to Leo only as "Sensei"?
Also known as: Why Leo doesn't want to be seen as a Father/ Is actually the uncle.
so, this is something that bugged me about the movie (not in a bad way, necessarily), and I couldn't help but overthink it. So I am going to talk about it.
Mild Spoilers for the movie.
It is clear to everyone seeing the movie that Casey looks up to Future!Leo, and it is pretty easy to argue that they have a father & son relationship. That, or at the very least, Casey sees Leo as his father. And this being the ROTTMNT Universe, where Leo very comfortably calls Splinters all the known variations of "Father" (Including said word) I find it curious that Casey only refers to Leo as "Sensei" Or "Master".
Now, I am aware this is a 30 year old franchise, whose characters get twisted and remolded from time to time. So even when the writers hinted at Casey and Leo having a Father/son relationship, they would probably never have Casey calling Leo his dad because there is people who simply wont accept a change in their Idea of TMNT. That being said, lets look at it in a vacuum and ignore real world things and only look at the characters based on what the show and the movie have shown/implied.
Like I said before, Rise Leo, unlike the 2012 counterpart (for comparison) is used to, and more often that not, calls Splinter "Dad" or a variation of that word. Is not surprising, all the turtles do, because in Rise specifically, the focus on the show lays in the sibling & the family relationships. Splinter is their father first, teacher second. The same way that they are brothers first, teammates second.
With this in mind, is really hard for me to believe that Leo (Rise Leo) would see a kid as his own, and would not explicitly call him "his son". Nor that he would not let himself be called "a father". And before I get ahead of myself, let me be clear: I do believe Leo loves Casey as family, as a son even, but I think he is putting up a wall between himself and Casey. This is so that Casey (Or Leo himself) don't see their relationship as a father & a son.
It can of course be argued that Casey is simply being respectful, or that the apocalypse made people hard and cold. But considering that Future! Leo still called Old! Mikey "Little Brother" (So is not like they are super closed up/ distancing themselves from family) I think the reason behind Leo putting up a wall between himself and Casey lies in a different problem.
Leo doesn't want to replace Casey's father.
Look, we might never known how Casey Jones JR came to exist, all we know is that he is Cassandra Jone's son. He might be a baby she found in a dumpster, he might be her biological kid. We don't know. The only thing we know is that he has his mother's last name, so IF there was a biological father, he was simply not in the picture. Whatever the case, I do think Casey jr had a father figure. Not biologically related to him (not necessarily, how you see it depends on you) , but someone who in his early years was the man Casey referred to as his dad.
Besides Casey calling Leo his "Sensei" he also used the word "Master" and "Commander" to refer to Mikey and April respectively. This 3, being the 3 to survive the longest in the apocalypse (We see Aprils body at the beginning of the movie, when the camera zooms out, meaning that Future! Leo and Casey were running away from what just killed Future! April). Similarly to Leo, I believe Mikey and April insisted on their titles being used use as a way to distance themselves from Casey, so that Casey didn't see them as a replacement of his mother and father. Because they all see themselves as uncles & aunt, and so it doesn't feel right to them to fill the hole Casey Jr's parents left.
The only one Casey doesn't refer to using a title is Donnie. "Donnie, you were the most brilliant, innovative mind of all time" This is the only time in the movie Casey refers to Donnie by name, and like I said, there is no title put behind it. I think the reason for this is that Donnie & Casey where actually quite close, considering he also has a bunch of tech he said Donnie gave to him himself. It appears to me to me that Donnie died a long time ago (In Casey jr's timeline), and the way Casey speaks about it is really fond. I would not be surprised if Donnie was who taught him math or how to read, nor would I be surprised if he called him "Professor Donatello."
And honeslty? This could be it, If you like it, you can head-cannon Donnie to be the one that stepped up and raised Casey jr as his son in the kids early years, and that Leo and Mikey put up a wall to not replace Donnie. I wont stop you... But I am not done, and there is a reason why I don't think is Donnie... but Raph.
Like I've said before, Casey calls everyone (but Donnie) by a title, including Cassandra, the moment he sees her he says "THAT'S MY MOM!!" ... Now, the only one he NEVER refers to by name, nor title in the movie is none other than Raphael. When Present! Leo confronts him about knowing that Raph would get captured by the Kraang, Casey's only response is saying "I didn't know, that... that didn't happen in my time" as he looks in pain and lost in though. As if he is remembering that time in his childhood when Raph, his dad, was still there.
I am not necessarily saying Raphael and Cassandra got together in the future (Though you are free to see it that way), but this pair has the potential, based on their scenes in the show, to be a really good friends. Best friends co-parenting is not the weirdest thing to see in a world where aliens have taken over. Besides, and this is really my main point:
Raphael practically raised his siblings. He is overprotective, he is always there for them, looking out for them. And if I am reading well what the show put down.... Splinter is a good man, and he tried, but he was not the best father... Raphael is not just their leader and older brother, they look up to him, and they go to him first when there is a problem.
What I am saying here is, of all the turtles, the one that would 100% look at the fatherless child of his best friend and say "I am a dad now" ...Is Raph. Not Donnie, not Mikey, nor Leo... Not because they don't have father instincts (I believe they all do), but because even if they would've taken on the role, Raph would have beat them to it. He would have just said it first.
Raphael would hold baby Casey jr, look at Cassandra in the eye, and say "Is anyone going to be his dad?" and THEN not wait for an answer.
I do honestly believe that's how it happened.
So, to conclude:
I do think Raph was the one Casey called "Dad" in his early years, due to the fact that he is the most likely to simply decide to parent a baby, and because Casey didn't seem to have any walls put up/ titles with him. However, it appears Raph died when Casey was really young, (I do also think that Cassandra died when Junior was really young) so for most of his life, Leo (Or maybe Donnie before he died) was the one raising Casey.
Leo probably noticed Casey looked up to him as a father (years after Raph's death), and Leo, not wanting to replace his brother, started insisting on being called Sensei. Soon, Master Michelangelo and Commander O'neil would follow Future! Leo's example.
"And so my friends, this is the "How Leo is actually an uncle" "Raphael is actually a dad" & "Casey Jr has lost a shit-ton of people and he just really wants a dad" ... Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk. "
- Fanficmaniatic.
#rottmnt movie#rottmnt movie spoilers#rottmnt#rottmnt meta#rottmnt theory#rise leo#rise casey jones jr#rise casey#cassandra jones#casey jr#rise raph#rottmnt raph#rottmnt leo#tmnt#rottmnt cassandra jones#rottmnt casey jones#the teenage mutant ninja turtles#rise of the tmnt#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles
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Mortal Kombat 1 x reader: Prolouge
The screen shows a dark void where sand drops through the neck of an hourglass into a heaped pile. the camera focuses on a single slow-falling grain of sand that bursts into a cosmic light. The light pulses and myriad galaxy clusters resolve in an abyss. the camera passes the many galaxies to focus on one galaxy as it spirals radiantly in the dark.
"Having liberated the Hourglass and become Keeper of Time, my next task was to restart history" Liu Kang's voice echoed out as the camera dove into the Galaxy through its clouds, to the asteroid belt around its solar system, and past a planet or molten rock "Not beholden to past events, I was free to craft a new era. It was with humility and restraint that I approached this blank canvas. After careful preparation, I began work. Painting over the darkness"
The black screen soon had multiple small bursts of light across the screen, then stars as it slowly descended onto the earth's atmosphere horizon where the sun shone in the center of the horizon "After eons passed, I sketched out the realms. After eons more, I brushed them in with life"
the camera soon zooms in on the earth revealing the clouds "In my new era, all beings will have the opportunity to find peace. Whether or not they do, will be their responsibility. For my power only permits me to begin this endeavor. It is the duty of mortals to finish it" The camera flies through the clouds, past them to the landscape below through the mountains to an open land where a lake lays with a statue of two dragons intertwined in the center in the distance. the title appears on the screen
Mortal Kombat 1
The screen fades into black.
