#stop motion segment stop motion segment

[tickfleato]

watched asteroid city! wes anderson ass movie. i really enjoyed it i think it was brilliant in a lot of ways and also i love the color scheme. And theres an alien

[celine-song]

Kneecap (2024) dir. Rich Peppiatt

[trustymikh]

With alternates having the ability to tamper with/create visual materials on tv, I hc the claymation in vol 5 as somewhat real. Gabe made it to humor himself

[polterquest]

i'm not sure it's necessarily a good film but i haven't stopped thinking about a fantastic fear of everything since i watched it a few days ago

[lultimagoccia]

( i dunno what it is, but " preparing with " has kinda just missed the mark for me so far. not sure how i feel about some of the casting choices for certain roles and the jokes just fall short. like i recognize the effort and think they're so CLOSE to being funny, but something is just. MISSING here. i can't really figure out what. )

[saturnniidae]

Just finished rewatching The Little Prince (2015) you know what that means...

[auggieblogs]

Juno ˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚ | MV1

Max Verstappen x fem! reader

Author’s note: HELLO MY BEAUTIFUL BABIESSS!!! I am back after a really long time and apologies for doing so. Turns out university really does suck the living life out of you lmfao. Anyways currently absolutely obsessed with Sabrina Carpenter, I LOVE HER SO MUCH. I read a fic inspired by her segment during the “Juno” song and decided to write a Max version of it (obviously). Hope you all like it:) Apologies in advance if it doesn’t live up to the other works, I am a little crusty and with my writing right now:/

Happy reading, my lovies💗⭐️

―୨୧⋆ ˚masterlist

Every crowd had its own magic, but this one? This was personal. Standing in the front row, dressed in his casual white button-up that hugged his shoulders just right, paired with tailored light pants that made him look effortlessly put-together, was Max Verstappen—F1’s reigning World Champion and, most importantly, your boyfriend.

You pressed a hand to your forehead as if scanning the crowd, your sparkling skirt shimmering under the stage lights.

“Do you guys ever feel like you’re in a room full of people who are just so good-looking that it’s borderline unfair?” you asked, pacing the stage. The crowd screamed in agreement, feeding off your energy.

Well, tonight, my loves, it’s me. I’m overwhelmed. Truly. I mean, look at you guys!” You gestured to the crowd with a wink. “But… but… wait a second.” You squinted out into the sea of faces. “Hold on. Girls, come here. Come here.” You waved your dancers over, whispering conspiratorially into the mic. “Do you see what I’m seeing?”

The spotlight found Max, and the arena absolutely erupted. On the big screen, his expression shifted from mildly amused to completely flustered, a deep blush creeping up his neck as he shook his head, laughing.

“Oh no, no, no, this won’t do,” you continued, pacing dramatically as your dancers gasped and giggled beside you. “Sir,” you said, turning back to the mic, “what’s your name?”

Max cupped his hands around his mouth, his voice booming over the crowd. “Max!”

You grinned but pretended not to hear him. “Sorry, what was that? Did you say… snack?”

The crowd went wild, and Max’s hand flew to his face, shaking his head in disbelief as he laughed.

“Ohhh, Max,” you said finally, smirking as you leaned toward the audience. “Well, Max, I hate to break it to you, but you’re in big trouble tonight.”

He tilted his head, raising an eyebrow as if to say, What now?

“You, sir, are officially under arrest for being way too hot.” Sirens blared dramatically over the speakers, red and blue lights flashing across the stage. You fanned yourself with one hand, swaying your hips to the beat as the crowd screamed louder than ever.

You turned to your dancers, leaning dramatically against one of their shoulders. “Girls, do you ever see someone so attractive that your brain just… stops working?” Your dancers nodded dramatically, fanning themselves as you added, “You’re standing there, clothes falling off, knees weak, heart doing backflips—like, how am I supposed to survive this, huh?”

With that, you reached for the clasp on your glittering long skirt, letting it drop to the floor in one smooth motion. The crowd went wild.

“And now I’m out here practically undressed because of you,” you teased, pointing at Max as the audience screamed. “So I’m thinking… maybe you deserve these.” You held up the handcuffs and knelt down, extending them toward him.

The audience gasped and cheered as you knelt at the edge of the stage, holding out a pair of fuzzy pink handcuffs toward Max. “Max, will you take these from me?”

He hesitated, playing along perfectly as the cameras zoomed in on his flustered yet amused expression. Finally, he reached out with one hand, curling his fingers in a “gimme” motion that had the crowd in stitches.

As he held the cuffs, he tilted his head, examining them with a small smirk before looking back up at you. On the big screen, his smirk turned into a full grin as you pointed at him and announced, “We’re gonna sing this one for you, Max.”

The intro to Juno began, and you performed the entire song with him as your obvious muse, throwing playful winks and cheeky moves in his direction that left him shaking his head with laughter.

By the time the song ended, you turned back to him, breathing heavily into the mic. “Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for Max Verstappen!”

[keferon]

Odds of Survival Part 3

Unstoppable forces meets immovable objects.

Or Prowl finds new reasons to be concerned.

———————————————————————

While Prowl had destroyed the bombers attacking their end of the bridge, the other side had no such saving grace.

The opposite end of the sky bridge had broken off from the Commerce Tower and was now swinging downwards, creating a miles long ramp to obliteration.

There was a 4% chance Prowl could technically survive the impact. However he’d almost certainly be reduced to a sputtering spark trapped in a compacted pile of scrap that had once been his frame. Without instantaneous medical intervention, he would most certainly perish even in the event of the 4% survival chance occurring.

4% halved to 2% when Tacnet registered Jazz magnetizing his hands to Prowls frame.

Tacnet spun wildly and without traction. Whatever actions Prowl could have taken to mitigate the incoming damage was removed by Jazz’s inescapable hold. Every possible strategy terminated instantly in a flurry of error messages as Tacnet tried to factor for the impossible.

Physically, Prowls servos moved on their own, driven by some core deep coding for self preservation that had him frantically clawing at Jazz’s back for either a hand hold or escape as Tacnet spat out a single coherent plan:

(Brace For Impact)

The Praxian briefly wondered if he’d crash before they crashed.

The mechs jolted as Jazz made contact with the bridge turned ramp. A fountain of sparks spraying from his pedes as Jazz hit the bridge upright and began skating down the buckling surface.

Jazz wasn’t just passively sliding along either. Prowl felt powerful legs tense and thrusters make quick adjustments to narrowly avoid lethal splinters of braking pipes and metal sheets.

Odds of Survival 5%

Odds of Survival 6%

Prowl watched the impossible as Tacnet slowly ticked upwards. Through some stroke of insanity, Jazz was controlling their descent. Analyzing the white mechs motions, Prowl concluded they were practiced. Unbelievably, Jazz somehow had previous experience with similar circumstances.

On what Fragging planet does somebody regularly go careening down incredibly steep slopes at high speeds with only their own athleticism to keep them alive?!

Skill alone wasn’t enough however, because Jazz was slowly loosing control. As the sky bridge swung inexorably downwards, their ramp was steadily becoming steeper. Prowl could feel one of Jazz’s legs beginning to involuntarily shudder under the continued strain. The obstacles kept coming faster and faster, the visored mech barely keeping pace.

If he dropped me, Jazz has a 23% chance at saving himself.

Prowl caught sight of a chunk of bridge breaking outwards that spanned the total width of it. No getting around it. The jagged edge lifted just high enough to bisect him just below the wings. Prowl turned away.

Jazz leapt.

The deafening vibrations of metal on metal grinding suddenly stopped. An instrumental segment filled the gap.

Gravity ended their short reprieve.

This time when they collided with bridge, Prowl felt Jazz land wrong and then suddenly the sky was whipping past his optics.

Stars, moon, bridge. Stars, moon, bridge. Stars, moon, bridge. Stars, moon, bridge.

Tacnet greedily took in their current velocity, rate of rotation, and angle of the sky bridges decent to inform Prowl that Jazz and his combined weight would land on his helm.

Thank you Tacnet, I hate you.

Jazz shifted and Prowls vision went white.

Despite Tacnets certainty to the contrary, Prowl was not unconscious or dead.

ERROR, moon, ERROR. Stars, moon, bridge. Stars, ERROR, bridge, rubble. Stars, moon, bridge, rubble.

They were flipping through the air again.

Jazz landed on his feet this time but couldn’t stop their rolling. Prowl felt fast painful scrapes against his servos and peds.

Stars, bridge, rubble. Stars, bridge, rubble.

Tacnet took in their velocity and rotation again. Calculating their distance to the wreckage at the end of their fall.

Impact Survival 74%

Impact location Doorwings 87%

At least his doorwings were already offlined.

By then, the two mechs were no longer bouncing, but rolling fully across the remains of the bridge. Prowl locked himself around Jazz and braced for impact.

Collision was instant and deafening.

Prowls sense of balance was rubber banding. The instant stop after what felt like vorns of spinning out of control was just as disorientating as the fall itself.

In a lapse of memory, he onlined his doorwings.

Prowl remembered why he left them offline a click too late and sucked in a vent.

Except. They were functioning. The edges stung and the tip’s were badly chipped but both sensors were fully operational.

Blunt helm trauma. He must be having a severe processor malfunction. Prowl unlocked protesting joints and looked over his shoulders at his doorwings.

