#Like the time one... You know how a dramatic slow motion scene looks like in an anime?

[artkaninchenbau]

An AWS comic

[crayons-and-glitter-glue]

I think about Sun and Moon's original versions a LOT, and I don't get why people say they're not expressive!

Or perhaps, I do, and I just wanna ramble. Anyways! Big ol warning for lots of talking, some fursuit gifs and analyzation of body movement.

So, they have flat, immobile faceplates, right? Technically, yes!some argue that this makes them immediately inert and expressionless and opt to enhance their expressions. And this is a-okay! Do what you like!

But as someone who used to be a costumer, and wears a fursuit on occasion,

(Sorry, I love this gif so much)

BUT! When in a mascot costume, fursuit, or any other costume with a mask over one's face, the performer has to learn how to move in order to portray the emotions necessary for character engagement with the audience! Whether it's exaggerated head bobs, using your hands to talk, or making everything a bit of a spectacle, even the way you tilt your FACE can affect how you look.

Even MUPPETS do this with their limited range of expression. And we can easily draw those conclusions of how the boys were programmed to act in canon!

Take Sun's default animation in the daycare, just standing there.

It's very obvious here what he's trying to portray, and who his programmed audience is- little children! When costuming around little kids, you wanna use big gestures, and get on their level because you can seem HUGE AND SCARY to them! You wanna get down towards the ground, make big sweeping cartoon motions, and make sure all your movements are ROUNDED- not jabbing, sharp, or sudden- so that the kid isn't ever surprised, but rather delighted by your performance as a costumer. I'll show you an example by the amazing performer, Temba the Bat! (Made by Toxicoon, I believe.)

Big sweeping motions, slow without being too spooky, and generally friendly motions while swaying the head! Looks kinda similar right?

Another point is, though, these exaggerated motions don't really... turn off when feeling other things. Sun and Moon don't have a customer service mode, and that's WILD to me that their programming requires them to act like this all the time. Exhibit B: Sun's pain in the transformation scene.

He's making such exaggerated motions and movements to INDICATE he is in pain or holding something back. He's gripping his face like something is trying to come out of it, and even dramatically falls backwards to indicate a loss of control in his body. Whether the way the fall looks so cartoonist was intentionally programmed in, I couldn't tell you.

And then... there's Moon.

This is SO cartoon villain sequel, isn't it? The hands tapping delicately on the surface, the exaggerated head tilt, all of it is so wildly exaggerated in such a smooth way to let you know "Ah! I'm in danger! Great!"

And yet... he still is low to the ground. Still in that pose of going after someone SMALL. Performing for someone small. His evilness is almost completely exaggerated and, dare I say, fabricated by his programming. Of course, the virus probably had something to do with it but LIKE! Look at that range of motion!

Idk what the point of all this is, I just wanna say: it's totally understandable to make the boys super duper expressive in the artistic, flat 2d styles i see a lot!

But man I do hope someone draws them biblically accurate while expressing something else because that would be hilarious to see Sun throwing a temper tantrum by banging his fists on the ground and flailing while his face is just

:D

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

Humble request- (inspired by Asra's section of the m6 with insomniac mc headcannons that you posted previously) Mc accidentally traveling into the m6's dreams. Also I really enjoy your writing!

The Arcana HCs: When MC accidentally visits M6's dreams

~ @cricketchirps you have a marvelous mind and I love how you think! Thank you for the request, it was so fun to write! - brainrot ~

-- to set the scene --

You'll never not love falling asleep next to your beloved. It's the perfect conclusion to every day, good and bad and everything in between. It's the quiet rustle of sheets and blankets, the mundane perfection of a whispered "goodnight", the familiar intimacy of their smell on your nightclothes. Right now, seeing their peaceful sleeping face so close to yours, it's a healing sweetness that cradles you so gently it makes your heart ache. You shuffle a little closer, nuzzle into their embrace, and drift off to the rhythm of their quiet breathing.

Julian

You would know that voice anywhere

It seems you're on a stage - no, the deck of a ship - no, a stage, definitely a stage - and now it's the Coliseum floor?

A look to your right reveals Julian, in his nightshirt, performing some of the most dramatic improv you've ever seen to an increasingly enraptured audience. Is this why he talks in his sleep?

"I shall fight thee, foul beast!" he roars, and in the blink of an eye the stage is a pirate ship heading towards a hideous sea serpent wearing Valdemar's cloth-wrapped horns

The crowd's wild cheers cause Julian to draw up short, flicking his head around with a roguish smirk. "Let's see how it fares against this!" And the serpent transforms into one of those blow-up tube men frequently seen at car dealerships

He whips out a cutlass, the stage lights somehow glinting off it in slow motion, and thrusts it repeatedly at the enemy, comically missing the mark each time. You can't help but cackle along with the crowd

The sound of your voice pulls Julian's attention to you and now he's striding across the stage, taking your hands in his and kneeling bare-legged in front of you as the ship becomes a moonlit garden

"MC, my beloved, my darling, my dearest" He's pressing noisy kisses to your wrists, watching you blush at the sound of thousands of quiet "awww"s from the still present audience

You laugh again and gently tug your hands away. "I didn't know you had dreams like this, Julian."

And that's when he goes pale. "Wha - MC? The real MC? How are you - how are you here, I don't understand, is this even safe?!"

His panic is directly affecting both the audience and the stage, your surroundings flipping between boats and taverns and loud storms and chaotic crowds, until a faraway shout wakes you both

You open your eyes to see a wide-eyed Julian, tangled in his sheets, soaked in a cold sweat, startled awake by the increased volume of his own sleep-talking

"Julian? Are you alright?"

He turns to you wide-eyed, sending you a sheepish grin. "Let's - ah - let's pretend that didn't happen. Oh, and MC? Maybe warn me next time?"

Asra

You know where you are as soon as you open your eyes. Nobody else you know could effortlessly dream up a place like this

There's a tie-dye sky slowly wrinkling above you, you're standing on a floor of multicolored orbeez, the air feels like fizzy sherbert on your tongue, and thousands of tiny Faust flowers are kissing your ankles

You take a hesitant step forward and the ground shivers, trees resembling lisa frank paintings appearing in a shower of poprocks

Upon coming closer to one, you see that it has drapes of luxurious neon fur instead of foliage. You run your hand along it, marveling at its softness, when the trunk begins to gurgle and you stop

"Wait! Do that again!" Asra's materialized on one of the branches next to you, lazing happily on the thick fur. "Humor me?"