The scene opens on a dreary, rainy day as (Name) stands in her empty bedroom packing the last of her belongings. Five years ago, in this world at least, she had been an eager, optimistic young woman. But the events of her last involvement in the Mortal Kombat universe had taken their toll on her and now she was a bitter, stubborn, and hostile woman who had seen far too much. With no family left in the world, (Name) decided to move away and put the past behind her.
As the rain continued to pour outside (Name) packed away her possessions, lost in thought. Her mind was filled with the memories of her life before, both the good and the bad. She had loved and been loved by her friends, by her loves and her daughter, laughed and cried with them through the victories and the loss, and seen dreams come true. But she had also seen heartache and sorrow, The death of Mileena cracked her heart, and the death of Hanzo fractured her soul but her daughter, Calithea, dying in her arms was what truly broke her. The image of her turning to sand in her hands is something she can never forget and never forgive. Logically, in the back of her mind, she knew Liu Kang had to do it but that was snuffed out instantly as she remembered how she begged and pleaded with him to stop but he didn't even look at her nor did he even hesitate to continue. She could never forgive him for what he had done. She couldn't even grieve properly, She couldn't just go to a therapist or vent to anyone because in her world it never happened, and if she did she would have been called insane and thrown in an asylum. The best she could do was go to a doctor for anti-depressants which barely did anything.
Having no person to unburden her emotions too, (Name) was left to suffer such tragedy all on her own. Even though she was sent back to her world she still carried that same pain with her. Everywhere she went, she could still hear Calithea's cries for her.
(Name) sighed as she placed the last photo frame in her box before taping it up. Even though when she was sent back to her world she went from being 28 to 20 years old the same age as when she left. She was now 24 with a 30-year-old mind. She stands back up looking around to see if she missed anything giving the viewer a good look at her.
She had long (hair colour) hair at tailbone length tied into a bun, a white singlet that hugged her curves, an orange oversized flannel, blue denim jeans, brown lace-up combat boots, and a brown hobo crossbody bag containing her Phone, its charger, her wallet, some gum, wireless earbuds, and her anti-depressants that she received from her doctor.
Physically she didn't look that much different from her 20-year-old self apart from the dull look in her eyes and the neutral expression she wears permanently. many of her old neighbors worried for her since she used to be so bright and cheerful and wondered what changed her into the woman she is now.
She sighs putting the box to the side and looking at how empty the room is. Over the 4 years, she had gotten rid of anything that reminded her of the world she once lived in and avoided anything Mortal Kombat-related. She sighs as she picks up her bag and pulls out her phone, checking the weather, to see if the rain won't be letting up. She looked so tired as she glanced at the window realising the rain wouldn't stop till tomorrow. Everything she owned was sent to her new apartment apart from a few things leaving only her wide-flat screen TV, her PS5 plugged in, a Collectors edition box, The art book for the game, and one unopened game out with a note on it. Though she hated the Mortal Kombat franchise the company sent her a test game of the latest one.
Mortal Kombat 1
"Fucking idiots" She grumbled walking over to the unopened game picking it up, with a scowl, and reading the note. It was a small printed note new Roman times print.
Dear (Name),
We are writing to thank you for agreeing to be part of our Beta Testing team for our upcoming game! We are looking forward to your help in making sure that the game is as perfect and entertaining as possible for our players.
We are sending you the only existing copy of the game for you to play through and report any glitches or bugs you may find. We understand that it is only a beta build of the game and that there will probably be some issues, and we greatly appreciate you taking the time to report any issues you may find.
Once again, thank you for being part of the Beta Testing process and helping us make the game as good as it can be. We look forward to seeing your feedback.
Sincerely,
WB games
She sighed agitated "I only agreed to do it because I needed the money," She said as she sat on the floor she opened the case and took out the disk. She slipped it into the PS5 slot picked up the remote and turned the TV on "Let's get this over with" she muttered as she set it up to download the game. While she waited she picked up the art book for the game, That they sent to her exclusively, looked through the concepts of the game, and looked at the different locations. after about 2 and a half hours she watched the title screen roll in "Finally" She said closing the book and picking up the controller ready to play.
2 hours later
"WHAT THE FUCK DID HE DO TO THE TIMELINE!?"
(Name) looked at the game in shock. She had started with the tower stories rather than the actual story mode. So far she got the gist of some things.
Kuai Liang was a scorpion and was going to marry Harumi, Hanzo was a 15-year-old boy, Sindel was going to die, Lie mei was a kombatant again, Shao Kahn was alive, Mileena and Kitana were twins, Tanya and Mileena in a secret relationship? (Name) groaned pinching the bridge of her nose and closing her eyes in frustration "Jesus Christ Liu Kang...making the timeline a reboot" She said before dropping her hand from her nose as she looked up at the roster for the next ladder. It didn't hurt her that Mileena was with Tanya if anything She felt slightly happy that her former love found her happiness. Her eyes soften "Well done, Beautiful" She whispered.
"Alright. Who's next?" She says as she flits around the screen when she finally lands on Geras selects his character and uses Sub-Zero as the cameo. His first opponent is Kitana and Scorpion. (Name) waits for the signal to fight when the intros are finished the words fight appear on the screen. She goes to move Geras but nothing happens "...What the..." She mumbles and fiddles with the controller. The strange thing is Kitana isn't moving either just standing there. (Name) grows frustrated "Come on Gera! move!" She shouts as thunder sounds off outside the window causing a flash of light across the dark room...When Geras moves.
Facing her.
(Name) is confused seeing him fully face her, as Kitana disappears, and the camera places him at the center of the screen. He places his hands behind his back "My apologies, Lady (Name), for interrupting your work" He states. (Name)'s jaw drops "How is this..." She muttered unaware of the sand slowly sifting across the floor behind her "We do not have much time. I am sorry for this, My Lady" He said looking ashamed confusing (Name) further "What are you-?!" She is interrupted by the sand behind her whipping around her room like a storm causing her to cross her arms over to cover her eyes as her braids flay erratically around in the storm as does her bag and flannel. The camera moves to her feet as they turn to sand and quickly moves up her body soon covering her. The sand formed a tornado around her before the top of it darted towards the TV pulling her in along with it.
Once the storm subsided all that was left behind was some sand on the ground before the screen faded to black
"Forgive me, My Lady...But this universe needs you now more than ever"
The scene changes to the sun that had yet to come up over the horizon, giving the landscape an eerie and missed hue. The sky was still painted various shades of navy blue and silver, fading out into the darkness of night underneath the stars. The air was still and silent as the village of Fengjian lay – untouched by any sound – just the idyllic meadows, the few tall trees, and the distant rolling hills.
(Name) was lying unconscious on the ground, on her back, with her bag around her. She stirred awake as the sunlight hit her closed eyes, making them flutter open. She briefly opens them before squeezing them shut and slowly sitting up holding her head with one hand while using the other to prop herself up groaning in pain "Ooooh...my head..." She said trying to open her eyes. Once she does she quickly takes notice of where she is. She looks around the vast land where she sees nearly nothing but rolling hills and flat fields for farming. She sees buildings in the distance and notices some of them look familiar "...no..." She mutters as she staggers to her feet and stumbles forward a bit recognising the biggest building.
The Fengjian teahouse.
Her eyes go from shocked to angry in a matter of seconds, her teeth gritted "You've got to be FUCKING KIDDING ME!" She yelled in anger. She couldn't believe that she was back in the same universe that had caused her so much pain. The tears started to flow, and she felt her chest constrict with emotion. She had been through this universe before, and the memories of the pain it had caused her came flooding back in a wave of agony. She felt so powerless, so helpless, and her anger grew with each passing second.
She couldn't believe she had been brought back here. It was like a cruel joke, a punishment for something she hadn't even done. She wanted to lash out, to fight back, to do something to make it all go away, but there was nothing she could do. She slowly started to calm down and wipe her tears.
"My goodness. Why are you crying, Young lady?"
(Name) turned her head to face who spoke to her. There stood an old woman wearing a slightly dulled pink and purple long-sleeved qipao dress, with embroidered sleeves, a purple sash around her waist, brown pants underneath, white sneakers, and a cigarette packet sticking up out of the sash a bit. her face showed many wrinkles indicating her age was somewhere in the 70s or even 80s, her hair grey pulled back into a neat and flower-like bun held together with a blue flower hairpin and a kind smile.