They were only lightly damaged, fully functional, and only a servos width from the pile of rubble he was being held above.

A black and white arm extended past his wings, buried wrist deep in the wreckage.

Jazz still had a death grip around his waist, visor pressed into Prowls shoulder.

“Jazz?” Prowl tried. If he put his vocalizer against his audial, the sound should carry. The music played out its final notes, leaving the silence of the moon in its wake.

“Jazz?” Prowl tried a little harder, pulling at the servo still magnetized to his back, unhooking his peds to kneel on the rubble. They had fallen into the 90 degree crook of the second cylindrical extension. The bridge had come to rest at last, kicking up enough moon dust to obscure their survival from any searching quintessons. For now.

Jazz slurred something in his native language, before repeating in common, “Gimme a click. I’m gonna throw up real quick.”

Prowl flared his wings, scanning the area. It was a relatively short drop to the moons surface. Once there, Prowl could transform and carry the both of them at speed to the outpost. Clearly, Jazz had no trouble holding onto him.

Speaking of, Jazz finally, slowly began to uncurl from Prowls frame.

He looked terrible. His visor had splintered crack’s across one side, the isolated fragments independently flickering. One horn was stuck pinned against his helm, sparking where shrapnel was jammed into the gap. He was visibly wobbling, and even with an em field Prowl could tell he was badly disoriented.

Jazz stared at Prowl for a while, before looking to his hand still buried in rubble. He tried pulling it free gently and when that didn’t work, got a completely ruined and mostly toe-less ped braced next to it and yanked

Jazz’s hand came free. At the same time something important looking snapped and fell out of his shoulder. The limb going limp.

Prowl didn’t have the bandwidth to process that at the moment.

Instead, he plucked up the chunk of shoulder into sub space. Tacking that onto the growing list of injuries they’d both needed tending to.

Cautiously, Prowl reached up to gingerly touch the back of his helm, fully expecting to feel exposed and crushed circuitry. Instead, he felt several dents, aligned in parallel. Very tender, but most certainly not as damaged as it should have been.

How?

Tacnet answered by mapping the contours of the dents, drawing Prowls optics to the back of Jazz’s obliterated servo.

The remains of the sky bridge shuttered.

Odds of Survival 45%

Prowl got Jazz’s attention and began pulling him towards the ledge they’d need to descend. Effectively deaf, probably blind, down an arm and forced to walk on two severely injured peds, Prowl only felt some relief when he finally wrangled Jazz to rest on top of his alt form.

Watching him struggle down the ledge was utterly disturbing to watch. Jazz limped along as if he was completely desensitized to pain, behaving as if he was more annoyed by his injuries than agonized.

Package secured, Prowl gunned it for the outpost. Even injured, he trusted Jazz to stay magnetized to his frame with whatever he had left to hold on with.

Out of the dust cloud, Prowl was intimately aware of how exposed they’d be. Confident he wouldn’t loose Jazz, Prowl focused entirely on plotting the most efficient route to the outpost.

The moment it came into view, Prowl pushed his engine past the redline as he registered sniper shots firing just past and above them.

Pursuing quintesson wreckers 78%.

Sure enough, a dead wrecker crashed into the moon dirt a short distance to their left.

Prowl managed a drifting slide past the out post gates, losing exactly enough momentum to match the speed of a running mech, then transformed back to root mode in the same maneuver. An exceedingly useful technique when chasing criminals and a damn effective way to shoulder someone on your roof through a door in the most efficient manner possible.

[Bluestreak, I’ve made it inside the outpost. I have an injured mech with me.]

[Heya Prowl! I saw you tearing it up out there with your backpack buddy! I’ve got a few more stragglers to take care of but you’re welcome to use the medic case I’ve got with me in here. I’ll ping the door for you.]

The primary medkit should be in the outpost storage closet. That is unless Bluestreak pulled it into his snipers nest to tend to his own injuries (22%). Or because Bluestreak pulled it there to force Prowl to bring his “backpack buddy” within conversational distance (92%).

He felt a tap at his shoulder, “Are we safe here?” Jazz yelled in the thin atmosphere. Visor flickering worse than before and visibly making an effort to stay balanced upright on eviscerated peds.

Priorities.

Prowl ignored his annoyance. He hit the trigger to pressurize the airlock and pulled Jazz’s good arm over his shoulders to stabilize the other mech. He had easily a dozen lines of questioning queued up in the backlog of his processor, every single one tagged with Jazz as the subject line. As much as Prowl itched to piece together the puzzle of why he was “Like that.” It’d have to wait until they were both in more stable condition. At least now his vents could actually do something to start cooling his overstressed processor.

“For now. We are somewhat safe.”

Prowl muttered quietly in addition, “Against all odds.”

———————————————————————

Bluestreak, seeing Prowl with some very obvious hand prints and very specific paint scratches: “What in the pit did he do to you?”

Bluestreak, seeing Jazz walk in after him with a broken arm, busted horn and an utterly torn up paint job across his back: “What in the pit did YOU do to him?!”

Either one or two parts left, next up Jazz pov.

-SSTP

OH HELL SSTP LET ME HOLD YOUR HAND REALQUICK THIS IS A FIVE STAR MEAL FOR MY SOUL FKKDJFG I JUST. I NEVER FUCKING GET TIRED OF THE WAY YOU WRITE I know I'm probably repeating myself at this point BUT IT'S JUST WHAT MY TRUTH LOOKS LIKE OKAY. EVERY TIME I SEE AN ASK FROM YOU AND START READING IT I GO "Oh M A N the author cooked so hard they should've made Ratatouille 2 about this way of placing words."

[hyzenthlayroseart]

I wanted to save these for when I was done with the whole project but I have a feeling the next few entries will take a long time to make since each era has so many movies (Renaissance Era, Experimental Era and the Modern Era) and I got impatient with myself so I'm posting what's done so far.

So I decided to do a project where I draw films from each Disney era together. For those who don't know about Disney's animation eras, here's a good guide: https://www.bfi.org.uk/features/many-merry-eras-disney

Another one that had to be split into two drawings, I'm sure the Revival Era and the Modern Era will have to each be split as well.

Now in a new millenium, Disney was moving away from the Renaissance era's Broadway inspired films and entering a new era experimenting new technology and new ways of storytelling. While it was an exciting time for being creative and taking risks, they didn't always pay off. Thankfully some of the films from this era that failed at the time have been reevaluated over time as underrated masterpieces, and even some that still aren't viewed in a positive light still have a cult following. Many critics viewed the failures from this era as a consequence of putting technical innovation over storytelling.

The first film from this era was Fantasia 2000, the sequel to 1940's Fantasia. Interestingly, Walt initially planned way back in the day to have Fantasia be a continuing film series with new segments replacing older ones in each release. Tragically, plans for this were scrapped when the original film unfortunately ended up being a box office failure. It wasn't until 1984 when Walt's nephew Roy E. Disney suggested the idea of a Fantasia sequel to then-CEO Michael Eisner that the idea was revived, however, then-chairman Jeffery Katzenberg was uninterested. After the 1990 re-release of Fantasia was a financial success, Disney saw it as a sign that there was enough public interest in Fantasia to justify a sequel. Michael Eisner finally gave the film the greenlight in 1991, and years later in the year 1999, the film premiered at Carnegie Hall in New York, then in 2000 the film had a wide release in IMAX. The film was a critical success but sadly ended up becoming a box office flop like its predecessor.

The next film was Dinosaur, and while it's unfortunately a forgotten film today, it has a significant role in Disney animation history as their first CGI animated film. The idea was originally conceived by director Paul Verhoeven and special effects artist Phil Tippet as a stop-motion animated film and pitched to Disney in 1988 but due to budget disputes with Jefferey Katzenberg, the two filmmakers left the project and it ended up shelved in development hell. It wasn't until 1994 that development on the project began by shooting various test footage of computer-generated characters placed digitally in miniature model backgrounds. Computer-generated backgrounds were considered as well, but ultimately it was decided that the film would combine CGI characters in live-action scenery. Michael Eisner greenlit the project, however he insisted that the characters talk during the film; previously it was planned for the animal characters to be silent while a narrator spoke throughout the film like a nature documentary. When the film premiered it was a box office success, and the film received positive reviews for its visuals, however the reception story and characters were more mixed in reviews.

The next film was The Emperor's New Groove, which was actually a complete rehaul of a cancelled film called Kingdom of the Sun, a musical taking place in the Incan empire with a Prince and the Pauper story involving a selfish emperor switching places with a peasant who looks just like him, however the emperor gets turned into a llama by an evil witch who threatens to reveal his identity unless he obeys her. The emperor would learn humility as a llama and fall in love with a llama herder, and the two would team up to undo the witch's plans. The film ended up in a troubled production, and in the end it was clear that it wasn't far enough in production to be released on its scheduled released date. Roger Allers, who would have been the director for the film, quit the project. This lead to Michael Eisner telling producer Randy Fullmer that he had two weeks to salvage the project or production would be completely shut down. The film was ultimately changed to The Emperor's New Groove, and instead of being a musical inspired by The Prince and the Pauper it was now a buddy comedy with no love interests. Since the film had to salvaged in such a short time-frame, it was actually made without a fully finalized script and was made unconventionally with a more improvisational approach with the writers basically given free rein which lead to the film being as hilarious as it is. When the film premiered, it was unfortunately not a box office success, however it did receive positive reviews and to this day is considered one of Disney's funniest animated movies.

