~mr.n

Some of the very little things I love about fallout new vegas

People really seemed to like the list of little things I loved in fallout 4, so I thought I’d do one for my favourite game in the series:
Little things I love about FNV - go!

- Raul will eat candy and sweet things you put in his inventory!
- Veronica’s reaction when you give her a nice dress
- flight of the valkyries playing as Jason bright takes his flock into space
- no-bark noonan
- the fact your dialogue changes depending on your intelligence level
- your aim slowly becoming steadier as your gun skill improves - it gives a real feeling of improving.
- the fact Arcade will accompany you easily if your intelligence is low enough - because you’re so stupid letting you travel alone is tantamount to murder.
- the graffiti that says “toss my salad Caesar!”
- the fact the legion pronounce “ave, true to Caesar” correctly
- the fact you can “try out” FISTO
- cliff briscoes apartment being FULL of dinky the t-Rex’s
- how fucking cool the NCR rangers look
- the Riot gear you can get in lonesome road
- mr New Vegas’s voice
- “n-heh, there’s the high roller!”
- the pet mole rat in Sloan
- the ending slides showing what happened after the battle of Hoover dam . It was really nice to see how my actions affected the mojave.
- Tabitha and Rhonda’s adventures being made into children’s books
- the freaking entirety of old world blues
- being able to seduce and kill Benny
- being able to kill Benny with his own gun
- what in the god damn
- the fact you can disguise yourself as a faction member, but a guard or higher officer will recognise you if you get too close
- Raul making fun of everything you select on his companion wheel
-there is more and I will add them :)

  • Joker: The stars are beautiful tonight
  • Harley: Yeah
  • Joker: You know what else is beautiful?
  • Harley: ...What?
  • Joker: *points at the sky* The batsignal
Jojo Fights

PART I
Jonathan: Sunny Delight Overdrive!
*one meaty Hamon-infused punch into an exploding zombie face*

PART II
Joseph: No, but you see, when you tore off that square of toilet paper, you were not actually destroying my channel of Hamon, but simply bringing the ply that I infused with the Ripple even closer to your face! Now you will say, “But I already wiped my nose with it!”
Pillar Man: But I already wiped my nose with it! *explodes into a pile of molten Aztec god* (Pillar Man, to self: Little does Joestar know that my duodenum has survived his Hamon blow, and shall slip into a Switzerland-bound envelope along with the Red Stone of Aja!)

PART III
Jotaro: Yare yare daze…you though your stand, a werewolf that can turn its claws into knives, could defeat my Star Platinum. But you didn’t prepare for this, the Star Kneecap! *Star Platinum’s kneecap flips over and flies into the air, turning into a moon that burns the werewolf with silver light* ORA ORA ORA!!!

PART IV
Josuke: you thought your broken stand, Blood Sugar Sex Magic, could level this block. But you didn’t count on what I can do with broken things.
*Crazy Diamond reforms a flattened stop sign Josuke is standing on, flinging him directly at the enemy’s face with a hail of punches*
Josuke: DORADORADORA!
Enemy stand user with a normal but mildly uncommon Japanese name: Alright, I’m your friend now.

PART V
*Mista takes a hail of razor tipped leaves to the chest and collapses to the ground.*
Mista: alright, you may have me on all f- threes and another hand, but as soon as I reload, you’re fucked!
*Giorno steps from the shadows*
Giorno: ah, yes, I was also here but decided not to do anything until my friend was eviscerated. *heals Mista* Ah yes, now, Mr. Pischetti N. Meatbalzo, here is another thing my stand can do sometimes.
*Gold Experience punches Pischetti, sending him reeling with sensory overload as he perceives time too fast for his body to handle*
Gold Experience can also do this thing.
*turns one of Mista’s spent shell casings into a scorpion that runs up Pischetti’s trousers. Pischetti then crushes it in a panic, collapsing his own ribcage and killing him instantly.*