You let out a startled laugh and slowly comply, running your hand along your branch again. The gurgling increases in volume until the crown of the tree suddenly inflates and releases a holographic bubble with the most obscene burping noise you've ever heard

Asra's smiling at you between fits of laughter, reaching out a hand that you're suddenly close enough to to grasp and pulling you next to them. "Hello, my love. I didn't expect to see you here."

You snuggle into his side, trusting his fearlessness as you begin to sink into what's become a vast field of fuzz. "I didn't expect to wander into your dream, either. Is it always like this?"

They sigh blissfully and twine your fingers together. "Not always. But more and more, as I get practice." You watch in awe as the sky darkens, tie-dye rippling into glowing paint splatters of galaxies. "Do you like it?"

You look over at him and catch his proud, teasing smile. "Are you showing off for me, Asra?"

"Oh, MC." They pull you closer as you plummet down together, the slowly sinking softness giving way to a sea of stars. You float weightless next to them, their curls bending starlight around the two of you

"Surely you know I can do better than that."

It takes a promise to join him again before he agrees to wake up with you

Nadia

The first thing you're conscious of is a dull, repetitive roar just above your head. You don't feel weightless, exactly, but you do feel like you're floating, your feet bearing half the weight they're used to

You look up towards the soothing rush above you, and that's your first glimpse of this place.

Crystal arches meet high above your head, golden specks scattered across the tops like snow, and the sound you're hearing is that of sparkling pink-blue waves breaking over the top

Your eyes slowly trail down the spires, catching nostalgia laden pockets of solitude, and land on a familiar figure. "Nadia!"

She straightens and turns to you, eyes wide. The silver clockwork floor below her whirs to life and begins to click and squeeze the space between you until she's close enough to touch

"MC?" One of her hands trails down your cheek in wonder. "You aren't the MC I see in my dreams, you're my MC. How did you come to be in this place?"

"I don't know." You lean into her touch as the floor continues to whir and click and chime. "Did you build this place?"

She knits her brows and looks out past the crystal pillars, watching the golden specks from the ceiling settle into a beach at her feet. "I did not build it ... but I believe it is my domain to claim."

Her robes shimmer into something lighter and shorter as she steps off of the clockwork and onto the shimmering sand. Her hair floats idly around her shoulders when she turns back to look at you

"Care to join me?"

You reach out for her hand and the golden gear below you poofs into beach. "Is this where you try out new clothing designs?"

She laughs, a floral breeze picking up to pull the hair out of her face, and lightly traces her fingertips from one shoulder, along your collarbone, to the other shoulder, raising an eyebrow at you

"It's worth the view." You look down to see what she's changed your normal nightwear to, and your blush makes your vision swim

You wake up to see her sketching her design for you before she forgets

Muriel

Silence has never felt so vibrant

When you open your eyes you're in something like the Tarske Forest, only, it seems to have folded into a very large square

Looking up gives you the most grounded sense of calming vertigo, because you're in fact looking down at the tops of the trees above you, and further past them to the mossy ground

Gravity feels alive here, like it's taking slow, deep breaths, and the subtle heartbeat beneath your feet holds them steadily to the ground

You start to explore, subconsciously matching your breathing to the intense quiet. You reach the first wall of the forest quickly, where the ground takes a ninety degree angle straight up

One more step, and the world rolls over, what used to be the ground a wall behind you and the wall before you now your path. You hear the forest give a sigh, and then there's Muriel

The silence is too sacred to speak, so you whisper and hope it forgives your impudence. "Muriel - did you make this?"

He takes your hand in his and guides you to sit, a mossy root rising up to support your weight. He's hesitant to speak, his low murmur somehow making the silence quieter. "I didn't build this. It's just ... me."

The verdant sanctuary makes a little more sense now. You look at the tight set of his shoulders and risk another whisper. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to intrude."

He looks at you in surprise. "How did you get here?"

You answer with a shrug. He averts his gaze, face reddening as he pouts slightly over your earlier apology. "... I guess I don't mind."

The forest cube isn't very pleased with his roundabout answer. Soon enough, the world feels like a roundabout as it rolls again with no warning and you land on top of him in the moss

"I - I'm so sorry," you murmur as you push yourself off of his chest, "I didn't mean to -" and you're cut off as the horizon turns again

"Don't be," he grunts, blushing as he catches himself from crushing you entirely

You wake up to the sound of your rolling lover landing on the floor with a heavy thud

Portia

You open your eyes to pouring golden sunlight and the sound of steel striking against steel. You sit up on your massive, leather-bound book to see Portia sitting cross-legged on an open page

She's leaning forward, eyes trained on whatever landscape is behind you, pumping her fist and cheering breathlessly to whatever the noise signifies

You stand and call her name. "Portia?"

"Yes?" She's blinking up at you, apple halfway to her mouth. "Oh, MC. Take a seat, you're just in time for the 'and there was only one bed' trope."

You plop down on the cushion next to her and scoop some bread pudding into your hand in lieu of a bowl. "What bed are we looking for?"

"That one." She points the core of her pear at the double bed in front of you, two chemistry-laden figures standing awkwardly by a patchwork quilt as the snowstorm rages outside. "Wait, MC?!"

You're pulled back from the enticing scene in time to see Portia's eyes widen comically. She grabs your sleeve in her hand and starts to shake you gently

"What are you still doing here? You usually just float away or join me in the book, don't tell me - are you in my dream?" You nod. "Im so haopy to see you! How did you do that?!?"

"I don't know how I did it. I fell asleep, and here I am."

The smile she sends you makes your landscape of pages glow golden and she tackles you with a hug, knocking you back into the massive printed page you two are sharing

"I have so much to show you! Oh! The detective one first!" The light vanishes and the two of you are standing in a grey drizzle, looking at horses pulling black chariots over a foggy city's cobblestone streets

"Wait! No! The castle one!" Now you're looking out at rolling, heather-covered fields beneath a silver mist sky from an old stone tower

"No, wait!" Portia shouts again, and now you're flipping through more scenery than you can keep track of into oblivion

You wake up to her grimacing with the beginnings of a headache

Lucio

The smell hits you first

Rich food, wine, perfumes, and flowers are already swimming through your nostrils when the noise registers. Thousands of voices, chattering, cheering, and laughing

And in the middle of all the madness, a voice you'd recognize anywhere: "Drinks for everyone! Food for everyone!! Celebrate!!!"

That's your cue to open your eyes. You're in a palace somehow ten times more opulent than the one in Vesuvia, with chandeliers hanging from chandeliers and literal fountains of wine

It takes you all of three seconds to spot Lucio - he's in the middle of it all, calling for delicacies and performances to be rolled out nonstop to the crowd gathering around him

It takes him all of two minutes to spot you struggling through the partygoers, and he lights up immediately. "MC! MC, join me!"