Understanding that the woman who stood beside her was the character Madam Bo was a shock and it truly showed "Well?" Madam Bo asked "I...I um...I'm sorry..."(Name) said looking down ashamed "I'm just lost, ma'am, I've-" "I can see that. Not many people walk around dressed like that unless they're from out of the country" Madam Bo interrupted gesturing to (Name)'s clothes and making her look down with a frown "You new or something?" (Name) looked at Madam Bo "Something like that" She replied bending down and picking up her bag to sling it across her body. She dug through it and checked her phone to see if it was working still, thankfully it still worked causing a sigh of relief to escape her. She turned to Madam Bo "Thank you for checking on me but I better get going...I need to find a way to..." (Name) trailed off shaking her head before beginning to walk away.
"I would expect nothing less from you, Viper"
(Name) stopped in her tracks before slowly looking back at, the now smirking, Madam Bo ".....How do you know that name?" She whispered. Madam Bo simply chuckled and walked past her smiling after walking a few feet ahead she turned back to (Name) "Well? follow and find out" She said and continued walking having (Name) quickly stumble to catch up to her.
The scene changes to Madam Bo and (Name) sitting at a table in the teahouse with two cups of hot tea and a large book on the table while her bag hangs on the back of the chair. The Tea House is Fengjian's heart and soul. Villagers gather here to relax, gossip, and enjoy Madam Bo's homestyle cookery. Whether you're starting your day, or winding down at night, the Tea House has a special blend made just for you. (Name) takes the cup of tea thanking Madam Bo "You called me Viper. How exactly do you know that name? Or how you know that name belonged to me?" She asked. Madam Bo smiled "Looks like you don't even know who YOU are, my dear" She replied as she opened the large book to a marked page before sliding across the table to (Name).
The old thick book was a large, rectangular object, bound in brown leather. Its pages were yellowed with age, and some were starting to come loose. The edges of the pages were worn from the thousands of times they had been read and consulted. Its spine was creased, as if its old, leather cover had been opened and closed countless times. Splashed across its exterior was a maroon pattern, which only added to its aged look. If one were to look closely, one would notice small imperfections, like dented corners, which further attested to its years of use. She looked down at the book in confusion then shock.
The book depicted her as some kind of legend. It described her to be a fierce warrior of truth and justice who would use her flames to snuff out those who would harm others for their selfish gain but would shelter those who were in need. The legend for her was that she disappeared one day never to be seen again. On the left side of the book were two paintings of her. In one of them, her hair was pulled back into a braid with a gold ribbon running through it, an orange-colored tunic underneath a gold breast/torso plate, gold wrist guards, burgundy long pants, brown boots with gold thigh guards, one-hand raised holding a ball of fire, looking at it with anger, while the other leaning on a large sword. The other one right was of her wearing an off-shoulder orange crop bra with a gold band under the bust holding an amber gem in its center, her long skirt ombres from orange to cream with deep orange clothes wrapped around her hips similar to ancient Egyptians, gold armlets and wrist guards with a silk cream colored material on both arms connected, a gold intricate collar and a light orange lily tucked behind her ear. Her long (hair colour) hair is loose and reaching the floor as she holds a ball of embers in one raised hand smiling softly at it.
(Name) was in shock and confusion at the picture and looks back at Madam Bo, who gives her a knowing smile, confused even more "I...I don't understand...how am I a part of this..." She held her tongue from saying timeline making Madem Bo believe she was at a loss for words causing her to chuckle "Your legacy has been around since before the time of the great Kung Lao, my dear, crafted into the very walls of shaolin minds and history. The name everyone hears when they see this image? Viper" She says lighting a cigarette "This doesn't make sense though. I'm not Viper...not anymore" (Name) says sadly looking away. Madam Bo looked at her for a few moments and inhaled her cigarette before exhaling "Well then...If you're not Viper anymore what do I call you?" She asked "(Name)...just (Name)" (Name) replied looking back up at her "Alright (Name). I am Madam Bo" "It's a pleasure to meet you, Madam Bo...you said the shaolin know about me?"
Madame Bo nods "Indeed as do a few other cultures. Not sure how many exactly but a few at least. Each one depicts you differently but always with the same face" "Wow" Madam Bo smirks "We have a lot to talk about, My dear"
The scene changes to the morning light streaming into an old dusty room and the dust particles glowed in the air like fireflies. It was the bedroom of an old teahouse, and the furniture was a testament to the rural Chinese designs of the past.
In the corner of the room, there was a wooden bed that was almost a century old. It was made with a dark lacquered finish. The headboard of the bed was a simple design with little child drawings carved into it. On the bed was a quilt made of cotton, and it was the color of sand.
On the opposite wall of the bed was a wooden armoire. The armoire was painted in a bright red color, and its doors were adorned with intricate designs of cranes and bamboo. Inside the armoire were several shelves and drawers, filled with clothing and other items.
In the center of the room was a black lacquered table. The table was of a unique design, its legs were curved elegantly, and its surface was painted with a pattern of white and gold. On the table was a vase filled with fresh flowers, and several teacups filled with tea.
On the wall opposite the table was a large mirror. The frame of the mirror was made of dark lacquered wood, and it was intricately carved with scenes of nature. There were several shelves beneath the mirror, and on them were several items of clothing and other decorations.
On the wall next to the armoire was a painting of a rural Chinese landscape. The painting was done in a traditional style, and it depicted a tranquil scene. The colors were vibrant, and the detail was exquisite.
The room was filled with many other items, all of which were made in the old rural Chinese style. There were several lamps, which were made of brass and glass, and they cast a soft glow throughout the room. There were also several wooden chairs, and they were covered in embroidered cushions.
The walls of the bedroom were adorned with many paintings and tapestries. The paintings depicted scenes of rural Chinese life, and the tapestries were of the same style. The colors were bright and vivid, and they were a reminder of the old days.
The room was filled with a sense of nostalgia, and it was easy to imagine the people who used to occupy this room. The furniture was worn, but still beautiful, and it was a testament to the skill of the people who crafted it. The room was a reminder of the beauty of rural China, and it was a place of peace and tranquility. Madam Bo and (Name) stepped into the room "This is where you will be staying, my dear, it's been many years since someone has occupied this room" She said as she began to walk out "Thank you, Madam Bo" (Name) said smiling softly and placing her bag on the dusty bed.
(Name) is left with her thoughts as she sits on the bed. She looks down at her hands going through her memories as to how this had happened "Geras....why did you bring me into this?" She whispered to herself.
The scene changes to what seems to be a few days later (Name) isn't one to talk to anyone. where she had once been someone happy to talk to anyone now she preferred the solitude and quiet of her loneliness. It wasn't that she couldn't talk to anyone it was that she didn't want to get attached to anyone only to lose them. No smile was ever present on her face and if there was one it was out of politeness. Never out of joy.
As she strolled through the teahouse, the smell of nutmeg, pepper, and cinnamon aromas filled the air. (Name)'s ears perked up as she heard the faint sound of a raised voice - it was coming from the kitchen. She stopped and listened more closely, attempting to understand just what was driving the commotion.
(Name) ducked her head around the corner and spotted two flustered cooks, one of them with their hair all askew and their faces flush. It didn't take a genius to figure out what was happening. The stove, close to the center of the kitchen, had gone kaput and wouldn't light up.
The first of the two cooks was a slim man with jet-black hair that hung over his forehead. He had sharp, almond-shaped eyes that sparkled with a spark of creativity, and a slightly crooked nose that hinted at an interesting backstory. He was dressed in a crisp, spotless white chef’s coat with black buttons, dark trousers, and spotless safety shoes. To complete the ensemble, he had a white cook’s apron around his waist.
The second cook was a bigger man, but he was also tall and muscularly built. He had a rounder face, and his head was shaved close. He wore an identical chef’s coat to the first cook, but his trousers had thick white stripes down the sides. To finish his uniform, he wore a pair of heavy-looking black boots.