Disney's next film was Atlantis: The Lost Empire, a science fantasy adventure film inspired by works of Jules Vernes such as Journey to the Center of the Earth and Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea. The filmmakers used the Internet to research mythology surrounding Atlantis, visited museums to study 20th century technology, looked at ancient architecture as inspiration for Atlantis, and even hired Mark Okrand, who invented the Klingon language for Star Trek, to create a language for Atlanteans. At the time of the film's release, it was known for using more CGI than any other traditionally animated Disney film. When the film premiered, it was not a box office success and received mixed reviews, although the animation received positive reviews.

Their next film, Lilo and Stitch, would have a much better fate. The idea for the film started in 1985 with a failed children's book pitch made by Chris Sanders about a creature named Stitch who lived in the forest. In 1987 he was hired at Disney to work in the visual development department for The Rescuers Down Under, but he soon transitioned into storyboarding for Beauty and the Beast, The Lion King and eventually promoted to head the story on Mulan. In 1997, it was discussed that Disney should try its hand at creating a smaller and less expensive film in wake of the large-budget films they had already done, an idea inspired by the similar production history of Dumbo. When Chris Sanders was asked if there were any stories he'd be interested in developing into an animated film, and Chris Sanders pitched an idea based on his failed children's book project, pitching an idea about Stitch crash-landing in a forest surrounded by woodland animals, but then-vice president Thomas Schumaker suggested that Stitch should interact with humans instead. The story was pitched as taking place in Kansas, but after glancing at a map of Hawaii on his wall and remembering a vacation there, Sanders decided to change the location to Hawaii. Unlike previous Disney animated films, the film's pre-production team remained relatively small and isolated from upper management until the film went into full production. When the animation team travelled to Kuaui for research for the film, the tour guide explained the concept of Ohana, a Hawaiian term meaning "family", a concept which became an important part of the film's theme. Watercolor paint was chosen for the film's background art as opposed to the traditional gouache technique. While watercolor had been used in early Disney shorts as well as Snow White, Pinocchio and Dumbo, the technique had been abandoned in the mid-40s in favor of less complicated media such as gouache. When the film released, it was both a critical and box office success, and to this day is considered one of Disney's most beloved movies.

The next film was Treasure Planet, a steampunk science fiction take on Treasure Planet but in space. The idea was originally pitched by Ron Clements in 1985 (at the same meeting where he and John Musker pitched The Little Mermaid) but was rejected by Michael Eisner, pitched again then turned down again in 1989, then pitched and rejected a third time after the release of Aladdin. These rejections angered Clements and Musker so much that they approached then-chairman Roy E. Disney, who backed the filmmakers and made his wishes known to Eisner, who in turn agreed that the studio should produce the movie. In 1995, their contract was re-negotiated to allow them to commence development on Treasure Planet when Hercules reached completion. When the film premiered it was a box office failure but received positive reviews, and throughout the years after it's been considered an underrated gem.

The next film was Brother Bear, with the idea for a film about bears being suggested after the success of The Lion King in 1994, leading to Michael Eisner urging for more animal-centric films. Initially the story idea was inspired by King Lear and centered around an old blind bear who travelled through the woods with his three daughters, but in 1997 animator Aaron Blaise joined the project and wanted a more naturalistic story, so he and producer Chuck Williams produced a two-page treatment of a father-son story in which the son is transformed into a bear, and in the end, remains a bear, which then-president Thomas Schumaker approved. After the project was greenlit, the team went on a research trip to Alaska in 1999, and a year later went to Yellowstone National Park, Grand Teton National Park and Sequoia National Park. In 2000, the story evolved into a tale where the transformed bear Kenai is taken under the wing of an older bear named Grizz, but after struggling to get charm into the story, Grizz was changed to a bear cub named Koda. When the film premiered, it was a box office success but received mixed reviews. As the years went on, it became known as another underrated masterpiece from Disney.

Their next film, Home on the Range, was originally conceived in the 90s as a supernatural Western called Sweatin' Bullets, about a timid cowboy who visits a ghost town and confronts an undead cattle rustler, inspired by the song "Ghost Riders in the Sky". The story was changed to one about a little bull named Bullets who wanted to be more like the horses that lead the herd, then finally in 1999 it was changed to a story about three cows who become bounty hunters to save their farm. The film was originally scheduled for a 2003 release while Brother Bear was slated for a 2004 release, however Disney ended up switching the dates in order to promote Brother Bear on the Platinum Edition release of The Lion King. When the film premiered, it received mixed reviews and was a box office disaster, and went on to be blamed for killing 2D animation at Disney (at least until The Princess and the Frog released in 2009, but that's for a future upload). Nowadays the film still is looked at unfavorably, but it does still have its fans.

The next film Chicken Little, was basically Disney's attempt at making a film like Shrek, meaning that they made a fairy tale parody with crude, edgy, self-aware humor and pop culture references, but needless to say, their attempt was unsuccessful. When the film idea was developed in 2001, the character of Chicken Little was a female, and the story would be about her going to a Summer camp to reduce her anxiety as well as repair her relationship with her father, and discovering her camp counselor planning a nefarious plot against her hometown. When it was pitched to Michael Eisner, he suggested Chicken Little be changed to a boy because boys wouldn't want to see a film with a female protagonist (yes, really). When David Stainton became Disney animation's new president in 2003, he decided the story needed a different approach, and during the next three months it was changed to a story about Chicken Little trying to save his town from aliens. When the film premiered it was a box office success but received mixed reviews, and today it still isn't viewed favorably (but like Home on the Range, it does still have its fans).

The next film was Meet the Robinsons, based on a 1990s children's book A Day With Wilbur Robinson by William Joyce, who pitched the story idea to various filmmakers like Steven Spielberg, George Miller, Peter Jackson, Francis Ford Coppola and Diane Keaton as a live-action film before eventually being acquired by Disney as an animated film. This film would be Disney's first time animating humans in CGI, so they ended up using Pixar's The Incredibles as inspiration, as well as looking at their own films from the Silver Age such as Alice in Wonderland, Cinderella, Peter Pan and some Warner Bros. cartoons as inspirations for 1950s aesthetics. When the film premiered, it got positive reviews but was unfortunately a box office failure. Thankfully it also gained a reputation as an underrated classic like several of its other predecessors in this era.

Finally, there's Bolt, a film which originally began as a story by Chris Sanders called American Dog, a story about an anthropomorphic dog celebrity named Henry who one day finds himself stranded in the desert with a one-eyed cat and a rabbit, and the three of them search for new homes, all while Henry still thinks he's on TV. Chris Sanders was eventually removed from the project after resisting changed to the story and went to work at Dreamworks instead, however in recent years Sanders has assured that he has no ill will over the decision and approved of the final film. The dog Henry was changed to a normal dog thinks the show he's the star of is real, and when his owner Penny gets "kidnapped" in the show, he runs away from the studio to "rescue" her, but gets lost and and ends up teaming up with a sarcastic female alley cat named Mittens and a fanboy hamster named Rhino to get back home, and along the way realizes his show was never real. When the film premiered it was a box office success and received positive reviews, and was overall a sweet and heartwarming film to end the era.

[fatuismooches]

Angst time :3 💕

The Traveller takes down several Fatui resources to cripple them, specifically Dottore's channels since he is currently the biggest threat so far between the Eleven, he had presented himself as someone cunning and wouldn't stop for anything for his research. Rigid and unreasonable unless there is a bargaining chip.

The Traveller spares nothing. From the Traveller partnering up with Beidou to sink multiple Fatui vessels carrying materials. To going after the many, many Fatui stations in Sumeru with Dehya and Candace.

The Traveller did so in hopes of making Dottore more agreeable, he won't listen to anything unless control has been taken from him.

It works, but not in the way the Traveller had anticipated.

Dottore laid down arms not because of his experiments slowing down to a mere crawl, no - it's because his lover's condition has grown severe.

All those channels the Traveller had pruned? They had the materials needed to create the medicine his lover needed on a daily basis.

All those rare cultivated materials, gone. Either lost to sea or set ablaze. Ever since the cut-off, Prime himself and his segments have been scrambling to look for alternatives in Snezhnaya until they could get a hold of the proper materials.

But it is not enough, his lover his rapidly deteriorating and he could only stall it.

What has the Traveller done...? Unwittingly holding the Second Harbinger's heart hostage by chance. They can now make their demands, but - the Traveller is certain that Dottore will soon retaliate once this crisis is over.

The Doctor was not a man to mess with.

Well, any normal person wouldn't mess with any of the Harbingers in general, but it's no surprise that Il Dottore is especially on this list, taking into account his sheer strength, along with intelligence and cleverness that was hard to find elsewhere. The Traveler was no stranger to this, considering everything that went down in Sumeru as well as the numerous other deeds the Harbinger had done. Not to mention they remember how tough the Knave was, they couldn't fathom what Dottore was capable of. So although this isn't their usual course of action, they don't hold anything back. It's a lot of work, so much, to even cause a dent in the Harbinger's operations considering how many steps he is ahead of them. The blonde almost thinks it's all for nothing. Until it's not.