You're suddenly at a table with him halfway up a flight of stairs, an empty place setting in front of you. Lucio's peacocking around you as you try to shout over the noise and explain what's happening

"Lucio, I'm in your dream!"

"No, MC!" He declares with everyone present, "You are my dream!"

It's hard not to be flattered and swept up with the way everyone present cheers for his announcement, but you want to make sure he knows what's happening, so you catch a flying hand and tug

He's immediately drawing you close with a delighted smile. "MC, you want to dance first? Director, give us music!"

But it seems instead of playing the waltz he's hoping for, the musicians sit on their instruments and start singing opera

"Lucio, this is a dream! I'm in your dream, with magic!"

He lights up. "Magic, of course! Begin the performance, my MC wants to see magic!" He pauses in confusion as the orchestra turned choir begins to put on costumes for a play. "Magic? But MC, you're a magician, why would you want to see magic?"

It's the sound of fireworks going off in the chandeliers that wakes you. Lucio leaps off his pillow right after with a surprised grunt

"MC," he says breathlessly, "I want to do that again. Teach me!"

[ladytauria]

"You're going to get yourself killed!" or maybe even “I’m sorry I scared you” with damitim?

i went with both, although i changed the wording of the first a little!

um. this is reverse robins! specifically a rewrite of the scene where ra's kicks tim off the top floor of WE and dick-as-batman rescues him <3

also pre-relationship.

oh, and warnings for some suicidal ideation in the first part. it's in the paragraph immediately after the cut

>> AO3 <<

Tim realizes what’s going to happen a split-second before it does. Ra’s’s boot impacts his chest hard enough to bruise, even through the armor. Glass shatters at his back, the sound ringing in his ears.

He plummets, almost in slow motion.

There is no panic. He knew, going in, he wasn’t like to walk out alive. That makes it easier; acceptance washing over him, relaxing his muscles. He feels—weightless. Free, almost. The air combs through his hair like gentle fingers—his eyes falling closed under his mask.

It’s not the ground that slams into him.

Instead, it’s a body. The force of it rattles his teeth, hard enough he’s almost worried they’ll crack. An arm locks around his waist, clutching him tight, holding him up even as they touch down on a nearby rooftop.

He’s set on his feet almost gently. 

The grip on his arms, after, is not so gentle. Neither is the shake he gets.

“Timothy,” Damian barks, yanking the cowl from his head like they aren’t on some random rooftop, where anyone could stumble upon them. “What the hell were you thinking? Were you trying to get yourself killed?”

The pure—Tim can only call it panic, despite how ridiculous the idea is—in his voice knocks Tim entirely off balance. Still…

He grins, crookedly. “I knew you’d catch me.” He tucks away the messy tangle of feeling in his chest. He’ll examine it later, when he’s alone.

Damian stares at him—the look in his eyes one Tim cannot read. “You—“ His jaw tightens. He lets go of Tim just as abruptly as he’d grabbed him, cape swishing dramatically as he turns, shoving a gloved hand through his hair, mussing it even further.

Tim…

Maybe it’s the leftover adrenaline. Maybe it’s that he hasn’t fully processed his survival. Whatever it is… Tim feels off-kilter.

This is not how Damian behaves with him.

Damian doesn’t… For one thing, he doesn’t call him Timothy. He doesn’t lecture Tim when he does something reckless—well. Not like this, anyway. Normally he calls him a moron, and whatever other synonyms he can think of, and lists all the ways Tim failed.

This—

This is new.

Damian seems genuinely, terribly upset, and…

Tim feels… guilty. “I…” He steps closer, not quite daring enough to reach out. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says.

He didn’t… He didn’t think Damian would care.

Maybe that was uncharitable of him. Damian had certainly seemed to care when he died the first time—at least enough to not make the same mistakes with Tim’s successor. But… Well. It would have been Tim’s own fault this time, in a way the last one wasn’t.

“Shut up,” Damian snaps, whirling on him again. “You— Do you—“ He snaps his jaw shut; throat working. “How dare you? How dare you?”

Tim isn’t sure he’s ever seen Damian so incoherent before. He blinks at him, mouth opening, but— He doesn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry,” he repeats, uselessly. “I didn’t… think you'd be this upset.”

Damian flinches like Tim slapped him.

Hell. Tim’s not sure he would have flinched that hard if he had smacked him.

“You didn’t think—“ Damian scoffs. To Tim’s horror, the sound is distinctly wet. “I nearly failed to save you a second time, almost had to discover your corpse again, and you didn’t think I would be upset.” His eyes are glassy; rimming with red. He swipes a hand down his face. “Did you know your body was still warm when I pulled it from the wreckage, Drake?”

Tim—

Tim thinks he might have made a few errors in his calculations.

Damian steps closer to him. Something about the Batman uniform makes him look taller. Broader. Even though Tim has always had to tilt his chin to look at him, he doesn’t recall ever feeling quite this small.

The feeling is enhanced when broad, warm palms cup his cheeks, the kevlar scratchy against his skin.

“I cannot do that again, Timothy,” Damian whispers. “Do not— You cannot put me through that a second time. Please.”

Tim swallows, throat achingly dry. He covers Damian’s hands with his own. His voice cracks as he says, “I won’t.”

[doom-dreaming]

High Flakes Combat

“Blue Lead,” Linda’s whisper cuts across TEAMCOM, crisp and several degrees colder than the icy landscape. “Hostiles approaching your position.”

Fred, tucked behind the trunk of a towering pine tree, exhales a slow, measured breath. Waiting. Listening. Without his motion tracker, only the crunch of footsteps in the snow—and Linda—could tell him when their opponents were closing in.

There. Fifteen meters out. He motions to John, positioned behind an adjacent tree. On my signal.

…ten meters…

Cover me. Go high.

…five meters…

John nods. Fred tightens his grip on his weapon.

Now.

As one, they pivot, breaching cover. Fred drops to a knee, attacking swiftly, before their adversary has a chance to retaliate.

The snowball hits Ash directly in the center of his chestplate. Active camouflage flickers briefly, then recalibrates, as the young Spartan crashes dramatically to his knees before sprawling backward, motionless.

Fred doesn’t let the theatrics distract him. The other two had to be nearby and the round wasn’t over until— A snowball whizzes past his head, followed by a sharp curse—out loud, close. He catches a shimmer of white on white as Olivia leaps to find cover and “reload,” but John is faster.

The snowball hits her thigh before she can complete her maneuver and she slides to a dejected halt in a snowbank. “Dammit! Mark!” she calls out. “You’re on your own!”