The large stove, in question, looks aged and impressive, standing at about the same height as a person and spanning six square feet in width and length. Its upper surface is covered in ornate blue embossed tile framed in black metal which gives it a unique appearance. Its sides are decorated with intricate designs, from swirling dragons to blooming lotus flowers, all highlighted with small bits of colorful ceramic.
The stove has two large central openings accessible from both sides and two smaller ones at the back. They are each covered by elaborately designed metal covers. The edges of the stove are made of sturdy iron and each one is detailed with beautiful etchings along each side. There are two large trays located at the front and back of the stove and within each tray are individual removable metal bowls which are used to cook a variety of dishes.
The stove is powered by a large wood or charcoal-filled fire bowl housed underneath. The fire is controlled by two large handles located on either side of the stove. Also underneath, two metal racks act as shelves, helping to contain the heat during cooking.
(Name) stepped closer but hesitated questioning herself if was she overstepping her boundaries or being too intrusive. But she quickly squashed these thoughts, opting to help instead. She cleared her throat and made her presence known "Hey...Is there anything I can do to help?" She asked a bit nervous.
The two cooks broke off from their quarrel and looked at (Name) with surprise. They were hesitant until one of them sighed "How much do you know about old stoves?" He asked "A bit not much but it can't hurt to look," she said as she removed her flannel and knelt by the stove, taking a moment to survey the problem before opening it up. She saw immediately the issue "Well there's your problem! When was the last time you guys cleaned this thing?" She asked, her voice reverberating in the stove "There's a build-up of thick soot within the innards I'm pretty sure that's what's preventing the flint from sparking up"
For what felt like an eternity, (Name) sank her hands deeply into the stove, searching blindly for the hard-to-find components. She was passed a variety of tools by the cooks, their faces increasingly worried as the minutes trundled by. (Name) worked diligently, her arms aching from digging deep within the machines' innards, her fingertips sore from her search.
Finally, after pushing herself to the brink, (Name) pulled her hand from the stove with a satisfaction- she had done it. Using the tools provided, she had successfully cleaned out the soot and ash build-up and, as if by magic, the flint sparked to life, returning the stove to its full glory. The kitchen staff erupted into cheers, high-fiving her in congratulations. (Name) watched as they celebrated, feeling her heart swell with pride.
The scene changed to the back of the teahouse a month later. There lay a small garden that was a sight to behold. , a collection of lush green vegetation could be found, surrounded by a simple wooden fence. Sitting at the back of the teahouse, the garden was only just in the process of becoming something more than an outlet for (Name).
(Name) had become responsible for the garden's well-being since some of the servers told her about the abandonment it received. Though reserved and unsociable due to her wishes not to get close to anyone, (Name)'s passion for the garden was evident in her approach, and her gentle demeanor often allowed her to be just the right amount of charming with a subtle hint of authority if needed.
(Name) would start her work late in the morning when the sun rose high into the sky, welcoming the day's mild heat. She could be spotted in the garden, trowel in hand, planting various fruits, berries, vegetables, herbs, and spices into the soft dirt. The summer breeze carried the hint of lavender and basil past her nose, making it difficult to retain focus. With the air full of the aroma of soil, (Name)'s dedication to the task at hand was unwavering.
The garden was a place of respite for her from the crowds and gave her the ability to avoid anyone who was involved directly with the Mortal Kombat events yet to come. With the garden rows neatly arranged from one end to the other, it was a sight to take in. The fruit bushes were lined up at the northern corner of the garden and stretched up to the edges side by side, branded with the same rust-colored wooden stakes that marked the entirety of the garden. The vegetables, such as pumpkins, beans, and squash, were placed together along the western side, each one accompanied by its sturdy trellis crafted from wood and metallic wire. The southern section bowed out inwards as the herbs and spices were planted in several mounds along the ground, creating an inviting pathway for anyone ready to explore the area.
The amount of money she spent on buying the already sprouted plants that would grow into fruits and vegetables to speed up the process of gaining fresh produce had left her in debt with Madam Bo even more due to the fact that she hadn't had any money when she arrived. She felt guilty borrowing the money from her but swore she'd pay everything back to her.
Though it didn't look like much, the garden was a beloved part of her life in the village. (Name) enjoyed no words of praise nor monetary reward, but the small glimmer in her eyes when she gave anything produced to Madam Bo to use was all that was needed to be told how fulfilled she felt when she grew her produce.
Tucked away at the back of the teahouse, the small garden was the perfect place to while away the afternoon on a sunny day. The warmth of the sun shining high above was inviting and refreshing. Surrounded by a fence of simple timber, this little sanctuary remained hidden from prying eyes. Here, (Name)'s passion for her work was showcased and appreciated, and it was here that the plants of this proud oasis were brought to life.
The scene changes to the outside of the teahouse at the back away from the garden. grunting is heard from around the corner where (Name) is striking a thick wooden post sticking out of the ground with her fists, which are wrapped up in bandages, and her feet. Her flannel is hung over a fence nearby as she hits the post over and over and over again. Her focus is solely on the post as she hits it ignoring any soreness or sting in her hands. Despite not being able to train for years she never forgot how to fight. Not after her training with the SF, not after her training with Mileena nor after her training with the Shirai ryu. Those memories she could look back on with fondness.
It had been nearly a month since she arrived back in this universe, where she trained in secret where the training post was, it wasn’t until now, as she stood at the back of the teahouse and unleashed her ferocious strikes and kicks against a thick wooden post, that she truly felt alive and in control. Her feet twisted and spun as she moved around the post, her arms jabbing and blocking as she switched between techniques. The air seemed to crackle with electricity as she attacked the post over and over again, a fierceness in her movements that belied her age.
It was different from her training from years ago for sure. In the months she's been here she hadn't been able to conjure a single flame not even a spark. Her fire abilities seem to have disappeared. Once again she had lost another part of herself that she had hoped to find returning to this world as a small consolation. As disappointing as it was to lose them maybe it was for the best. She felt a little less troubled by the fact that maybe she could hide away from whatever Mortal Kombat tournament would take place and maybe then avoid whatever Geras brought her here for.
For minutes that seemed like hours, (Name) repeated her strikes and kicks until her body ached and her breathing became labored. But she pushed on, leaning into each strike and kick, her mind repeating her movements as if she were in a trance. The post creaked and groaned as it withstood her assault, but still, it did not give way. Memories flooded her mind with every strike.
Her first encounter with Raiden and Liu Kang
Strike
Meeting Scorpion
Strike
Fighting Shang Tsung
Strike
Meeting Mileena
Strike
Her first kiss with Tomas
strike
Falling for Mileena
Strike
Losing her
Strike
Finding Calithea
Strike
Losing Hanzo
Strike
LoSiNg CaLiThEa!
STRIKE
Suddenly, a force much greater than anything she had previously exerted seemed to pass through her body. She stepped back and released a loud cry, her spinning heel kick connecting squarely with the post. The wood split in half, both pieces tumbling to the ground.
(Name) stood back, panting for breath, yet feeling strangely triumphant. She took a few paces back, her eyes fixed on the broken post then she looked down at her hands, her knuckles red, bleeding a bit, and bruised up, with a nod as she clenched them "Still got it" She said before wiping the sweat off her brow then walking to the fence to grab her flannel.
Unknown to her that watching from the top balcony of the teahouse was Madam Bo. She was smiling with a knowing glimmer in her eyes "And she says she's not Viper anymore" She said laughing to herself before walking back into the teahouse to write a letter to a certain god that there was another candidate for him.
The scene changes to the balcony of the teahouse where (Name) sits alone on the railing and looks up at the moon. She thought of all the promises she made to herself that she never kept. Tears began filling her eyes as the realization that she still hadn't gotten over what Liu Kang did to her nor was she over the fact that no one would know her as she was instead they would see a legendary hero...not the friend who stood by their side.
(Name) raised her spirited drink to her lips and took a sip. The warmth of the liquid felt comforting and she found comfort in the taste. She closed her eyes and let the wind dance around her flushed face. She had been drinking for an hour by now and borderline was drunk at this point but still maintained her balance on the railing.
"Geras...Why did you have to bring me back?"
She opened her eyes slowly staring up at the moon, her eyes melancholic and dulled, as she let the alcohol in her system cloud her mind and speak without a filter.