It is quite strange - one would think you would need to outwit Dottore with a superior mind, but instead, he falls due to his heart, something most people think is absent from the Harbinger. The Traveler had heard of you only a few times, all when they were eavesdropping on other agents. Every time they hear a whisper about the person called [Name], they believe it to be mere rumor and gossip, for it is that ridiculous. The Doctor having a lover? The Doctor having a partner he genuinely respected and loved? Who would ever believe that?

It's not until now the Traveler realizes it's no rumor. Childe is the one who ends up telling them, because there was no way Dottore would admit his weakness to them. From the Eleventh's expression and their heart, the blonde knows they've done something very, very, wrong. But how could they have known? How could they have known a man as cruel as the Doctor would care for another as well?

Regardless, the Traveler may be temporarily ahead, but anyone could guess that Dottore doesn't take any sort of aggression against you lightly in the slightest.

(You fluttering in and out of consciousness, waking up to blurry sights of a new segment every time. When they notice your blinking eyes, they simply place a hand over your eyes and a kiss on your forehead, motioning you to go to sleep once again so the pain is more bearable. You beckon for them to squeeze your hand tightly, so you know that both of you are still here. The only thing Dottore can promise is that he'll make it better soon. As soon as he deals with some pests.)

[tswrites0]

Jury’s Still Out - footballer x sports reporter

The wind swept through the empty stadium, carrying the crisp bite of late autumn as Taylor Rooks stepped onto the field. She immediately lifted a hand to shield her freshly straightened hair, her long strands whipping against her face despite her efforts. A Brazilian blowout wasn’t cheap, and she wasn’t about to let Cincinnati’s unpredictable weather ruin it before her segment even started.

Dressed in a sleek coat and knee-high boots, she walked with purpose, her eyes scanning the field until they landed on him. Joe Burrow was out there alone, save for a trainer watching from a few yards away. He moved carefully, testing his knee with light footwork drills, the kind meant to ease him back into action. Even in the simple motions, there was something undeniably sharp about him—focused, determined, the same guy who turned pressure into poetry on the field.

Taylor exhaled, shaking her head slightly as she stepped closer. She had interviewed him before, had seen the intensity in his eyes when he talked about the game, but this was different. This wasn’t post-game adrenaline or locker-room bravado. This was a man fighting his way back from injury, alone in the cold, with nothing but the sound of the wind and the weight of expectation pressing down on him.

A gust sent her coat flaring behind her, and she instinctively reached up to hold her hair in place again. That was when Joe finally noticed her. He slowed to a stop, his breath visible in the chilled air as he looked her way. A small, knowing smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Didn’t think I’d see you out here,” he called, his voice carrying across the field. “Braving the wind for me?”

Taylor let out a laugh, shaking her head. “Braving the wind for my job,” she corrected, though the teasing glint in her eyes said otherwise.

Joe tilted his head slightly, his gaze lingering. “I don’t know,” he said, wiping his hand over his sleeve. “Feels like you’re putting up more of a fight against the weather than I am against rehab.”

Taylor arched a brow. “And who’s winning?”

His smirk deepened. “Jury’s still out.”

Taylor glanced around the field, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as the wind settled for a brief moment. The place was eerily quiet, the usual sounds of practice—whistles, laughter, the heavy thud of cleats—conspicuously absent.

“No teammates out here today?” she asked, her gaze drifting toward the empty sidelines.

Joe took a slow breath, adjusting the sleeve of his hoodie. “They’ve already left,” he said casually, like it was no big deal.

Taylor’s brows lifted. “So why are you still out here?”

He gave a half-shrug, glancing down at his knee as he flexed it slightly. “Wanted to get some extra work in.”

Something about the way he said it made Taylor study him a little closer. There was no arrogance in his tone, no need to explain himself—it was just who he was. The guy who stayed behind when everyone else went home.

She hummed, slipping her hand into her coat pocket. “And how’s the knee holding up?”

Joe exhaled through his nose, shifting his weight onto his injured leg as if testing it again. “Better,” he admitted. “Some days are still rough, but I’m moving the way I want to again. Just gotta be patient.”

Taylor nodded, reaching into her other pocket and pulling out her recorder. The moment she clicked it on, Joe hesitated, his eyes flickering to the device.

“The interview,” he said, more to himself than to her.

She gave him a knowing look. “That a problem?”

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Nah,” he said, rolling his shoulders. “Can we walk and talk?”

Taylor gestured toward the field. “Lead the way.”

Joe started moving at a slow, steady pace, and Taylor fell in beside him, her recorder pointed in his direction. The wind had settled, but the cold still lingered, and as they walked the length of the field, it was just the two of them, his voice low and thoughtful as he spoke about his recovery.

As they walked along the edge of the field, Taylor kept her gaze steady on Joe, watching the way he moved—controlled, deliberate, but still careful. The weight of what he’d been through was there, even if he wouldn’t outright say it.

She let a beat pass before asking, “How do you make a comeback after an injury like this?”

Joe exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw as he thought it over. “You don’t think about the comeback,” he said finally. “Not at first. At first, you just think about the next step. Then the next one after that.”

Taylor nodded, her recorder steady in her hand. “And when does it shift? When do you start thinking about the bigger picture?”

Joe glanced ahead, eyes narrowing slightly against the breeze. “When you stop feeling like you’re rehabbing and start feeling like you’re playing again,” he said. “It’s a mental thing. You have to trust your body, trust that all the work you put in means you can move the way you used to. Maybe even better.”

Taylor studied him, intrigued. “So, is that where you are now? Do you trust it?”

Joe hesitated, just for a second, then met her eyes with a small, knowing smirk. “Jury’s still out.”

Taylor huffed a laugh, shaking her head. “You love saying that, don’t you?”

He grinned. “Keeps things interesting.”

Taylor let his words settle before shifting her recorder slightly. “Alright,” she said, tilting her head. “Then how do you keep yourself motivated? Rehab isn’t exactly glamorous.”

Joe let out a quiet chuckle, his gaze fixed ahead as they walked. “No, it’s not,” he admitted. “Some days, it’s frustrating as hell. Feels like you’re working twice as hard just to get back to where you were before.”

Taylor studied him, catching the brief flicker of something deeper in his expression. “So what keeps you going?”

Joe exhaled, thoughtful. “I remember what it felt like to play free. To not think about my knee, not second-guess every move. That’s what I’m chasing.” He glanced at her then, his voice steady. “I know I can get back there. That’s enough.”

Taylor nodded, letting a small pause stretch between them. “You ever have moments where you doubt it?”

Joe hesitated just for a second, then said, “Yeah. But doubt doesn’t do anything for me.” He shrugged slightly. “So I keep going.”

Taylor considered his words, impressed by the quiet certainty in them. She didn’t press further—he had already said everything that mattered.

She looked away from him, pulling a small notebook from her coat pocket and jotting down a few notes. The recorder had caught his words, but sometimes it helped to write things down—little observations, details she might want to come back to later.

Joe watched her, his gaze steady as she scribbled something onto the page. After a beat, he tilted his head slightly and asked, “So, did you plan on interviewing me today, or were you just hoping to catch whoever was still out here?”

Taylor glanced up, catching the teasing glint in his eyes. She decided to play along, tapping her pen lightly against the notebook. “Well,” she said, drawing out the word, “I was hanging around outside the locker room, but Tee was my first choice. He was just faster getting out of here.”

Joe let out a laugh, shaking his head. “Figures,” he muttered, still amused. Without another word, he lowered himself onto the grass, stretching his legs out in front of him.

Taylor arched a brow. “Getting comfortable?”

Joe leaned back on his hands, smirking. “Might as well. No rush, right?”

Taylor glanced down at him, the corners of her mouth twitching. “No rush,” she echoed, tapping her pen lightly against her notebook.

Joe patted the grass beside him. “Then sit.”

She eyed the spot warily. “I’m fine standing. Not really trying to get my pants dirty.”

Joe smirked, tilting his head. “If you sit, I’ll give you the inside scoop on why Ja’Marr got evicted.”

Taylor’s eyes widened slightly, her curiosity flaring. “You’re lying,” she accused, narrowing her gaze.

Joe just leaned back, looking entirely unbothered. “Guess you’ll never know.”

Without hesitation, Taylor dropped down beside him, crossing her legs as she hit record again. “Start talking.”

Joe raised a brow, glancing at her with an amused expression. “Is this interview supposed to be about me or every other teammate on the roster?”

Taylor pressed her lips together, then straightened up, putting on her most professional voice. “You’re right. My apologies, Joe. This interview is solely about you, your greatness, and your heroic return to the field.”

Joe laughed, shaking his head. “Relax, I’m joking.” Then, with a small smirk, he added, “I’m just not great with sarcasm.”

Taylor gave him a pointed look. “That’s a shame. It’s a major part of my personality.”

Joe shrugged. “Guess I’ll have to keep up.”

Taylor shook her head slightly, as if resetting her focus. “I’m gonna have to cut this recording up,” she muttered, making a quick note in her notebook before glancing back at Joe.

He smirked. “Can’t have me rambling about Ja’Marr’s eviction making the final cut?”

She gave him a look but didn’t take the bait. Instead, she clicked the recorder back on and asked, “Alright, what’s your relationship with your receivers like?”