Fred doesn’t hear a verbal response. He knows he won’t, Mark’s too good to give away his position— Thwap. Fred’s vision goes fuzzy and white as Mark’s snowball connects with his visor, splattering on impact. Fred groans and flashes a red status light across his team’s HUDs. He’d be out until the next round.

“He’s on the move!” Linda barks over the comms.

Fred folds himself cross-legged into the snow and wipes his visor clean just in time to see Kelly bounding over a nearby ridge, clutching a snowball in each fist.

“I’ve got him!” She goes streaking across the snow toward a barely-visible figure—also sprinting.

Mark wouldn’t be able to outrun Kelly—a fact Fred knew the S-III was well aware of—but he was certainly trying his best.

Kelly nails Mark with both snowballs, one in the shoulder, the other in the back. He stumbles just enough that Kelly’s momentum sends her into him at full force. The clack of their colliding armor echoes like a shot as both Spartans go tumbling to the ground, sending up a minor flurry in their wake.

“Aaaaaaaand match!” Roland’s voice rings out over the simulation deck, followed by a buzzer. “Blue Team takes the win!”

“Again,” Olivia grumbles, pushing to her feet and dusting snow off her armor.

“It’s three against four,” Ash reminds her, still lying on his back a few feet from Fred.

Olivia crunches her way over and offers him a hand. “Can we make Kelly sit out the next round?”

“If you’re not having fun, leave,” John quips.

“Or maybe you should switch Kelly to our team and see how it feels,” Livi bites back, helping Ash haul himself to his feet.

“Fighting over me?” Kelly rejoins the group with Mark close behind. “I’m flattered.”

Fred chuckles. It was good to see Olivia trading barbs with John. The Gammas had warmed up to him quickly—and he to them—and it wasn’t hard to understand why. Fred was sure the S-IIIs had given him some new streaks of gray hair, but at the same time, they made him feel younger. He hoped they were having the same effect on John.

“So…” drawls a familiar voice, raised just loud enough to carry, “this is the reason my fireteams can't train today? A snowball fight.”

Every Spartan in the simulated snowscape whips toward the entrance. Commander Palmer stands at the far edge of the scene, arms crossed. She looks odd and out of place, a lone figure in a techsuit against the stark white surroundings, but no less intense than usual.

“Thought we’d try something different from the typical drills, ma’am,” Fred coughs. He’s not sure why he feels guilty; they’d requested the time and blocked out the schedule and followed protocol…even if they hadn’t said precisely what they’d be doing…

Before anyone else has a chance to speak, a snowball goes sailing over Fred’s shoulder, on a collision course for Palmer. She’s too far away to hit, but the aim is dead-accurate and it lands with a wet plap several yards directly in front of her.

Even at this distance, Fred sees her eyes narrow. The vague guilt solidifying in his gut crystallizes into ice. He knows who threw that and he’s already, reflexively, preparing for the necessary damage control—and for Linda, no less. Kelly he was used to, but Linda?

Palmer shifts her weight and fixes the seven of them with a hard stare that lasts long past the point of being uncomfortable. “Don’t go anywhere,” she eventually orders, leveling a finger in their direction. “I’ll be back in ten minutes.” Without leaving any opportunity for rebuttal, she turns on her heel and swiftly disappears from the deck.

Immediately, Linda’s status light starts blinking rapid-fire green across Blue Team’s HUDs. Kelly follows suit.

“Really?” Fred grumps over TEAMCOM.

“Can you blame her if it worked?” Kelly retorts.

“Yes! You’re making an assumption and setting a bad example.” He switches to his helmet’s speakers. “Gammas, don’t throw things at your commanding officers.”

“Unless you’re sleeping with them,” Kelly adds, with enough tact to keep the comment on Blue Team’s private channel.

Another green light from Linda.

Fred willfully ignores both of them.

“...we’re not in trouble, are we?” Ash removes his helmet and shakes out his hair. “To be honest…I don’t know what just happened.”

Kelly seats herself on a tree stump, legs akimbo, smugness oozing from every seam of her armor. “Palmer’s getting suited up to come play with us.”

Ash seems unconvinced but Mark shrugs. “She’ll balance the numbers. We might even start winning.”

Only Blue Team can see—and appreciate—the red light John flashes in silent response.

**********

As threatened, Palmer returns exactly ten minutes later, fully armored aside from the helmet tucked into the crook of her arm. “Okay, here’s the official story.” She strides up to the group. “We’re running an unorthodox but fully sanctioned training exercise all day.”

“I’ve cleared the schedule and put out an open invitation,” Roland chimes in. “As requested.”

Palmer nods her approval. “Figured I’d let you have your fun on the condition that the rest of us could get in on it too.” She raises an eyebrow. “Sound fair?”

“Fair enough,” Fred answers, echoing the array of green lights on his HUD. “Alright. Ground rules—we’re running blind for this, Commander. No motion trackers.”

She looks pleased. “I like a challenge.”

“If you get hit, you’re out for the round,” he continues. “Once you’re out, you can’t help anyone still standing. Round ends when a whole team goes down.” Fred nods toward the ceiling. “Roland’s keeping score.”

“Huh,” Palmer hums. “So you knew about this, too, Roland?”

“I…was informed the exercise would require a scorekeeper instead of a handler,” the AI answers, somehow managing to achieve the verbal equivalent of tip-toeing. “And I volunteered a mere fraction of my copious attention to the task.”

Palmer just rolls her eyes.

Ash clears his throat and steps forward. “If you wouldn’t mind, ma’am, we’d greatly appreciate it if you joined our team.”

“They’ve been wiping the floor with us,” Olivia adds, somewhat ruefully.

Palmer looks back and forth between Blue Team and the Gammas with a hint of a smirk. “Well.” She slips her helmet on. “Allow me to level the playing field.”

**********

And indeed, the tide began to turn. Quickly. It wasn’t that the Gammas couldn’t hold their own, but Palmer was a different flavor of ruthless and even numbers did make a difference.

Kelly, as Blue Team’s sole survivor, was in the midst of a valiant stand, but she was up against Palmer and Olivia and they were going in for the kill. Up to this point, Kelly had been relying on her speed to evade them, but Fred doubted that would be able to carry her any further.

Palmer and Livi split around the back of the snowbank Kelly had hidden behind, falling into synchronized step with each other, timing their paces perfectly. Palmer’s boots fall heavier and louder, covering Olivia’s near-silent glide around the other side.