"You couldn't have let me be, huh? Y-you-you-you think that what? Just because I came to the last two times to help that I'm some kind of go-too for fixing his problems? News flash, Geras, I'm not!" Tears began streaming down her flushed cheeks, in frustration, as her eyes reddened and anger shone through "I'm not some toy you get to pick up and play with and then discard when you're bored! I'm alive, I think, I feel, I have a heart that beats and eyes that can see this world for what it is! A joke and an absolute joke! The story will end exactly the same as it did with the other ones! so why take me away? Why bring me back into this shit when everything stays the way it was written! Everyone got a happy ending except for me! What the fuck is that about!?"
She drops her head low for a few moments before looking back up in pain and sorrow with the look of defeat in her eyes "I've already lost...so much, Geras,...the woman I loved, The man I loved...for fuck sake my own daughter...Haven't I given enough? Haven't I suffered enough by now for you to just leave me alone?" The moon gives no reply as (Name) openly sobs into her hands, her body shaking with each sob. She allows her drunken grief to consume her as she cries unaware of the eyes watching her, from beyond the stars, with regret and remorse dancing in them. The screen fades to black with (Name)'s sobbing slowly fading.
"I am sorry, My Lady, but this is needed for this world...and for you"
The scene opens to 2 months afterward with the sun shining down on (Name) and Madam Bo as they stand out the front of the teahouse. (Name)'s clothes have changed to a white peasant blouse with sleeves to the elbows, a long ankle-length green skirt, brown flats with crossover straps, her hobo crossbody bag with her clothes, and a white wide-brim sunhat with a black ribbon around it. Her hair was in braids again but longer above her mid-thigh. The travel cart was making the last calls for departure.
"You sure you can't stay a little longer, Dear?" Madam Bo asked with a sad frown on her face as she straightened up (Name)'s shirt "Ma, I'm fine really. I promise I'll write to you every week to let you know how I'm doing" (Name) said trying to assure Madam Bo. She had started Calling Madam Bo 'Ma' around a month ago and it just stuck. Madam Bo sighed as she let her hands drop to her side and looked (Name) in the eye "You'd better. I can't have you disappearing on me" "I'll be ok, Ma, I'll come back in 3 months I swear. I just want to travel for a bit and make something of myself I don't want the name 'Viper' being the only thing that defines me" (Name) replied "I know. It was nice having you here but even I know I can't keep you here forever" Madam Bo said before hugging (Name) "Make sure you come back in 3 months on the dot" (Name) nodded "I promise, Ma, I promise!"
"Last call for departure!" The cart driver called out causing Madam Bo to let go and (Name) to quickly dash off to the cart. after a few steps, she bumped into someone causing the hat to fly off and onto the ground"Oh! I'm so sorry! Here let me get...that" The person said gently picking up the hat "No it's my fault really" (Name) said taking the hat from the man. His brown eyes meet hers as he looks at her from underneath his Chinese coolie hat not used to seeing a new face in Fengjian. (Name) quickly turns to the cart and hops onto it "BYE MA!" She called out as it drove off down the road leaving the man to watch her as she fades off into the distance while Madam Bo waves goodbye to her 'daughter' "You're here early today. Aren't you, Raiden?" Madam Bo asked not taking her eyes off the cart "I wanted to come here for once without having to foot the bill for Kung Lao," He said laughing.
The scene changes to a village bathed in moonlight. (Name) had been wandering for what felt like an eternity, even though it had only been a few days. She had turned off the main road in favor of taking the scenic route, winding her way through the villages and hamlets that dotted the countryside. This late in-the-evening air was cool and still, with nothing but the faint buzz of cicadas and distant birdsong to break the silence.
(Name) slowly made her way through the village, the full moon lighting her path as she walked. She saw as the buildings of the village shimmered in the light, their sloped roofs reaching up into the night sky. The dirt road streets were so quiet with only the occasional villager out and about. She could see people walking back to their homes, while some were huddled near the local taverns sipping from their drinks and chatting.
As (Name) walked further into the village she noticed how dark it was, shadowed alleys in the darkness, mysterious buildings lit up by the dimly lit lanterns that lined the roads. The windows of the buildings glowed yellow in the moonlight, settlers were asleep inside their homes. Along the way, she saw Chinese symbols and intricate carvings encapsulated in the walls of the village buildings, which shined in the lantern light as she passed them.
As (Name) walked further, she sensed something was off. She could feel a tingling along the edges of her skin, a warning sign that something was amiss. She kept walking, her pace becoming more vigilant and alert to her surroundings.
Just then, she heard a commotion ahead of her. It sounded like shouting and cursing coming from a nearby alley. (Name) quietly picked up her pace, curiosity getting the better of her.
As she rounded the corner, she was horrified to find a group of roughly seven men standing with pipes and clubs, surrounding a little girl, with black hair and fair skin, who was huddled against her unconscious mother’s body. The girl was sobbing and shaking her mother, desperately trying to wake her.
The little girl looked too much like Calithea.
(Name) felt a wave of pure rage surge through her; these men were preying on this defenseless woman and her child. There was no way (Name) could let this stand. She rushed forward, determined to protect them.
As she barged her way through the crowd, the men stopped in surprise. (Name) felt something stir deep within her, something she had long suppressed but which now seemed to be reaching out in a desperate attempt to protect the two civilians, and before she knew what was happening, she felt the heat beginning to build in her palms and arms. Tendrils of flames started to erupt, curling and folding around each other, growing ever larger and brighter. As she raised her arms, they began to spread outwards around her body.
The men seemed surprised by the sudden display of power in front of them and took a couple of steps back. (Name)'s flames continued to build, her anger and outrage at the injustice of this unfairness morphing and twisting the fire into shapes and colors that she had never seen before.
The flames reached out further, encircling (Name) in a protective flame that extended outwards in all directions, blocking the brutes from getting close enough to do any additional harm.
(Name) stood there, her heart racing and her emotions in a knot, feeling her power but also feeling utterly drained and exhausted. She sent a wave of fire and energy around her, pushing the men away and ushering in a sense of safety and protection for the woman and her daughter.
The men exchanged terrified looks and turned to flee before the furious inferno that had appeared before them. (Name) scoffed at the retreating forms, her hands extinguished and her fury abating.
She then looked down at her hands in confusion. She hadn't used her fire abilities in years thinking they had disappeared, and yet here they were, responding to her anger as if they had always been a part of her. She shook her head, her recent revelations pushed to the back of her mind.
She turned to find the little girl still sitting beside her unconscious mother, eyes wide with shock. (Name) knelt before her and gently asked, “Are you alright?”
The girl nodded looking up at her with big green eyes, Kaitlyns heart sank slightly as that was the only one of the few differences between her and Calithea, "Thank you, Miss" She sniffled. (Name) waved her thanks away "No problem but we need to get you're mum to a doctor. Don't worry, doll, I got her" (Name) said picking up the mother and carrying her on her back.
(Name) quickly found the local doctor’s office after walking with the little girl for a few minutes, thankfully they were still open but the looks on their faces when they saw (Name) carrying the mother and the daughter standing next to her with scratches was a sight. After some medical attention and a few hours of rest, the woman was thankfully alright. (Name) was exhausted by the evening’s events and knew she needed rest. She continued on her journey and soon found the local inn where she was able to get a much-needed night’s sleep.
The following morning, (Name) awoke to a knock at the door. She opened it to find the same little girl from the night before, with her mother behind her, standing before her, tears in her eyes and a silver necklace in her hands "Thank you for protecting my mommy and me!" she once again thanked her for her help, before slipping the necklace into (Name)’s hand and running away with her mother following after her. (Name) looked after her, moved by the girl’s appreciation. She opened her hand to find the necklace with a simple circle pendant. Her heart swelled with the girls' kindness as she slipped the necklace on yet she still didn't smile but there was a slight twinkle in her eyes.
2 months later reads across the screen changing the scene to the village where the sound of a monkey wrench being used can be heard coming from an open shed. (Name) sat in her open shed, her motorcycle in pieces in front of her. The sun was high, beating down on her and the few buildings that populated the area. (Name) had been in this village for exactly two months now, and in that time it had become her home. In the short time she had been there, those in the small town had come to rely on her for fixing their various things.