Joe’s smirk faded into something more thoughtful. He stretched his legs out, resting his arms on his knees. “It’s all about trust,” he said. “You spend enough time with them, and you start to understand how they move, how they think. A good quarterback-wide receiver connection isn’t just about talent—it’s about knowing, without hesitation, where they’ll be and when they’ll be there.”

Taylor nodded, intrigued. “And how do you build that?”

Joe glanced at her, a knowing look in his eyes. “Reps. A lot of them.”

“That’s why you want to get back out there so quickly,” Taylor murmured, more to herself than to him, her voice thoughtful.

Joe ran a hand through his tousled hair, nodding. “Of course,” he said, exhaling. “Being injured… it can feel isolating. You’re still part of the team, but not really. You’re on the sidelines, watching everyone else put in the work, and it just—” He paused, his jaw tightening slightly. “It feels like you’re not doing enough.”

Taylor studied him, the weight behind his words settling in. She knew that for a guy like him, someone who prided himself on his leadership and presence on the field, being forced to step back must’ve been frustrating.

“You have to make sure you’re good first,” she said, her voice softer now. “Your teammates understand that.”

Joe turned his head to look at her, his expression shifting. After a beat, he smiled—small, but real. “Yeah,” he said. “I know.”

A comfortable silence fell between them as he watched her jot notes down and the wind picked up again slightly, blowing a few strands of her hair into her face and sticking to her lip gloss. Taylor sighed before pushing her hair back.

“Can I?”

Taylor turned over to see Joe moving over closer to her to smooth her hair out. “It looks bad?”

“A few fly aways that’s all, you look beautiful…as always.” Even after saying that he kept his eye contact with her before she broke it, going back to trying to write but only coming up with a few random letters to make it look like she was writing.

“How long are we going to keep doing this, Taylor?”

That was the question that made her pen stop, “Doing what? The interview? We can stop it early and meet another day-“ She shut her notebook and cut off the recorder and by the time she looked up at him his eyes were already on her.

“You know what I’m talking about.” His voice was rough and he cleared his throat, “now that you got that recorder off let’s talk about us.”

Taylor shook her head and stood, “Joe.”

“Taylor please.”

[phoenixblaze1412]

Omg now that i read the teenage reader story i got a idea. Imagine the reader getting their first crush and start simping over one of the harbinger (for Example tartaglia or pantalone 👉👈) dottore and his segments would go crazy for sure but who knows if they can stop the reader from daydreaming abt their crush ;)

The pristine halls of the Fatui headquarters echoed with the clicking of heels and the low murmur of passing conversations. You sat at your desk in Dottore’s lab, absently twirling your pen as your thoughts wandered far away. Specifically to a certain Harbinger with an impeccable sense of style and a smile that could charm Mora out of a banker.

Pantalone.

The Ninth Harbinger was everything you weren’t. Cool, composed, utterly graceful. Every time he spoke, it felt like his voice was dipped in honey, and every glance he threw your way left you a stammering mess.

And that was the problem.

“You’re distracted,” Alpha said, his arms crossed as he loomed over your shoulder.

“I’m working,” you lied, snapping your notebook shut before he could see the little hearts you’d doodled next to Pantalone’s name.

Alpha’s crimson gaze narrowed. “You’ve been staring into space for fifteen minutes. What’s on your mind?”

Theta, always the instigator, leaned over the edge of a nearby table with a grin.

“Bet it’s a crush.”

Your face burned. “It’s not!”

“Oh, it definitely is,” Theta teased, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Come on, who is it? One of the recruits? Or maybe...” He gasped dramatically. “Is it Pantalone?”

Silence fell over the lab like a dropped pin.

Dottore, who had been adjusting a piece of equipment nearby, froze mid-motion, dropping the item to the ground and shattering it. Slowly, he turned to face you, his mask glinting ominously in the lab’s artificial light.

“Pantalone?” he repeated, his voice low and dangerously calm.

You gulped. “It’s not what it sounds like--”

“Oh, it’s exactly what it sounds like,” Theta interrupted, gleefully fanning the flames.

Dottore straightened, his gaze piercing. “Explain yourself.”

From that moment on, your life became a whirlwind of chaos.

Dottore was immediately on high alert, his overprotective instincts kicking in full force. “The Ninth Harbinger is far too old for you,” he declared. “And too manipulative. You will keep your distance.”

“Dad, I just think he’s cool!” you protested.

Alpha stepped in with his usual stern demeanor. “You’re too young to be entertaining such thoughts.”

Theta, however, saw it as prime entertainment. “This is amazing,” he said, grinning. “Our little (Y/N) has a crush on Pantalone of all people. What’s next? A love letter?”

You threw a wrench at him to which he dodged with a laugh.

-----

Dottore decided to take matters into his own hands.

He rearranged your schedule to ensure you were never in the same room as Pantalone.

Any meetings involving the Ninth Harbinger were now “off-limits” for you.

The segments were tasked with monitoring your activities, reporting any suspicious daydreaming or mentions of the Ninth Harbinger.

Theta, of course, was the first to exploit the situation. “Daydreaming about him again?” he’d tease every time he caught you zoning out.

Zeta, ever the quiet one, offered more subtle support. “Perhaps it’s just a phase,” he suggested to Dottore one evening. “Teenagers are prone to such things.”

Dottore was unconvinced. “A phase or not, I won’t have my child distracted by frivolities.”

Unfortunately for Dottore, the situation escalated when Pantalone himself caught wind of your crush.

It happened during a routine encounter in the hall. You were minding your own business, clutching a stack of documents when Pantalone rounded the corner and flashed you one of his signature smiles.

“Ah, (Y/N), always working hard,” he said smoothly. “Such dedication is admirable.”

Your brain short-circuited. “Uh—I—thanks—you—uh—bye!” you stammered, practically running in the opposite direction.

Pantalone raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. Later that day, Theta casually let it slip. “Oh, they’ve got the biggest crush on you.”

Pantalone chuckled. “How… endearing.”

-----

When Dottore found out Pantalone knew, he stormed into the Ninth Harbinger’s office, flanked by Alpha and Zeta.

“My child is off-limits,” he declared, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Pantalone, ever unflappable, simply smiled. “Doctor, I assure you, I’ve done nothing to encourage them.”

“Good,” Dottore said sharply. “Keep it that way.”

"My, aren't you being overprotective? It's only a crush, a puppy love situation."

"I will not let my child fall in love with manipulative businessmen like you, Regrator. I'd rather not let them fall in love with anyone at all."

-----

Despite Dottore’s best efforts, your crush persisted for a while. But over time, you began to see Pantalone in a more realistic light. His charm was undeniable, but you realized that your feelings were more admiration than genuine love.

One evening, as you worked late in the lab, Dottore approached you, a rare softness in his voice. “You’ve been… quieter lately.”

You shrugged. “I guess I realized he’s just… a cool guy. Nothing more.”

Dottore studied you for a moment before nodding. “Good. You deserve better than someone like him.”

You smiled, touched by the rare display of fatherly affection. “Thanks, Dad.”

Theta, of course, ruined the moment by bursting in and declaring, “So, who’s the next lucky Harbinger? Is it Arlecchino? Or maybe Tartaglia? Oh, I know! It's the Jester!"

You threw another wrench at him.

[angelinthefire]

I thought it would be fun to talk about all the musical segments in season 2 of Arcane. Here's where you can find other posts.

It's "Ashes and Blood" time.

What a stand-out scene.

What a great shot. And it's typical of the whole scene. The depth, the composition, the use of the space, amazing.

I wasn't going to say much about this first screencap except that I really like it. But then I started thinking about it more.

One thing I've said about Caitlyn is that in season 1, she has a very clear sense of right and wrong, and she's very confident that she knows what should be done. But she keeps getting frustrated at every turn, whether by her parents or by the sheriff.

Now she's the head of her family, she's an officer leading her own strike team. And she still gets frustrated. She's been fantasizing about taking Jinx out, she gets her in her sights in this moment. But the Sevika stops her. And despite the fact that Caitlyn has been obsessing about Jinx, this fight isn't about her at all. It's all Jinx and Vi. And in the end, Caitlyn is still unable to accomplish the task that's been haunting her.

Idk I just find it really interesting how Caitlyn has this very clear image of who Jinx is in her mind, that Jinx is taunting her, and that she'll be able to take Jinx down cooly and calmly. And none of that is accurate.

Anyways, one neat thing about the scene is that so many of the cuts between the fight and the anomaly are well-motivated, and do a great job of tying the two plotlines together.

The anomaly cuts to the hexgem, the shapes reflecting each other, and making the connection for when all the hextech stuff starts glitching.

Jinx's stunned expression at Vi tearing her gun apart cuts to Jayce's stunned expression at the anomaly.

Jinx jumping in front of the Janna seal, with the camera spinning, turns into the spinning dial on Jayce's hammer, and then Jayce's eye turns into the eye on Fishbones.

Of course the two parts of the scene are tied together by magic, by the arcane waking up. But that would not necessarily be apparent. And the directing does such a good job of making the two parts into one continuous whole.

Then the song itself ties the parts together, it really is a Jayce POV song, but the fight is choreographed to it. "You summon storms and play with nature, now watch it hurt you." If that isn't the thesis for season 2, I don't know what is.

And then, it's not quite the same thing, but:

The shot of Sevika's smile cuts to Fishbones' face.