The strategy is obvious, at least from Fred’s position of passive observation—Palmer would draw Kelly’s attention, Olivia would come up on her flank and take her out. And it would work, too…on anyone less observant than Kelly. Fred has a feeling she’ll see right through it. But one of them was going to hit her either way, so it didn’t really matter as far as the outcome was concerned.

Surprisingly, a third option presents itself. Fred realizes after a few seconds that he’s been holding his breath, expecting Kelly to explode out of the snow and make a run for it, but…she doesn’t.

Palmer reaches the other side of the snowdrift and slows, confusion evident in her body language. She paces around the area, making sure not to stay still for too long, obviously reluctant to let her guard down completely. Fred can see the hazy mirage of Olivia’s SPI suit still moving in with careful deliberation.

There was no way Kelly could have moved. She hadn’t had enough time. More importantly, she would’ve been spotted if she’d tried to flee, so why couldn’t—

Palmer disappears. One second, she’s standing on the other side of the snowbank, visible from the waist up, and the next second she’s gone. Fred can’t see much of anything, but there are sounds of a scuffle and the blur of camouflaged armor as Livi sweeps in to assist with whatever the hell had just happened.

Barely a breath later, Roland announces the end of the match. “And Gammas-Plus-Palmer emerge victorious! …or should I say Olivia, specifically, seeing as she is the last Spartan standing. You know, you really oughta come up with a better name for your team—”

There’s a burst of indignant exclamations and flustered cursing from Palmer. She reappears only to rip her helmet off and kick some snow back in the direction from which she’d escaped.

Olivia removes her own helmet; Fred is surprised to see her laughing. “She got you good!” There’s a giddiness in her voice that Fred’s never heard before, but she seems to remember who she's talking to a moment later. “...ma’am.”

Kelly pops up beyond the ridge. She remains helmeted but Fred knows there’s a shit-eating grin on her face just from her posture alone.

“What happened?” He shouts the question out loud.

“She buried herself in the fucking snow and pulled my legs out from under me,” Palmer growls as she trudges over.

“And then I hit Kelly point-blank in the face!”

Olivia’s gleeful comment is backed by Kelly’s laughter over TEAMCOM. “Worth it.”

“Hey!” A different voice cuts into the conversation, once again pulling everyone’s attention toward the entrance. “Heard there was some kinda free-for-all goin’ on in here?” Gabriel Thorne stands flanked by the rest of Fireteam Majestic, all in full Mjolnir. “Got room for another team?”

Palmer waves them in. “Come on up, Majestic. We’ll get you briefed on the rules.” She sighs and fits her helmet back on. “Hope you’re ready to get your asses kicked.”

**********

An hour later, after Majestic had carved out a few victories of their own, Crimson shows up. Rules are recounted, home bases are realigned, play resumes. Within another two hours, there are four more Spartan fireteams on the field. Alliances are formed, both openly and secretly. Several hours are devoted to building snow forts. Play evolves. Forts are defended and captured, sabotaged and reinforced.

And then Lasky arrives.

“Captain on deck!” Roland bellows.

The silence that blankets the simulation deck is instantaneous and absolute. Nobody moves. If the snowballs already in flight could have frozen in midair, they probably would’ve. Instead, they land in a chorus of muffled thwumps.

Lasky stands there for a few seconds, small and unimposing by the distant doors, sporting his trademark expression of beleaguered amusement—presumably at being called out. “Don’t stop on my account,” he eventually says. “I just wanted to watch. …unless there’s a team looking for a liability,” he jokes with a self-deprecating chuckle.

Everyone on the field exchanges glances and shrugs. A sea of status lights blink across Fred’s HUD—most amber, some green. Finally, someone from Crimson waves Lasky over. “We’ll take you, Captain!”

He seems genuinely surprised by the invitation, but begins the trek across the snow. “Try not to kill me, alright?”

That draws laughs from most of the Spartans, but it’s John who actually banters back. “No promises, sir.”

[dilatorywriting]

Now I can't help but think about the scene where

The Reaper!Rook tries for the first time the liver pate prepared by the Baker!MC.

Baker!MC. is just researching some new recipes from time to time for a seasonal menu. Rook with bliss looking at how the Baker!MC. flutters in the kitchen reading a recipe from an old book taken from the library. The Reaper has a great opportunity to be a taster on a permanent basis, pushing Ace and Deuce into second place.To their general displeasure and annoyance.

-What are these diligent, elegant and hardworking hands creating today? Ah, I'm looking forward to what will happen~

Listening with half an ear to Hunt's chatter, the Baker!MС. spreads some pate on fresh fried bread and passes it to Rook.

-Try and find out..I think I'm missing a little salt?

Curiously accepting the "offering" more like a piece for a sandwich, Rook, with all its inherent grace and dramatic, bites off one piece with a pleasant crunch of fried bread and immediately freezes. His pupils dilate and he can barely take a breath from delight.

Watching this little show to which the Baker!MС. was mostly indifferent, it seemed to them tha Rook at this moment looked like a cat that was gently stroked for the first time and given valerian.

-So?

As if in slow motion, chewing his first bite, the Reaper looks with the most sincere delight that could only reflect his face.

-What was this food of the gods that blessed my mouth?!May I dare to ask for some more of this divine ambrosia created by your hardworking hands?

-It's liver pate. Did you like it that much? - Thinking that at the moment the Reaper who scares the whole neighborhood like a local devil driving everyone to fear and devils, the Baker could not get rid of the thought that now Hunt is more like a child who first got into a candy store.

Now the Baker!MC. knows some of the preferences of this strange guest. Likes to try - whatever they give. Delighted and will not be silenced for the next forty minutes - liver pate with toasted bread. ***

One day the Baker!MC. made for the Reaper!Rook some sandwiches with liver pate. "So that he could have a snack with them later or between his business" And immediately, Rook without any thought dropped to one knee, taking off his hat, making the most pompous verbal marriage proposal that this city has seen and heard. ***

And more.

Baker!MC. probably also showed off from time to time in front of the Reaper, showing off their skills.

Like this guy from "Kiki Witch Delivery Service"

Baker!MC probably: Ah yes. Finally. a proper bribe to get him to shut up forever

Rook: *get's worse*

Baker!MC: I should have expected this

[dormarunt]

Berlin (Netflix) - episode 3

Episode tres starts with the quintessential presentation of the heist plan to the heist team, except a couple of minutes in Bruce gets peckish and restless and gets up to raid the fridge and Berlin takes it personally - he decides to go LOCO on his ass and make everyone uncomfortable (and probably bullies Bruce into getting alcohol poisoning)

You know what would have been hilarious? (and probably would have led to Bruce getting murdered lol) If after he finishes drinking all that champagne and Berlin resumes laying out his plan, Bruce gets up to pee the heroic amount of liquid he had to ingest under duress.