PART VI
Vera Wang: ah, you see, you’ve fallen for my trap. You opened a bottle I left on the floor filled with water that reflected the light of my Stand, All Eyez on Me, and now your stomach is going to fill with Sasquatch hair until you turn into a cryptid.
Jolyne: Yare Yare dawa…how pointless. See, I increased the tensile strength of my stomach’s string and had Anasui shape it into a Klein bottle. Now I can never be filled with any kind of cryptid hair.
*Diver Down retracts from Jolyne’s body*
Anasui: can I smell your hair now?
Jolyne: no, Anasui

PART VI
Johnny: Yeah, come out and play, you shit head gunslinger! (To self: calm down Johnny…don’t blow all your fingernails in a panic)
Money Cash: Alright there partner, looks like I found you!
*Johnny fires off three of his fingernails in a panic, missing Money Cash completely*
Money Cash: Now, don’t go getting any crazy ideas. My stand, Sorry Ms. Jackson, prevents any kind of injury unless you beat me in a game of Battleship. Also my cousin has the same stand for some reason.
*Johnny panics again, firing off another 4 fingernails.*
Johnny: Gyro, halp. Gyro, pls.

PART VIII
Sato Aparachin: ah, my stand, Rock Around the Clock, cannot be bested. See, I am a rock human. And despite our many glaring weaknesses and no real advantages, I believe myself invincible!
Josuke: ah, see, but my Stand, Soft & Wet, has plundered your ability to win. I have taken its bubble into myself, so now I can double win!
Sato Aparachin: alright, that hardly seems fair.
Josuke: It isn’t. Can you help me find muh memories?
Sato Aparachin: No, I hate you. Stay away from muh fruit
Josuke: Muh memories!
Sato Aparachin: muh fruit

ff-sunset-oasis  asked:

Heyyyy Andrea so I'm just wondering what are your thoughts on Blaise Zabini's mom? Like, I'm always love how you occasionally slipped her into your stories with Blaise, usually just some passing mention but the descriptions always got me very intrigued - so just want to ask what's your thoughts/views about her? Thanks <3

HA HA it’s not like I’ve been waiting my entire life for someone to ask me about blaise zabini’s mother or anything that would be dumb that would be i ns a ne im fine let’s do this:

  • for nineteen years, her name is elizabeth.
  • lizzie, her father calls her, with the same sort of simple, incredulous affection he directs at her mother—her mother, the witch, who brews potions that smell like anise and cinnamon, who wrinkles her nose at the rolling green hills of the english countryside, who wears a gleaming silver scorpion pendant around her neck and tells elizabeth bedtime stories about hot desert nights and crumbling pyramids and brilliant, scheming queens who spilled blood and conquered continents and stole thrones—and all with small, secret smiles on their faces.
  • elizabeth isn’t lizzie.
  • elizabeth goes to hogwarts; lizzie does not.
  • elizabeth is sorted into slytherin; lizzie is not.
  • elizabeth slinks through the halls, learns how to listen and how to lie and how to levitate a peacock feather; lizzie does not. elizabeth collects lipsticks she’s too young for, slick crimsons and glossy violets, highlights the arches of her cheekbones with burnished bronze powder and lines her eyes in liquid, velvety black; lizzie does not. elizabeth speaks and says nothing, lowers her gaze and sees everything, enchants as effortlessly as she entraps; lizzie does not.
  • instead, lizzie goes home for the summer, braids her hair into two neat plaits and picks wildflowers with her father, laughs pretty and easy and loud, loud like she can’t when she’s at school, because the dungeons have high ceilings and long memories and an alarming tendency to produce variables she knows she can’t control; not like elizabeth can.
  • elizabeth doesn’t make mistakes.  
  • lizzie does.
  • lizzie is eighteen and punching her time card at the ministry and dreaming about palm trees swaying in a heavy summer breeze, about pillows of sand slipping through her fingertips, about crystal blue skies and sheer linen dresses and skin tanned a dark, silky brown by the heat of the sun.  
  • and she meets a boy. a man. a visiting diplomat with a lilting accent and a fan of laugh lines around his eyes and a luxuriously appointed suite at the savoy that starts to feel like home—too much, too soon.  
  • “you’re beautiful,” he tells her, and it’s elizabeth whose mouth curves up slyly, invitingly, as she replies, “i know.”
  • “you’re perfect,” he tells her, and it’s lizzie whose heart races, whose breath skips, whose lips tremble as she replies, “i know.”
  • “i love you,” he tells her, and she doesn’t know where elizabeth stops and lizzie begins when she replies, “i love you, too.”
  • and he buys her extravagant gifts and he makes her extravagant promises and then he unceremoniously leaves; goes back to italy—to his wife, to his children, to his peach-pink villa on the mediterranean coast with the sweeping balconies and the sparkling turquoise swimming pool—the day before she realizes she’s pregnant.  
  • the ensuing rage—it’s quiet, really, a low, sad, gentle simmer deep in the pit of her stomach that could rock her to complacency if she let it.  
  • she doesn’t let it.
  • instead, she considers her options. she sends a letter. she opens her own gringott’s vault. she calmly answers, “morning sickness,” when her nosiest coworker asks why she’s been late all week. she sends another letter. she moves into a nicer flat, the kind with a doorman and a concierge and a lot of wealthy neighbors. she develops a strange craving for candied dates. she bides her time.
  • elizabeth calls it justice; lizzie calls it blackmail.
  • the day after she discovers she’s having a boy, she sends one last letter, dusts the slow-drying ink with a gold-tinged powder that smells like anise and cinnamon, and she thinks about hazy, blistering sunsets shimmering red and yellow and orange, about wide-open limestone palaces and gods that expect you to start wars for them and buttery leather sandals caked brown with old blood.  
  • elizabeth calls it justice; lizzie calls it revenge.
  • five months later, she’s gritting her teeth and squeezing the midwife’s hand and desperately wondering if the pain will ever end.  
  • it does.
  • and then she’s staring down at a baby—hers, hers—and he’s impossibly tiny and impossibly warm and impossibly helpless. his mouth relaxes into a pout, and his eyes slit open, glassy and unfocused and so dark they might as well be colorless.  
  • she names him blaise.
  • she names him blaise because blaise is a name that can’t be cut in half, and she watches him sleep while the midwife lectures her about feedings and nappies and the bare spot on her finger where a wedding ring should be. there’s a tightness in elizabeth’s chest, fierce and fearful, both, that does nothing but multiply the longer she looks at him, her son, and she understands—suddenly, and with a perfect stab of clarity—why her father had wanted her to be lizzie.
  • no one has ever hurt her twice.
  • no one will ever hurt him at all.

yes hello allow me to introduce you to elemetary school teacher derek malik nurse (aka my shameless excuse to yell about nursey with kids)

  • ik a lot of people see him as a high school english teacher for the Literature Aesthetic but? come on? he’s so good with kids they all love him
  • he’s 24 and teaches 3rd grade and he loves his kids!! so much!!
  • he’s “mr. n” and they all love him bc hes the most laidback teacher theyve ever had in their short little lives and he plays cool music on his phone during arts & crafts

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Kiss the Girl

Summary: Literally based on The Little Mermaid’s “Kiss the Girl,” Bucky develops a crush on you after seeing you in various of Tony’s soirees, but is too shy to go up to you. 

Word Count: 2,304

Warnings: None.

A/N: Something quick I whipped up. Hope you all enjoy. This is fluffy af.

Originally posted by adoroituoigrovigli


“It’ll be fun!” Tony had said. And honestly, Bucky felt like punching him, just breaking his nose, or bruising him enough in such a way that he would never suggest this to Bucky again.

How could a room full of drunk, screaming people could be fun? Bucky grimaced, as yet another girl sidled up to him and batted her eyelashes at him. He shook his head and gave her a polite smile.

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You know which two actors really need to meet and share similar stories about their totally gay characters that were forced into a straight relationship for whatever reason while having this big ass crush on the male protagonist, and how much they tried to convince the writers to at least let their characters kiss the male protagonist but nothing ever came out of it? 

Tom Felton and Martin Wallström