Not for the first time, I wish I had the patience and spare time to make commentary videos. Because the camera movement in this scene is so wonderfully fluid. And I think that contributes to the sense of continuity as well.

The camera move in this shot, the way it pushes in towards Jinx, is just so good.

Moving on,

I do grow tired of the himbofication of Jayce, but this bit. How his reaction to the anomaly is "I'm gonna smash it". Low key hilarious. The definition of every problem looking like a nail when you have a hammer.

And then,

Butterfly! Viktor's symbol.

I think this is cool. Throughout the show, they use stretch and smear techniques, from 2D animation, especially with props. But then they do it with Jinx as well when she's using her shimmer-enhanced abilities. She's almost entirely gone from the frame at one point. And the movement itself isn't smooth, she jumps, then she's back in a crouching position, then she resolves again in the air. Which makes it look extra-glitchy.

And then of course there's the hi-def hero shots, that really emphasize that this is a centrepiece fight.

The setting communicates the scale and the significance of the fight, as does the music, as do these gorgeous slow-motion shots.

It's all fluid movement and sweeping scale, and epic, and one-of-a-kind.

[multi-fandomdisaster]

Happy new year, everyone! As a gift to start up 2025, I give you all something I promised you all a good while ago!!!

✨BEHOLD✨, my favorite (alive) Ted details from TGWDLM (acquired during a soundless/no-audio rewatch I did of the musical to study his body language) (except as I go on, it gets more and more uncoordinated and chaotic):

(Heads up: this is gonna be really long, and as such, I'm gonna put the list under a cut as to not take up as much space. We're covering EVERY scene he's in [alive] within an ENTIRE musical. Buckle up, fellas!)

His shoulder shimmies during and after he says the "cute little barista" line

Honestly during that whole segment, the stark difference between Paul's near-complete lack of motion while Ted never STOPS moving

Actually, I don't think there's a moment in the whole musical where he's completely still and I love that

Also Ted seems so happy to be there talking to Paul lol

His little tippy taps on his mug while Bill speaks

He looks over to see the pot of coffee in Charlotte's hands when Bill makes the "coffee in the sugar joke"

His little lip twitch after the "I heard, I wasn't there" line

His facial expressions in the back while Charlotte's talking about Sam singing that morning

How fluffy his hair is during the alley scene in comparison to how it was slicked back the last time we saw him

"Paul," *tap tap* "get in a trash can!"

His apologetic grin to Emma after Paul says "Latte Hottay" and the way it IMMEDIATELY falls as soon as he looks back at Paul

BONUS: the way Paul flinches when Ted touches his shoulder

"My ID's in my back pocket-"

His incredibly confused expression when the cop grabs his arm and starts fake-driving with it

The "look at this guy" point at the dancing cop during the bridge of Show Me Your Hands

The way he starts vibing to the song during the bridge of Show Me Your Hands (this will return)

The way he plugs his ears as soon as the one cop starts imitating a siren (Bill and Emma also do this)

The double take he does when Sam pulls a gun on Charlotte

He uses the trash can lid as a shield

His visual "you're going great" as Emma's talking about Hidgens

The confidence and the smile as he says "A king"

He puts a hand through his hair as he looks down at Sam

He's very touchy with all of his friends. First the shoulder pats with Paul (which Paul seemed very uncomfortable with), and now the shoulder hold and back pats with Charlotte

He slightly extends his pinky when pointing

He often stands with his hands in his pockets and gently sways, shifting his weight thoughtlessly back and forth from one foot to the other. Bro literally CANNOT stand still

Okay, scratch the slightly extending his pinky. Bro just full-on points like this ->🤘sometimes (except with his left hand. Is Joey Richter a lefty? I ask because Ted primarily gestures with his left hand)

The little flourish (and/or fumble) with the handcuff keys as he puts them in his pocket

He rubs his hands together and cracks his knuckles as Hidgens is talking about the blue shit

His crossed arms and general bored body language as Alexa dims the lights

As soon as everyone else leaves, his body language immediately opens a little bit as he (and this is truly the only way I can describe this) swaggers over to Charlotte and IMMEDIATELY touches her shoulders, rubbing them soothingly before full-on holding her to him. Touch is this man's love language, platonic or otherwise, and nobody can convince me otherwise

I love the way he looks at Charlotte. You can tell he genuinely cares about what she me saying, and he looks confused and maybe a little hurt when she pushes him away. You can also see the exact moment the confusion weans as he determines the next words he's going to say.

HE DOES STOP MOVING AT ONE POINT! TO LISTEN TO CHARLOTTE!!! HE STOPS ALL MOTION TO FOCUS ON WHAT SHE'S SAYING!

His smirk on "always will be"

Okay, but like- Charlotte moves so much in this scene in comparison to Ted. Her shoulders, her face, her head; my girl's practically squirming the whole time. And I know it's mostly to drive in the joke with dramatized...flirting? I think? General horniness? Is that what's happening here? (I'm aroace; I don't pick up on/understand this kind of stuff lmao), but it's still a bit jarring to see a character deliberately moving their body so much that it makes Ted look practically still in comparison lmao

He doesn't look genuinely mad during the "I'm not your therapist!" line. He looks mildly annoyed if anything. Maybe a bit frustrated?

I genuinely feel like Ted doesn't like Sam. The two have technically never been seen interacting before, and yet the way Ted points at and states his opinions of Sam is done with so much...idk, "rigid matter-of-fact"-ness. He just...flat out does not like the guy

I have SO MANY EMOTIONS about the "This guy is a scumbag. You could upgrade to a sleazeball" line-

There's a lot of emotion in his arm gestures when he says that Sam's a scumbag. To me, it again looks like he genuinely doesn't like Sam, and he's trying to convince Charlotte that he's bad.

Then he calls himself a sleazeball, and he states it like it's a fact. It hurts even more to me how there's a slight smirk on his face when he says "you could upgrade" and then his face goes completely serious when he finishes the sentence with "to a sleazeball" and points to himself.

He doesn't look proud. He looks resigned to the title

And then he HOLDS THAT POSE, his hands/arms bouncing a little to drive in the point

I feel from that through the "but you refuse to be happy" line, we see a little bit of the caring inner side of Ted before he re-defaults back to his usual more asshole persona

UGHHH I LOVE THIS SCENE SO MUCH-

"I'm gonna go hit on that crabby barista" ✌️

Off topic, but we need a left hand emoji equivalent for every hand gesture emoji in my opinion lol

Ted is MANSPLITTING in that chair. His posture is so bad (and looks so comfy lol)

And also he's fidgeting with the bottle, looking relatively spaced out until he looks at Bill speak

Ted is 100% at his most asshole when he's drunk

Why does bro look like he has a headache at the beginning of this scene?

This goes for the whole show, but my man SERIOUSLY talks with his hands

Is that a bottle of Jack Daniel's? I feel like I should have noticed this earlier, but I never bothered to look lmao

He taps on the bottle every once in a while

"Oh" *nods with unimpressed frown* "My head" *nods with unimpressed frown*

He also stops moving between reactions. Like he's processing the stupidity of the threat in real time lmao

And then he stands up and sets the bottle down so he can go right back to his usual dramatic full-body movements as he makes fun of Bill

Okay, but it looks like he's genuinely having a lot of fun as he's making fun of Bill, and then gets pissed off again once he remembers he's supposed to be pissed off lol

I feel like there's not many details I can go into with this scene that people haven't already picked up on just by watching because Ted's a focal point in the scene

"That's what sense Bill taught me" *bows with the bottle of Jack Daniel's in his hands*

Wait, when did he pick the bottle back up? Is this a case of the "they put multiple shows together for the YouTube video?" Probably. Alternatively, Ted can canonically summon bottles of booze whenever he wants /silly

Bro is SO ANIMATED. He will NOT let this joke die on his watch lmao

I'm sorry, but his reaction to the light smack on the back of his hand gets me every time. Why don't we talk about this more often???

He looks SO OFFENDED (and a bit confused) when Paul takes the bottle away from him

The force in that "WHATEVER!" I stg I could feel that through the screen lol

Apparently he could feel the force of that "WHATEVER!" too because it lowkey looks like he's catching his breath after he says it

Man, I wish we could see Ted during the whole conversation between Paul and Emma. I wanna know what he's doing. I wanna know if he's listening along, or if he's spaced out and doesn't give a shit

UGHHHH I WISH THIS WAS AN AUDIO WATCH BC THE WAY TED SAYS CHARLOTTE'S NAME WHEN HE SEES HER BEFORE JOIN US (AND DIE) HURTS ME IN THE BEST WAY POSSIBLEEEEE

*sigh* I'm gonna need to do another watch through at some point that's just me listening for his dialogue during songs, aren't I?

Also I wanna listen to Jamie sing because GIRL CAN SINGGGG

Bro's just standing there watching Charlotte and Sam approach like🧍‍♂️, except slightly crouched, like he's ready to run, but he has no idea what the hell is going on

From a different angle, it looks like he moves to the dino pose™️

HE RUNS A HAND THROUGH HIS HAIR AGAIN!!! I am FULLY convinced he does that when he's nervous now lol

He readjusts his shirt and fidgets with his hands as he tries to think of what to do, and then he goes to approach Charlotte. Then they hit the chorus and he stops. Or rather, it looks like Bill held him back

He does a double take of Charlotte at the chorus

WHEN DID HE PICK UP THE BOTTLE AGAIN??? (Ted's booze summoning powers strike AGAIN!)