It's episode three and we get a sort of explanation for the set-up of the series. Sergio gets an honorable mention (he's too busy working on his own heist to be there)

and it's explained why Berlin's not working with "professional" thieves - shocking no one, Andrés' ego is so big there's no room for others'. Also, the new team is "enthusiastic" and "not hardened by apathy", which he implies that professional thieves are, and the new team can listen and learn from everything Andres is teaching them. Well that turns out-- surprisingly okay, given the shitshow that follows.

((Berlin touches Damian in a way reminiscent of how he gets all close and personal and touchy with Martin, except that Berlermo magic is absent. What I'm saying is that Berlermo >>> Darlin and no matter how tactile Andres is, his relationship with Martin IS extraordinary, unique, marvelous))

"Because, if we are to end bullet-ridden on the streets of Paris, we'll leave five beautiful bodies behind -- and Damian's"

This is where we get HOW the heist will happen - they're taking control of the CCTV and literally cutting the back of the vault clean off to be able to enter/exit as their hearts desire. We see them do it, we actually get to see them heisting like pros - and as it happens this is one of the few scenes of them actually doing the heist that's at the center of the show. (But the show isn't JUST about the heist, we get that; I just thought there would be more heisting involved)

Meanwhile, instead of watching his team break into that vault with baited breath, Berlin creeps on watches Camille and plans to spend with her the few days until the vault is filled and "enjoying Paris".

Which he does, by taking the woman out to lunch in a public place, having lobster because he apparently REALLY loves seafood.

It's the second time he refers to her as "self-centered"; he's projecting so hard he could open a cinema.

His plan to fuck Camille in the bathroom (klassy) is interrupted by her husband who annoys Berlin to such a degree that he's looking at the available cutlery like I WILL FORK THIS DUDE IN THE NADS (a fairly hamfisted callback, imo. I'm precisely the type of person to be pleased by this mention but I'm-- strangely eh about it?)

Rant; to be the wait staff at that restaurant, casually watching the patrons only to see this woman using lobster-eating cutlery to cut off her underwear in one place and then magic it off herself somehow. IN FRONT OF PEOPLE'S SALADS. 

We then get a throwback to the original Banda talking about what they'd do with the money - and I'm fine with it, and with seeing Keila go through all stages of horniness around Bruce.

Oh SNAP Damian's joining the divorced club, lol. Did not see it coming. Also, I specifically said how I agreed with his outlook on love? Hahahahah. Hah.

After a Berlin sex scene that I was (for some reason?) not expecting, we're treated to a glimpse into whatever's motivating Camille (tl;dr - it's basically FOMO) and Andres makes a comment that made *my* heart jump --

What does it mean?? Is it a Martin reference? (No)

We need a gif compilation of Berlin dramatically going through doors in this show. @wedgeantill - how does that sound? :D

After that dramatic exit we get one of the most cringe-worthy slow-motion montages of Berlin being happy in the most over-the-top, theatrical way that I fast-forwarded through during both times I watched the episode. But good for him, I guess; way to bag the wife of the guy he's currently robbing. (*)

Back where the main act is set to take place, Damian's going full

Meanwhile Cameron has the ingrate job of reminding the people in charge of the team as well as the audience of the fact that they're all there to do a heist, and that they'll have to do it THAT VERY NIGHT. Which begs the question-- where is Berlin?

Roi is the one who has the privilege of finding that out

(basically "I just had sex but my girlfriend's husband is cool with it")

as he tries to get a word in edgewise and tell Berlin to put it back in his pants because they have a heist to do.

Poor guy Roi is the same one who has to listen to the utter mental breakdown that Andres has in the car back to Paris, that culminates with

Perfectly normal, sane response.

NGL, I laughed so hard the first time I watched this scene. The #priorities on this man.

(*) REMEMBER season 5 when he's confronting Rafael for sleeping with Tatiana and he goes -- whenever I see a guy that I find  hot dressed well I want to fuck his wife.

Guy took one look at Francois and FELT THINGS. This explains everything.

Me:

[papayafiles]

watch drive to survive with me, a lando fan with absolutely zero chill, season 6 episode 3 edition:

(this got so long it literally exceeded tumblr's character limit, which i did not know existed until now, so i'm splitting it into two parts and posting it anyway because what is a tumblr blog for if not dramatic unhinged public breakdowns!)

it hasn't even started and i'm already Losing My Mind

"the brand cries out for more performance" with angsty heavy music... i forgot how dramatic drive to survive was. the music really enhances the stakes here.

"we did go backwards last year. no denying" cut to daniel struggling at the back 😭 he's not even in the team anymore and he's still catching strays. drive to survive editors have zero chill.

dramatic conversation between zac brown and a mclaren exec about how poorly things are giong... cut straight to lando walking into his interview with rice cakes smiling and giggling. I LOVE HIM.

the squeal of excitement that came out of my mouth at his VERY FIRST line (it's one word: "wow". wow indeed lando norris. you. yes. wow. i need to stop)

producer: "did you break it?" lando: *instantly looks concerned and checks*

LMAO not oscar waving his arms in front of the mtc double doors trying to motion sensor them open... only to fail epically 😭 dork (affectionate)

LANDOSCAR <3

oscar arriving late to the first mclaren team meeting and immediately thinking to ask his guide if lando's arrived yet vs lando making a point of pointing out that he beat oscar there 😭 idiots

lando watching oscar walk into the room for the first time with a contemplative expression… what are you thinking in that beautiful curly head of yours

oscar, doing an official interview about mclaren f1 vs lando, in the corner, eyeing him up and down: oscar’s quite tall, huh? he doesn’t look tall, but he is. he’s also like 15.

trademark dts beat drop after will buxton finishes dramatically chatting shit oh i've missed this

lando face scrunch count: 1

oh no we’re doing bahrain

i didn’t watch bahrain live so i didn’t know it was this bad 😭 wdym 25-30 second long fifth stop of the race my god

“red bull DOMINATES bahrain” yeah yeah shut up

claire williams??? what is she doing here

lando looking distraught cut the cameras i can’t do this 😭

“is it too soon to call it a crisis?” f1 journalists have zero chill (derogatory)

mclaren were DEAD LAST?? i was not aware

not christian horner again 😭 leave lando ALONE! he doesn’t want you!! netflix pls stop exploiting cute norstappen clips for your rbr lando agenda i do NOT endorse this

christian horner saying lando would fit really well in the red bull environment…………… in WHAT world

i’m so interested in seeing how conversations with pr managers go… like this is so fun to see them go through the bullet points of what topics journalists might ask and the ~vibe~ they want to be giving in their responses