She nods to herself as she surveyed her work. From where she was sitting, the motorcycle was made up of titanium, steel, and tungsten parts - all put together by her.
(Name) had on long jeans, her white singlet, and her brown boots. Her (hair colour) hair was tied up in a high bun, ensuring it stayed out of the way as she worked on her motorcycle's engine. Not that it mattered, as she already had smudges of oil on her otherwise fair skin. luckily she hung up her flannel on the hook behind her.
Glancing around the village, (Name) thought to herself that it was hot. She thought of the heat that must have been radiating from her shed, and of how she had been there all day with no break - not even for lunch. (Name) knelt in front of her bike and inspected the engine, her brow furrowed in contemplation "Son of a bitch" She grumbled as she worked on putting the engine together. She had to obtain the specific metals so that she could have her bike run on two different fuel sources. Petrol of course to avoid any unwanted attention not like the other option.
Her fire.
She had planned this for the past month and a half. Getting the materials was easy it was forging the parts that were hard for her. Tungsten and titanium don't melt easily. Tungesten melts at 5600* while titanium melts at 3000* She had to figure out how to meld them together with steel so that she could build the bike up from scratch. using the two specific metals made her bike damn near fireproof meaning she couldn't melt it as long as she didn't use her fire at half-strength which was easy enough.
She had been training with her abilities in the fields on some nights away from any civilian life to prevent any injuries to others. They hadn't changed all that much, maybe her anger fueled it a bit too much at times, yes but there wasn't all that much different from what she used to do.
The sun was beginning to dip in the sky, and (Name) knew it was about time to end her day's work. As she collected her tools and carefully put the pieces of her bike back in place.
The cruiser motorcycle was a sight to behold, sleek and powerful, yet elegant and compact. It was a perfect combination of classic looks and heavy-duty performance. Its frame was constructed from a combination of titanium, tungsten, and steel, all of which lent the bike its incredible fire and heat resistance, able to withstand temperatures of up to 5000 degrees Celsius. The black leather seating was comfortable yet beautiful, the handlebars soft and easy to hold onto, and the strong headlight shone brightly during the night.
To complete the look were two side saddle bags, affixed to each side of the bike for storage. These bags were made of tough leather, able to resist wear and tear, as well as provide plenty of space for items.
Yet, the most impressive feature of this cruiser motorcycle was its ability to run on her firepower. In the event of a fuel shortage, the bike would still be able to function from the energy generated by the fire she supplied. This allowed it to be used in areas where fuel was not easily available, making it an even more reliable and attractive vehicle.
The bike was energized by the roar of its engine, capable of moving forward at an impressive speed. By its looks, it was clear that it was designed to be a reliable and steady machine, one that its rider could count on.
This cruiser motorcycle was a sight to behold, a brilliant combination of beauty and performance that was sure to make any rider proud. It was robust and dependable, able to withstand intense heat and fire, and yet still retain its style and charm. Its strong headlight and side saddle bags provided extra functionality, and its ability to run on firepower made it an invaluable tool for remote studies. This hefty, classic-looking bike was a true powerhouse that any rider could count on.
She loved how beautifully put together her bike was as she began closing up the shed with a nod of approval and locked it up. She turned around with her toolbox in one hand and her hoodie in the other as she made her way back to her little house ready for what was to come.
Later that night they came back.
The six bandits were a motley crew, all of them draped in tattered cloaks and cloaked in hoods that hid their true identities. The leader of the pack had a jagged scar running down his left cheek, and the others - six men and three women - were equally as rough in appearance.
They burst through the village in the dead of night, their cackles ringing out loud across the sleeping streets. The bandits wasted no time messing with the villagers' stalls, standing firm with their arms crossed even in the face of the enraged complaints of the angry vendors. They plundered and tore through the booths, grasping merchandise in their hands and stuffing their bags with all they could find. The leader of the bandits went around brandishing a hefty stick, lashing out at anyone who looked twice at them.
The villagers, rightfully scared of the bandits' violent behavior, stayed indoors as the bandits pillaged the stalls to their heart's content. The frightened market-goers looked out from their windows at the chaotic scene developing before their eyes, familiar faces that had been shopping there for years now dreading the thought of the bandits returning. The villagers acted like rats in a maze, waiting for the bandits to eventually release them from their fear.
The six bandits were loud and oppressive, their bulky frames intimidating and their unkempt hair billowing in the night breeze. They were clad in leather and carried daggers and swords in makeshift scabbards. Their boots stomped on the cobblestones as they began to make off with their plunder. The villagers, scared and trembling, waited hunkered in their homes waiting until the bandits had moved on.
But the bandits were unaware of the return of a legend.
"I don't think those belong to you"
The bandits look around trying to find who dared to speak out against them "Up here" They all look up to the building where the moon hangs over.
There on the roof stood a silhouetted figure loomed over them. Her mid-thigh length hair floated slightly in the wind gently, her nose and mouth covered by a black bandana, a black sleeveless shirt, black fingerless gloves, black leggings, black ankle boots with silver rivets on the sides, chains wrapped around both of her forearms, a long black pole strapped to her back and her piercing (eye colour) eyes trained on them in a glare as she stood there in a crouched position with her forearms laying on her thighs.
"What the-" "Drop the valuables they're not yours. If you do that you can walk away without any harm done. You DON'T drop them you won't be walking away from this" (Name) said in a calm and ice-cold tone of voice that sent shivers of fear down some of their spines. One of the women stepped up. "Like we'll listen to you! Fucking coward standing above us up there!" She yelled up making some of her friends laugh.
(Name) remains silent for a few moments before she straightens herself up "I gave you a chance. Now suffer the consequences" she says as she walks to the side of the roof and drops into the dark alley disappearing into its inky blackness. It's silent for a few moments and the bandits begin to believe that she is all bark and no bite laughing and mocking her.
until there was a little light in the alley.
In the darkness, (Name) raised her arms and suddenly the alleyway transformed. Fire engulfed the walls and the ground beneath them seemed to ripple as flames lapped up against the stone. She had a scythe in one hand--its silver blade reflecting the orange light as its tip cut through the air. In the other was a chain of metal, glinting in the fire. While the chains were simple silver the Scythe was another story.
The long scythe was awe-inspiring and had a dangerous air about it. It was a thing of beauty; not that of the clean and inoffensive kind, but rather, of a wild, feral beauty.
The scythe had two distinct colors, complimentary and in perfect harmony: silver and black. The pole was a black design with slim lines through it like cracks in the ground which seemed to show the inside of the scythe, slim and strong. The silver blade was set on a short yet powerful black iron arm, where the design on the handle stood out exquisitely despite its darkness. The blade itself was in the shape of a large fang but still looked very similar to that of a grim reaper's scythe. the design on it was simple for the most part, with no special designs, and no patterns but the edge of the blade was more defined as a lighter silver.
The bandits stood in shock. The female vigilante had come for them and she wasn't here to give them another chance.
She strode towards them, her movements fluid and graceful as the flames danced around her. With one swift movement, she swung her scythe, and as the lines on either side of the pole lit up with her fire, the edge of the blade glowed bright and sent the flames soaring outwards, scorching the faces of the bandits and immolating the stone. The bandits yelled and scrambled, trying to outrun the fire, but the woman was relentless. She swung her scythe at the first bandit severing his arm from above the elbow. He screams in pain but is quickly silenced by her decapitating him. Another bandit tried to charge at her but didn't get even close as she swung her scythe again upwards slicing her left leg off and making her scream and howl in pain. The man and the other two women tried to run from her. A chain flew out from the alley and wrapped around one of the women's throats choking her. (Name) heated the metal causing the chain around her forearm and hand to glow bright with the conducted heat. The glow traveled up the chain to around the woman's neck. She tried to scream but the glowling hot chain was pulled back severing her head and letting it roll on the ground.
(Name) twirled her scythe and sent out a shockwave of flame that engulfed them, burning them to ashes in a matter of seconds leaving two of the bandits alive and on their asses.