Bro is so frazzled by Charlotte walking toward him with her arms extended that he does ANOTHER double take

TED STOP PICKING UP THE BOTTLE OF ALCOHOL, IT'S NOT GOING TO HELP YOU-

HIM SETTING THE BOTTLE DOWN AGAIN AND PICKING UP THE CHAIR-

Did...did Ted try to use Bill as a human shield? You had a chair! Why did you put the chair down???

Legit though, he is cowering behind Bill lol

Sam and Charlotte are NOT letting Ted have a good day lmao

The way he looks around confusedly during "ride it" like "what the hell are these guys doing to me???"

DID HE CRAWL TO THE OTHER SIDE OF THE STAGE AFTER HIDGENS SHOT SAM???

At this point in the show, Ted's the only one in the main group who isn't wearing primarily white. I just thought that was interesting

Ted is STILL on his hands and knees with his jaw hanging open right up until the "musical doppelgänger" line

I love how he looks at Paul for help when Hidgens makes them sing Moana, like Paul of all people would know the words. I love even more that Paul is the ONLY ONE who knows the words

Ted's just trying to follow Paul's lead lol

Also BONUS: Paul tells TED that he didn't like that movie lol

The look of pure annoyance he gives to Bill as he sings a completely different song

The way he meanders around the back of the stage, looking down at (presumably) Charlotte

THIS IS THE FOURTH TIME HE'S GRABBED THAT BOTTLE OF JACK DANIEL'S (including him starting the scene with it)

He looks so done with everything when he's talking to Bill about him getting his daughter. He looks so exhausted. So...emotionally drained and angry and, dare I say, grieving

I think the bottle switches hands between shots

YES! WE FINALLY SEE HIM DRINKING FROM IT! I don't know why I'm excited about that lol

He momentarily stops moving to process before "Oh, I'm a fucking creep?"

The way his eyes widen during "...people who are FUCKING DEAD!"

He also stops moving while waiting for & listening to Paul's response

There's so much emotion from him during this scene, but I can't think of the words to describe it

He's just so...frustrated and sad :(

He keeps sitting back down in the same chair whenever nobody's speaking to him

AND HE TAKES ANOTHER DRINK!

YES!!! SHOW STOPPIN' NUMBER!!! I LOVE HIS VIBES IN THIS SCENE!!!

I love how he's effectively asleep on top of Emma

HIS DOUBLE-CHIN I CAN'T-

"What? Wha...? What...? The fuck...?"

The way he's facing the complete opposite direction from Hidgens and has no idea what's going on lmao

His slow tired processing about how the heck he can turn/lean around to see

He like- looks around, then tries to look over his right shoulder, then looks around again, rinse and repeat

'What's going on over there?' *scoot scoot*

His expressions range from "what tf is this guy on about?" to "this guys a fucking dumbass"

He's taking in everything occasionally nodding along

Man, I wish I had the dialogue in this scene memorized like to do for basically the rest of the show. It would make analysis of the scene a bit easier lol

The way it looks like it takes Hidgens chucking his Alexa across the room for Ted to realize he's in danger

*GASP* The first time we see Ted visibly uncomfortable with someone touching him!!! Like- a full on flinch and cringe reaction! Now, the real question is if it's because he didn't know Hidgens was gonna put his hand on his shoulder, because Hidgens is actively insane, or because he doesn't overall know Hidgens? Maybe a mixture?

He's breathing SO HEAVILY after Hidgens lets go and walks away. He was NOT okay with that touch

His slack-jawed expression when Hidgens reveals the keyboard. He's so shocked he stops moving again beyond blinking lol

"Don't you fucking do it!" *scoot scoot* "DON'T YOU FUCKING DO IT!"

He looks almost jittery at the beginning of Show Stoppin' Number. He's full-on looking around for an exit

He also leans away when Hidgens walks toward them

HOLD ON, DOES HE LOOK HIDGENS UP AND DOWN WHEN HE TAKES OFF THE JACKET??? I THINK HE DOES A DOUBLE TAKE, BUT I'M PRETTY SURE HE ALSO QUICKLY DOES A FULL-BODY SCAN OF HIDGENS AND THAT'S SO FUNNY TO ME-

He's OFFICIALLY VIBING TO THE SONG!!! And all Hidgens had to do was take off his jacket lmao

*scoot scoot* "Fuckin' go for it!" *bounce bounce bounce bounce bounce*

He is FULLY invested

AND NOW HE'S COMFORTABLE WITH HIDGENS TOUCHING HIS SHOULDER!

He is SO EXCITED about Workin' Boys! The Ted vibes are unmatched in this scene

And his investment during the phone call??? Hello???

"...and Chad..."

And then he's RIGHT back to the vibes lmao

As soon as the Workin' Boys come in, the vibes cease IMMEDIATELY and he's back to being terrified for his life

His very fast head shake

The gag where he starts praying to be saved and then Paul shows up will never not be funny to me

"I'LL GET THE PIANO!"

And mark another one down for him touching Paul's shoulder

And now he's also grabbing Emma's shoulder. And Paul's again.

Both of them are SO uncomfortable with him holding their hands. Emma gets OUT of that SO FAST when he lets go and both her and Paul's body languages are so tense. He notably DOESN'T try to slip out of his grip like Emma does though. He's just so used to it at this point lol

Another Paul shoulder touch. I should have made a counter for this.

I NEVER NOTICED TED FLAT OUT SNATCHES THE GUN FROM PAUL WHEN JEFF'S WORKIN BOY APPEARS THAT IS SO FUNNY-

AND THEN HE JUST DIPS

I LOVE TED

And another nervous hand through the hair!

Teddy...no...those soldiers aren't gonna help you...

Ted please stop waving that firearm around so recklessly, you're gonna hurt someone

He's so excited to see the military that he literally jumps for joy

The way his motion stops so suddenly when he gets shot. And the confusion in his eyes

Orgh the way he tries to resist-

His little head shake no, the way he tries to hold MacNamara's hand back with his free hand, and then when that doesn't work, with the gun hand, the way his eyes are wide with fear...until they're not

The shift from regular Ted to infected Ted is so jarring, especially after hyper-analyzing his body language and all of his small little character motions for so long. He's so blank. His gaze is suddenly so serious and empty. He's dead. In a singular swift motion, they've taken this lively, constantly in motion, utter mess of a man and turned him into another mindless slave. You can pinpoint the exact moment Ted is gone and the Hive has replaced him. It's terrifying. It's heartbreaking. I love it.

And LUCKILY FOR ME THAT MEANS MY OBSERVATION LIST OF ALIVE TED IS OVER!!! FINALLY!!! I'M FREE!!! /silly

I hope you've all enjoyed my insane ramblings about one Theodore Spankoffski! If y'all would like me to turn this into an actually coherent rant (or perhaps would want me to do this with another character, although note that would likely take me a good while just like this one did lol), let me know! The time it took aside, this was actually SUPER fun to do, and it's given me a new perspective and appreciation for the character! Hope y'all have a wonderful day/night/year!!!

[waywardstation]

hey no pressure I'm just being silly here and this is completely in a joking manner but

you haven't posted a fic in so long I'm starting to have dreams that you do and then I wake up and I'm like awwwwh

like the other day I had one where you posted something about the phione akari au (which is my favorite btw besides maybe what you've revealed of the iwlyb saga) and last night I had one where you posted one and then decided you didn't like the story and then me and someone else had to try and write the rest to convince you it was still good lmaoooo

im yearning here TvT

HELLO ANON I am both honored that you appreciate my fics so much and want more to the point you dream about them, and also mortified that it’s really been so so SO long since I’ve last posted a fic when I think about it ;0;

tbh I have an unfinished drabble for the Phione Akari AU I still really need to finish (she is swimming around in the shallow coastlands shoreline looking for stuff to collect and bring back to Ingo while he rests and takes a break from the heat — she is also enjoying just how much more mobile and strong and independent she is in the water compared to land) AND I really really need to finish just one more segment in IWLYB before it can be ready to at least START posting it.

It’s been so, so long since I’ve posted any of my writings. It’s not WIP Wednesday but I’ll post snippets from both.

First, Phione Akari AU:

—————

“Here,” Ingo moved to lower his cupped hands to the gritty coastlands sand, though Akari jumped out and down the rest of the way before he could reach it.

With her out of his hands, Ingo settled into the cool sand himself, leaning back against the wall of water-damaged boards of the overturned wreckage that provided him shade.

Today was a rather humid day — the previous days’ rainstorms had left sticky air in their wake. And while it was appreciated that the dark clouds would stop emptying their supply onto the two of them, the humidity was almost worse in the coastlands’ climate.

Well, for one of them, at least. The moisture in the air kept Akari from drying out so quickly, but with the poor man cooking in his multiple layers and black coat under the glaring sun, Ingo was not faring as well.

“Ugh,” Ingo groaned, taking off his hat to wipe at the accumulating sweat on his forehead. “I apologize, it seems our schedule has many more stops than I’d intended today.”

“Phi-phi,” Akari squeaked reassuringly, watching him practically peel his thick coat off of himself and begin rummaging through the supplies in his pack. She wanted him to know that she was appreciative he was managing himself better than he had been the last few days.