…okay netflix i REALLY feel like you’re taking clips out of context and splicing them together to form a narrative here. and i get that that’s your whole job. but i think i also get why lando signed that renewal so early now 😭 warding off dts bullshit before it can even start to hit

“we’re so slow on the straight” dipping to a whisper like a confession he didn’t mean to slip out… glance up then back down again… i see you storytellers weaving the narrative. i see you. i get it. you really don't need to keep going

okay i know lando and zak are having a very serious conversation in this scene but also. lando in golf clothes. arms. AND legs. bronze tanned smooth skin... i’m not even thirsting here i’m just pointing out OBJECTIVE facts that are possibly maybe a little bit distracting me from… whatever they're talking about

“i’ll do my best, as always” ❤️ he always does

will buxton shut UP

why are they spending so much time on miami... they weren’t even good there… we’re getting more angst aren’t we.

ohh i forgot how pretty the red bull miami liveries were

nevermind they’re showing max lapping the mclarens. no longer pretty. fuck that livery actually

lando sounds so depressed on the radio i’m going through it 😭

did he really say haha. LOL. :/ on the radio 😭😭😭

“i’m not suggesting it may look bad. i’m suggesting it is bad”

lando saying "fucking hell" on the radio count: 2

okay do we really need another montage of team principals ragging on mclaren. we get it! you want him! he has a line of admirers a mile long! move on!!

NORRUSSEL CONTENT

according to george there are drivers who drink during normal race weekends?? lando throwing up his hands as the camera points toward him like not me! (i can't tell if george is joking but that sounds crazy to me? i bet it's either a really depressed backmarker or max after winning the wdc on a saturday)

not george calling the mclarens horrendous 😭 have some mercy

……………………………………...........

NETFLIX—

cut the cameras.

NETFLIX WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT TO ME

the way i'm actually in tears 😭 i'm so fragile right now do not talk to me

"this is the worst start to any season i've ever had. i want to be the best driver there is in formula 1. that's why i started my whole journey" THEN THEY CUT TO HIM IN A GO-KART??? A MONTAGE SEQUENCE???

they really edited together a mini montage of lando's whole journey including interview clips of him as a young child then put a voiceover of his tiny baby voice saying "i need to be stronger and not make so many mistakes" over video footage of adult lando looking depressed out the plane window and expected me to just be okay after that.

then they go straight into a montage of zak brown and lando's history together going way back ("first time i met lando, he was a small 14 year old ... he was very shy, as you'd expect a 14 year old... he was very fast.") cutting between old photos of them together pre-f1 with emotional music ("i think the first time he drove a racecar it was probably mine") oh! okay then!!

"i would love to create the story and finish the story and everything with mclaren. i really would love that." EVERYTHING HURTS

why does watching this episode make me feel like he's going to leave mclaren when i KNOW he just signed a contract extension? the magic of mood-setting background music and splicing clips together

zak brown meeting with all the sponsors... he is a stronger man than me. i would be freaking out in his position. it's also insane how much is riding on literal sports results from a corporation/business perspective? like the amount of pressure on f1 drivers to deliver is wild and here we are giggling at our silly clown sport and its silly circus events

oh claire williams shut up

(you don't even have a job in f1 anymore why are you still HERE)

[its-captain-sir]

One thing in particular that struck me about this episode was the way death was portrayed. Oftentimes I feel like in an attempt to emphasize the effect a death has on the characters and the narrative it becomes dramatized a bit, you know like slow motion moments and screaming each other's names and swelling music all in a way that's basically a flashing sign for the audience saying "be sad now!" And doing it that way isn't necessarily a bad thing, I can already think of a few examples off the top of my head where that sort of thing has been executed wonderfully, but the way Andor chose to go is very interesting to me and I think it fits with the show much better.

At this point we've spent three episodes getting attached to this group of characters. They're in the endgame now, we want them to win, we want them to all survive. A death now would certainly be something that could warrant a longer screentime focus, but instead it's the opposite here. The deaths of the crew are almost blink and you miss it. I actually had to tell my brother that Lieutenant Gorn was dead cause he did just happen to look away for a quick second the moment he was shot. There's no slow dramatic fall to the ground, they just crumple. There's no sorrowful music playing in the background when any of the crew members die, just sounds of continued fighting or dead silence. And everything happens so fast, it's not some long drawn out thing. They are just there one moment and gone the next.

It may not seem like the show gives any focus to their deaths, but that in itself is an emphasis I thought was really powerful. The show Wants you to have that "there and gone" feeling, wants you to feel shock instead of sorrow, at least in that moment, because that's what the remaining characters are feeling. In the span of a couple seconds, companions are suddenly gone, but they don't have the time to register anything but the initial shock of seeing them fall before they have to keep moving forward, and how the scenes are set up makes it so the audience feels that way too. Even the deaths that do have more build up like Skeen and Nemik keep to this sort of under-dramatized style. Things still happen fast. There's no musical tension, just quiet. Cassian and Val move to the next thing right way because there is no longer amount of time to stop and process how the others are gone.

And the fact that the first time the show chooses to portray death like this is with the characters we really had a chance to get attached to and root for is so interesting to me. I really do think it was a strong choice for the narrative at this point in time and definitely an impactful one. I felt it worked a lot better than any other way they could have gone and I'm really interested in seeing if this is going to be a recurring theme at all in the next six episodes

[edosianorchids901]

Wanna Take a Train?

@flashfictionfridayofficial prompt - "late night train"

Crowley and Aziraphale had ridden on plenty of trains before the near Apocalypse. Aziraphale loved trains, acted like a kid every time he got near one, and Crowley loved seeing him excited. It was a good way to get around, and not a bad place to take a nap.

Newly free, they’d decided to take a holiday around Europe, visit some of their old haunts. “Wanna take a train?” Crowley had asked, and delighted in the way Aziraphale’s eyes lit up.

Angels and demons didn’t need to sleep, but he got a private cabin anyway. He and Aziraphale had kissed a couple times in the weeks since the world nearly ended, and a bed seemed like a good plan. Could try out snuggling, or maybe even something more intimate.

Crowley couldn’t help the mental images, the romantic scenes that popped into his head. He’d watched and read James Bond stories too often to avoid it. But unfortunately, he couldn’t stop the other thing popping into his head either—an increasingly nasty headache.

He squeezed down the narrow corridor of the train, hauling their luggage. Aziraphale practically skipped along in front of him, brimming with excitement. “Oh, Crowley! Here’s our cabin!”