The two bandits looked at each other in horror then at (Name) as she loomed over them like a specter of hell the moon shadowing her features except for her glowling eyes that held no remorse. Just a cold dead stare "P-Please! w-w-we're sorry! we'll give everything back! we swear!" The female bandit from earlier stammered as her leader trembled in fear with sweat beading from his head. (Name) tilted her head and narrowed her eyes "....You are to leave everything you have taken from these people...then you will spread a message for me to every single one of your friends and anyone else who wants to prey on the innocent again" (Name) said calmly with venom dripping from her voice as she leaned in closer causing the pair to shake with fear seeing her grip tighten on her scythe still glowing with fire. The wind carried a chill throughout the village, the fire behind her causing her eyes to look like a predator about to pounce on their prey, her hair being highlighted by its light.
"Viper has returned. She is here to bring swift justice to the degenerates of this world, and none shall be spared her wrath"
The two bandits nod shaking and running off with nothing but the clothes on their backs into the night. (Name) stood in the center, surveying the carnage, her hair billowing in the wind. Satisfied that justice had been served, she extinguished the last traces of flame stepped away from the alleyway entrance, and walked down the street retracting her chains back to her forearms.
This was the monster she had hidden. The monster who fed on her anger, her rage, her heartbreak, and her sorrow. She may be a legend in the books but she took her anger out on those who thought they were above consequence.
Gone was the naive 18-year-old girl who looked at this world with wide eyes and a bright smile, gone was the 22-year-old who was in love and hoped for a future where she could have peace, and gone was the 28-year-old who was a mother in bliss ready to be with the man she loved. Now all that remains is the 24-year-old woman who simply existed and never asked for more.
Kindness, for her, was something she would always have but she swore to keep others at arm's length. (Name) sighs pulling down her mouth mask before returning to her small house to clean off her scythe.
As the fires had begun to die out the darkness of the night swallowed her up, leaving nothing but silence in her wake. Justice had been served, and the town was now safe. The screen fades to black.
Grunting can be heard in the darkness along with air wooshes before the screen brightens to an open field.
(Name) stood in the middle of the training grounds, her long scythe in hand. She had been practicing for hours, and her arms and hands were covered in cuts, a testament to her dedication to her craft. Holding the long scythe tightly, (Name) swung it around her like an extension of her arm. She trained for hours every day in the large field, with wooden poles that she had set up in a makeshift training area. The helix pattern of curved metal that took up more than 1/3 of the scythe's length glinted dangerously in the setting sun's light.
Her breathing was even, her stance sturdy as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Her eyes, a comforting brown, were focused and intense, her gaze fixed on an imaginary opponent. She didn't train just for the vigilante shtick she did it to release any extra energy she built up otherwise she'd end up being anxious and get frustrated. (Name) raised the scythe and began to move. She twirled it in her hands, spinning it around her body with an almost graceful ease. It seemed like second nature to her, as if she'd been born to wield such a weapon.
One foot moved forward and the other moved back as she shifted her weight again, her eyes never leaving her imaginary target. The scythe flew in circles around her, its sharp blade slicing through the air with deadly precision.
(Name) had been training with her scythe for months now, and it was starting to become second nature to her. She could feel the weight of it in her hands, and the balance of it in her body. She could anticipate her opponent's moves before they even made them, and she was ready to strike at any moment.
She moved forward, her scythe slicing through the air with a deadly accuracy. (Name) was a master of her craft and determined to prove it. The sun was setting, casting a golden hue over the makeshift training grounds. (Name)'s cuts glistened in the fading light of day, and her breathing was still even and steady as she moved with her weapon.
(Name) had been so deeply engrossed in her training that she hadn't noticed the sun sink low on the horizon. Her arms and shoulders ached from the effort, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. She didn't bother keeping track of time while she trained instead she used her determination and anger toward this world's so-called protector to push her forward. She recalls how she had made her scythe with the intention to instill fear in her opponents or any poor unfortunate soul unlucky enough to cross her in any way. She wanted it to be strong enough to withstand her fire much like her bike. Gathering the materials was much easier than designing the weapon.
Since then, she had been training hard, learning to work with any restricting movements with bandages on the skin of her arm, what with all the cuts and scrapes she had amassed due to her intense training with the weapon. Her palms were the worst, the skin on them sore and raw. She brushed a lock of her (hair colour) hair out of her eyes and flexed her fingers.
She was clumsy at first with it in the beginning, getting cut up multiple times, dropping it many times, and missing over and over again but after a few weeks, she was a natural with the scythe. It moved through her hands like an extension of her body, guided by some of her training. She could feel it, a power like no other that thrummed through her, as she continued her training. Her determination, impressive as it was, was beginning to pay off.
(Name) left the makeshift training area and began her way back home. Her feet moved lightly across the ground as she crossed the field, she felt the cold breeze licking at her skin like a gentle caress. She breathed in the fresh, night air. Soon, she was home, her scythe in tow.
At home, (Name) laid her scythe down carefully, its weightless form settling in its place. She rested her head on her pillow and allowed her eyes to close, finally surrendering to the exhaustion of her day. All the while, she knew that when her eyes reopened in the morning, it would be time to pick up her beloved scythe once more.
This was her life now, and she was determined to make the most of it. She did not doubt that she was ready for whatever might come her way. The screen fades to black as the candle nearby is blown out.
The screen shows that enough time has passed to the point of a week before (Name) is to go back to Madam Bo's. She's packing things into her motorcycle's saddles as some villagers come to wish her well. As she places her scythe into its collapsable size in one of the saddlebags the camera pans down her clothes. An orange sleeveless zip-up hoodie open to an inch under her underbust, black shorts, black tight-fitted thigh-high boots, a black mouth mask, and yellow round duo-bubble lens goggles on her head.
"That should be everything" She mutters her mouth opened enough to see her small sharp canines as she adjusts her goggles on her eyes before hopping onto her cycle. She nods in approval as she revs up her cycle, kicks the kick-stand up, and pulls up her black mouth mask "Atta girl" She praises her creation before taking off down the dirt road into the wide open lands.
The camera pans to a side view of (Name) on her motorcycle giving a full view of the landscape behind her. Her expression was unidentifiable due to the mask and the goggles as dust blew behind her. Her mind focused on only getting back to Fengjian and seeing her Ma again. The camera pans around to the back of her and her hood flutters in the wind underneath her fluttering hair.
She rides off down the dirt road where the camera stops then pans upwards to the blinding sun.
(I promised someone on my wattpad account that I'd post the first chapter of this book in the first week of November so here it is. Understand, however, that the rest of the chapters will take a while to get through since, unlike the previous games, I don't have transcripts of the game to go off of and it'll be hard to watch through the cutscenes of the game and type it up at the same time. until then hope you enjoy the first chapter)
#mortal kombat x reader#mortal kombat#mileena#reptile mk#mk1#mortal kombat1#liu kang#kung lao#kitana#sindel#mortal kombat 1 x reader#mk#x reader#raiden#scorpion x reader#scorpion kuai liang#kuai liang#scorpion#sub-zero#bi-han#smoke#tomas vrbada x reader#tomas vrbada#sub-zero x reader#bi-han x reader#kuai liang x reader#kung lao x reader#raiden x reader#liu kang x reader#syzoth
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ranboo was in offline earlier! (time in pst)
[transcript:
12:03: peepoArrive
12:04 (replying to negitave_b: "DinkDonk ranboolive" replying to squiggly_uwu: "someone tell ranboo that he can slowly take off the bandage with running saline water scuffedCry"): Yeah i got it off by soaking it hurts bad as hell now though OMEGALUL
12:04: I did see the towel as i was packing it yes
12:04: I have enough cool scars
12:04: I dont need any more OMEGALUL
12:05: I have this scar on like the side of my lip from when I bit part of it off as a kid and it is visable from time to time
12:05: cool ranboo fact WICKED
12:05: its not like big or anything its only noticeable to me really
12:05: I also nearly bit off like a third of my tongue too
12:05: I was a hungry kid
12:05: I fell and hit my chin OMEGALUL
12:07: OMEGALUL happy disability pride month
12:07: Ill be alright though
12:07: other from the pain the only thing is my legs just get really tired really fast now so i mustve like pulled a lot of muscles or somethin
12:07: I have wicked bruises ones like a super deep purple WICKED
12:10: i think i just broke my camera OMEGALUL
12:10: I have a replacement worry not
12:11: beats me its just not workingh
12:20: (replying to tazariagaming: "I'm so hype for everyone to see the Box you have no idea") the box is currently in transit OMEGALUL I could not fit it in my suitcase without crushing it
12:21: BUT I have everything that was inside of it!