Ingo pulled out a flask and popped the cap off, tipping it to down a few big gulps of cold water. He wiped at his mouth after and took in the sight of their shaded shelter briefly, a few fingers of light reaching through into the cool darkness where the hull’s wood had cracked. At the far end of the stretched shelter opposite to Ingo, the edge of the surf lapped gently with its repetitive motions. Reaching out, pulling back. Reaching out, pulling back…

And Akari had shuffled through the sand to meet it, reaching a flipper out to feel the cool ocean water as it pulled across the shaded grains. He knew what she wanted to do.

“I think I should rest my engine here for a while.” Ingo screwed the top onto the bottle and slumped back against his pack. “I should be ready to resume travel shortly, but until then Miss Akari, you may venture into the waters. Just please don’t wander too far from this station, remain near where the wreckage provides shelter, out of the open waters.”

The casual allowance surprised Akari somewhat — he’d never let her do so before, but perhaps he’d taken her seriously when she asked him to trust her a little more, and allow a bit more freedom.

Well, she wasn’t going to waste a moment of this little bit of freedom he’d just given her.

“Phi!” Before he could say anything else, she bid him goodbye with a wave of her flipper and leapt forward into the surf, swimming out further under the protection of the overarching wreckage where the shallow sands began to dip down. She’d already decided she was going to find and bring something back for Ingo — perhaps a basculin spine? Or a qwilfish quill? Or maybe even a Lumineon scale! Perhaps even all three if she was quick about it.

—————

And now, a snippet from I Won’t Leave You Behind. This one is much shorter:

—————

No, this was the behavior of a mother. Or rather, one that was grieving.

Jörmun was not a male like the Pearl Clan had always told him, like he’d always just went along with. Like he’d always just assumed because of that notch in the dorsal fin.

It wasn’t a male marker. It was nothing more than a poorly-healed scar. Jörmun was a female. And she was out of her mind with rage, trying to find who had done this to her ill-fated offspring.

Ingo’s eyes darted between the destroyed eggs, all the tiny fragments scattered across the snow with the yolky contents pooling in the nests and the footprints.

She thought they’d done this to her eggs.

A deep bellowing, more felt then heard, shook the mountainside. It reverberated through Ingo’s chest, an uncomfortable rumbling in his ribcage that shook everything inside with the overwhelming realization that they’d been drowning in a danger that went so much deeper than they’d even realized.

“Akari, we must depart.” Ingo’s eyes scanned the mountainside, searching for that telltale dorsal fin to come cutting through somewhere along the snowy stretch of fog that surrounded them. “Immediately.” He emphasized when she didn’t move. She looked at him with wide eyes, realizing for herself what was happening.

[dee-writes-anime]

His Name: Say It

FEATURING Touya 'Dabi' Todoroki x Reader

SUMMARY Learning to love a name when you've renounced it for so long is hard, good thing Dabi has you there to help.

CONTENT WARNINGS healing myself through my characters!!!, angst to fluff, descriptions of scars, mentions of past child abuse, "death", violence

AUTHORS NOTE Touya is a dear character to my heart, I felt there was no better way to make a comeback than to share with you some Touya love. Hope you enjoy! <3

It started with a news broadcast.

One of those filler segments that air late at night, quiet and unassuming. The kind that usually just hums in the background while you make tea or fold laundry. But something about this one caught your ear—maybe it was the old man’s voice, low and slow, like he was digging up bones he hadn’t meant to find.

You had half a mind to change the channel.

But Touya had gone out for cigarettes—he always said it like that, even if you both knew he just needed air—and the apartment was too quiet without him.

So you listened.

“…first time I ever saw him cry,” the man said, squinting at the camera. “Pro Hero Endeavor. He was still in his prime then. It was after that fire up in Sekoto Peak. Nobody talks about it now, but… I remember. They said his son died there. Name was Touya. Red hair, I think. Real quiet kid.”

The clip ended a few seconds later. Nothing dramatic. The screen faded to a grainy commercial for cold medicine, and the moment passed like fog on glass.

But the name stayed.

Touya.

You didn’t say it aloud. Not yet.

You just thought about it—about how he never used that name, never even hinted at it. How “Dabi” felt more like a wall than a word. A name with nails in it.

And you thought about the way his voice softened sometimes, almost against his will. The way he flinched when kids on the street called their mothers by name. The way he never looked directly at you when you told him he was good, that he mattered.

The door creaked open not long after.

You recognized him instantly by the weight of his footsteps—uneven, heavy like he was made of something denser than bone and flesh. He never entered quietly, even when he tried. Like the air around him refused to let him pass unnoticed.

He shook out his coat without a word, tracking water in with his boots. His hair hung in damp strands around his face, sticking to the staples across his jaw. Under the low kitchen light, he looked like something out of a war that never ended—hollowed eyes, tight shoulders, smoke still clinging to the frayed edge of his hoodie.

You stood, slowly. Watched him peel off his gloves with deliberate motions. Every movement taut, controlled, as if he were holding something back.

“Welcome home,” you said quietly.

He didn’t answer.

You swallowed.

“There was a segment on the news earlier,” you began, your voice gentle, cautious. Like placing bare feet on a frozen lake. “They were interviewing an old man who remembered the fire at Sekoto Peak. He said something about Endeavor. About… his son.”

Dabi’s shoulders stiffened—just barely.

You watched him from across the room, eyes trained on the tension that rippled through his back like a struck chord.

“He said his name was Touya.”

The stillness that followed was unnatural.

You didn’t know how else to describe it. The silence became dense, like the room itself had stopped breathing. Dabi’s hand hovered over the counter, curled slightly—like he was deciding whether to grip the edge or crush it.

“Don’t,” he said.

Low. Barely audible.

You took a step closer.

“Don’t what?”

He turned. Slowly.

His eyes were flat. Not cold—not at first. Just empty, like something had been drained from him.

“That name,” he rasped. “Don’t say it.”

Your brow furrowed, lips parting to respond—but before you could, his voice surged again.

“I mean it.”

There was a crackle.

A flicker.

A sudden, almost invisible spark that danced over his fingertips before fading. But the air shifted with it, heavy and electric, the heat blooming beneath your ribs before you even realized it had touched the room.

You steadied your breath.

“But it was yours,” you said gently.

That was the wrong thing to say.

Or maybe it was the right thing—but at the wrong time.

Because in the span of a heartbeat, the world tilted.

A fireball erupted from his palm and shattered the ceramic mug beside the sink. Glazed fragments exploded across the counter, one piece skittering under your foot as you stood still, unmoved.

The heat struck first. Then the smell—burnt glaze, scorched linoleum, and that familiar sting of ozone.

Dabi stood trembling, chest rising and falling too fast, too shallow. His fists were clenched at his sides, his shoulders high and rigid like a blade drawn to its fullest tension.

He looked at you with something wild in his gaze. Not hatred. Not even anger.

Fear. Raw and ancient.

“That name,” he said, low and shaking, “is a fucking grave.”

You took another step forward, slowly, the way one might approach a feral animal. Not to trap it. Not to tame it. Just to say—I see you. I’m not leaving.

“You don’t have to go back there,” you said. “I’m not asking you to.”

“Then why the hell are you saying it?” he snarled.

His voice cracked again—splintering at the edges, unraveling like fabric pulled too tight for too long.

“Because it matters.” Your voice rose slightly, not in anger but in intensity, in truth. “Because you mattered.”

A second burst of flame roared from his palm, this one aimed nowhere—just a desperate, directionless ache in the shape of fire. It struck the far wall, leaving a singed scar against the plaster.

The glow lit his face in terrible orange.

The scars pulled, distorting his expression into something inhuman for a moment—something anguished. But his eyes—

His eyes were that of a boy caught in the wreckage of his own past, begging to be unloved before someone could leave him again.

“I killed him,” he whispered hoarsely. “Don’t you get it? I killed that version of me. I burned him until there was nothing left but this.” He gestured to his ruined skin, his scorched world, his very existence.

You moved closer, until the heat of his panic licked at your cheeks.

“No,” you said, firmly. “They killed him. The people who made you believe love had to be earned in blood. The ones who handed you expectations instead of affection.”

He turned his face from you.

“I let it happen.”

“You were a child,” you said. “You were a child who begged to be seen. Who lit himself on fire hoping someone would look. And when no one did, you turned the flame into a weapon because it was the only language you had left.”

His breath caught.

“I don’t deserve to hear that name.”

“You deserve to be held when it’s said.”

A pause. He shuddered.

You took his hand, slow and deliberate.

It trembled violently in yours. Calloused, scorched. It didn’t fold around yours, didn’t squeeze. But he didn’t pull away either.

“I’m not trying to dig up what you buried,” you whispered. “But you can’t spend your life standing on the ashes of a boy you refuse to grieve.”

He blinked slowly, his jaw trembling. “I can’t forgive him.”

“Then I will,” you said. “For now. I’ll say his name gently. I’ll talk to him, love him, protect him until you remember how.”

A beat of silence. Then another. And then—

“…Say it.”

Your chest swelled.

You stepped closer still, until you could feel his breath against your skin, unsteady and hot.

You touched your forehead to his, your hand still wrapped around his.

And you whispered:

“Touya.”

He exhaled.

A choked, broken sound.

And you stayed with him as the fire went out.