12:30: miku mcc 3 years old today peepoWow
12:31: miku mcc 8 years ago peepoWow
12:31: first birthday stream 29 years old peepoWow
12:31: (replying to negitave_b: "RANBOOLIVE I HAVENT EVEN BEEN IN OFFLINE 3 YEARS, MIKU MCC WAS NOT 3 YEARS AGO"): wrong
12:32: firsxt mmccc 3 bc peepoWow
12:34: I was going to make the joke here but it was too good
12:42: Im crying at my tweet
12:42: its so funny ot me
12:43: (replying to whiteriiiice: "YARFING IS THE OPPOSITE OF EATING") I invented the word yarfing so i can use it whenever I want however I want ranbooFinger
12:44: Did I not
12:44: well
12:44: screw you guys its funny ranbooFinger
12:46: (replying to bioloveds: "@/RanbooLive, why do you have grammarly) to spell
12:54: who we banning?
12:54: nah]
#sorry was gonna post this b4 stream but my laptop was imploading trying to watch stream and transcribe#bc my laptop hates having chatterino and twitch open at the same time#and then i forgot#ranboo#twitch update#offline chat
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As we all know, many horse films produced by Hollywood are poorly done and riddled with inaccuracies in terms of how horses should be properly ridden and handled. Evidently Redford was determined to not let this happen with The Horse Whisperer because he recruited two of the best trainers in the horse business, Buck Brannaman and Rex Peterson, to help with the film. Buck, who lives near Sheridan, Wyo., ranks as one of the very best equine clinicians today and could certainly be called a horse whisperer. In fact, author Nicholas Evans spent a great deal of time with Buck while researching horse behavior and horse handling for the book. Evans, who lives in England, also visited with Ray Hunt and Tom Dorrance.
More on the Horses
In THW, four horses are used for the role of Pilgrim, Grace’s horse who becomes so dangerous after the accident. Rex Peterson owns the three horses – High Tower, Cash, and Maverick- who play the traumatized Pilgrim who rears, strikes, and bites at anyone approaching him. One of Buck Brannaman’s horses, a registered Thoroughbred gelding named Kentucky Pet, is the “gentle” Pilgrim.
Rex Peterson provided three of what he refers to as “fighting” horses. On cue, such a horse rears, charges, paws, or bites … whatever the scene calls for.
Rex’s No. 1 fighting horse is the 14-year-old gelding High Tower. A race-bred Quarter Horse, High Tower is not registered because he was a catch colt, the result of a teaser stallion getting loose one night and breeding an expensive mare. Rex bought High Tower years ago and has used him as a ranch and movie horse and for dressage, open jumping, driving, team penning, and roping wild bulls. “It’s easier to tell what we haven’t done with him,” Rex grinned.
For this movie, High Tower’s greatest attribute is the ability to instantly “fight” on cue and instantly shut off on cue. He can be likened to a police K-9 dog who charges after a bad guy on cue but stops dead in his tracks when so ordered. Rex said teaching a horse to fight is easy. “It’s teaching him to stop when you tell him that’s the hard part.”
High Tower excels at this, and Rex said, “I’m not afraid to let him get right in your face because he’ll quit when I tell him.”
With that said, Rex gave me a personal demonstration. I stood next to him, and High Tower was about 10 feet away when Rex cued him to charge. Even though I trusted Rex, I instinctively jumped back when this 1,200-pound horse suddenly thundered toward us. But right on cue, High Tower stopped inches away from where I had been standing.
Because High Tower is so honest and responds instantly to cues, he was the horse Rex always used when Redford was between them. In other words, when Pilgrim was charging Redford, Rex stood behind Redford, off camera, cueing the horse. Rex trusted High Tower to stop before freight-training the star.
What’s really amazing is how quickly High Tower turns off his “anger.” After charging, attacking, or doing a biting scene, he stands calmly and quietly as if he’d been munching hay. Rex’s No.2 and 3 horses are not that way.
Says Rex: “It takes about 30 minutes for the No.2 horse (Cash) to turn it off and forget it. The No. 3 horse (Maverick) … well, a fight scene is no game with him. We have to be ultra-careful with him.” Both Cash and Maverick have racing Quarter Horse bloodlines.
Mike Boyle, Rex’s brother-in-law, was the head wrangler for the movie. He told me that shooting in the stall, in Connecticut where Pilgrim was confined after the accident, was extremely difficult. First of all, the horse playing Pilgrim bad to be very disinterested because he didn’t like people, he had no human friends, and he was in bad condition. He’s all to himself and doesn’t want anything to do with people or other horses. He stands off in a corner until feed is thrown into the stall. Then he has to come up like a wild horse.”
Shooting a fight scene in that stall was complicated because the stall was so tight and because the horse had to express just the right attitude, then charge. Added Mike, ” It took days to get it, then we had to reshoot due to some lighting problems. So we brought the ‘detention stall’ to Montana to set up and do it all over again. We finally got a great fighting scene.”
Another equine star not mentioned yet is Buck Brannaman ‘s Rambo, who plays the role of Rimrock, Tom Booker’s No. 1 horse. Rambo, registered with the AQHA as Rambo Roman, is by True Roman, a descendant of Fair Truckle (TB). Buck has owned the 10-year-old Rambo for 5 years. Buck first saw the bay when he was brought to one of Buck’s clinics as a 3-year-old for starting under saddle.
Buck’s wife, Mary, describes Rambo as being extremely sensitive to the rider, operating off featherlight cues. But Mary added that Rambo seems to adjust to other riders less skilled than Buck. That includes most of the rest of us.
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do you have any advice for someone who writes urban fantasy and sword and sorc fantasy and for some reason, always gets compared to YA? I don't write YA. My characters tend to be in their late 20s or 30s-40s. And yet people keep comparing it to YA. Is there just too much YA in our collective lexicon now? Is there something I should avoid doing? I realize this is a bit vague but I also don't want you to have to read my plots or something.
People like to say "if you write diverse books they'll label your work YA"...but also there absolutely is a stylistic YA Voice
YA tends to ONLY use active voice, even when it's objectively weird in context, use very "visceral/bodily" descriptions for every sensation (e.g. "Anger pools in my gut," "Ice climbs up my spine,") have very short/choppy paragraphs, and utilize little to no narrative distance (the writing is very 'grounded' in the POV character—so a description of a character slipping on a banana peel would be describing the sensation of hitting the floor on your back, instead of being like a camera panning over someone slipping on a banana peel).
YA also tends to have very adjective-heavy description that makes things very vague. For instance, a robe being described as "plush" and "sumptuous" but not giving the color, material, style etc.
If you have to say "A staircase climbs the wall" instead of "There was a staircase on the far wall," you may have YA Style Disease. And yes, I will maintain that "There was [x]" is sometimes superior to somehow working an active verb in there. Sometimes things are literally not doing anything except "being."
Like, "There was an explosion," is a bad use of passive voice, because exploding is not very passive, but "There was a shed out back" is not wrong because it's just a fucking shed. It sounds weird to say "The shed slumbered/loomed/squatted in the back yard" every time. Sometimes an object literally is just existing and inventing a metaphor every time you describe the thing just to avoid passive voice gets into soggy purple prose territory.
Also, using present tense and/or first person is pretty particular of YA in today's environment. Especially either of these things combined with multiple POVs.
My main advice is to read books that 1) aren't YA and 2) aren't influenced by the "contemporary" YA. So like. Anything 20+ years old.
But maybe the people telling you this just don't know what they're talking about. Or maybe they've only read YA books of your category/genre themselves.
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