Wincing at the overhead lights, Crowley slipped into the room. At least he had his sunglasses, but that wasn’t enough to dull the light sensitivity. Which meant this was probably not just a headache. It was a migraine.

“Oh, isn’t this cozy?” Aziraphale rubbed his hands together and let out a long, contented sigh as he looked around the cramped compartment. “It’s just delightful. I’m so glad you suggested this, Crowley.”

“Mm,” Crowley agreed, sinking onto the bed. He should actually stash their luggage under said bed, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it yet. Thudding pain crashed through his head, like he was being hit over and over.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale sat beside him, a warm hand settling on the back of his neck. “What’s wrong, dear fellow? Are your legs troubling you? I know we have done an awful lot of walking today.”

“Nuh, s’ not my legs for once.” They hurt, like usual, and he could ignore it. He couldn’t ignore the crashing headache, or the rising nausea, or the dizziness. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

“I will worry,” Aziraphale said, almost petulant. He massaged Crowley’s neck, slow and gentle. “Please tell me what’s wrong.”

There was no denying that soft, pleading voice. “Got a headache. It’s… pretty bad.”

The train lurched into motion, and Crowley groaned. So much for his fantasies of rolling around in bed together. He’d be lucky if he wasn’t puking soon.

“Well, let’s see.” Aziraphale glanced around the compartment and flicked a hand. The lights lowered dramatically, almost out, and that at least soothed the piercing pain. “How about a damp cloth on your neck? Or your forehead?”

Crowley nodded, and immediately regretted the movement. He rubbed his brow and rolled his shoulders, trying to work out the ache in his neck. “Hrgh, this is bloody ridiculous. Can’t my corporation behave for two seconds? We’re trying to take a holiday!”

Aziraphale dampened a cloth with their water bottle, dripping some on the floor, then carefully settled the cloth around the back of Crowley’s neck. “Well, we are succeeding at taking a holiday. It’s perhaps just not the most comfortable for you at the moment.”

“Doesn’t matter if I’m comfortable.” He was never comfortable, not really. Something was always wrong with his corporation, be it pain or sudden bouts of fatigue. That was another good reason to have a bed. “This is your holiday too. I don’t want you to spend it having to nursemaid me.”

At that, Aziraphale frowned and stuck his lower lip out in a dramatic pout. “Now, that’s utter nonsense. You’re my Crowley. It’s not fun to see you in pain, no, but I like being able to take care of you. If our situations were reversed…”

“Oy, stop it,” Crowley grumbled. It was a fair point, but not one he wanted to take.

“And anyway. I’m on a train with my very, very dearest friend, my beloved Crowley.” Cheeks pink, Aziraphale gave him a shy look. He took Crowley’s hand in his, held it gently. “Please don’t feel guilty about needing a bit of extra help from time to time.”

Crowley sighed. He couldn’t really argue against that, especially not when Aziraphale said it with such sincerity. They sat in silence and near-darkness for a bit, the train rolling smoothly over the tracks. Full night shadowed the world outside their compartment window, occasional lights of human habitation sparkling off in the distance.

The headache wasn’t getting much better, but Crowley’s frustration was. He managed a smile. “Thanks for understanding. S’ just that I, well… I was kinda hoping we could take advantage of our compartment.”

Aziraphale gave a little giggle, still gazing out the window into the darkness. He really did love trains, and he looked just as excited as ever. “Well, I don’t suppose we could do anything too active, but we could lie down if you don’t think it would make you queasy.”

After a moment’s contemplation, Crowley nodded. “Yeah. Think I’d like that.”

“Ah, wonderful!” Aziraphale guided him to lie down on the inadequate pillows and snuggled close beside him. There was barely room for them both on the tiny bed, but the angel’s warmth felt amazing. “I love you, you know. And there will be plenty of other train rides.”

He leaned in, a clear invitation. Crowley kissed him, just a quick peck, and then laid back with his head throbbing. “Thanks, angel. Love you too.”

There would indeed be other train rides, hopefully more successful. But despite the migraine, snuggling all night sounded pretty great.

[duhragonball]

Dragon Ball Super 007

My... zzz.... Bulma...

This episode has a lot of neat reaction shots, so maybe it’s worth doing another pass just for that.  Otherwise, this is just that brief part of the movie where everyone tries to fight Beerus until Bulma slaps him.

Mr. Satan took a hit when he tried to play peacemaker, and Buu and Beerus hit him at the same time.  No wonder he beat Cell.  If he can survive that kind of punishment, he can take on just about anybody.

Gotenks tries to fight, but he can’t do shit.  You’d think he’d turn Super Saiyan for this, but no.

Piccolo, 18, and Tien try to fight Beerus at the same time, which I think was the order of battle in the movie, except this time around they all attack him at once and he just dodges all their hits, then knocks them away without even touching them.  It’s a really uninspired approach, emphasized by how cool it went down in the movie version.  Beerus did that cool trick with the chopsticks and it was awesome.

Also, Buu keeps getting back up and attacking Beerus, which kind of works against this whole story.  The idea in the movie was that Beerus could one-shot all of these characters.  Buu got up once, and then immediately lost all over again, but here he gets three or four turns, which undermines the idea of Beerus being so far beyond their power, and it also undermines the idea of Beerus being enraged enough to destroy the Earth.  He keeps threatening to do it, but if he won’t kill Buu then how mad could he be?

Gohan gets clobbered too, and Dende finally starts to realize just who and what Beerus is, which is stupid, because by this point it doesn’t matter.  Goku and Vegeta know, and the audience knows, so we’re way past the point where this is any sort of mystery.  Also, as I keep saying, everyone saw the movie.

So Vegeta finally goes for broke, and Beerus immobilizes him with the same trick he used in Episode 6.  He keeps talking smack about Vegeta and the Saiyans, which is laying it on a little too thick.  The movie made it clear that Beerus was deliberately provoking Vegeta to see if that would get him to turn into a Super Saiyan God, but the movie was actually pretty coy about it.  DBS is just like “Attention everyone!  I am not going to antagonize Vegeta so that he might become enraged enough to awaken some latent god power!” 

Then we get to the slap scene, and this show really takes its sweet time with it.  Like, slow dramatic buildup, then the slap is in slow motion, then they repeat it with different angles, just anything Toei can think of to make this last as long as possible.  It might work if this had been a standalone story with nothing to compare it to, but... that isn’t the case.

Then Vegeta powers up into Super Saiyan Pissed or whatever fans started calling this.  As far as I’m concerned, it’s just the same SSJ2 form he was using before, only more powerful for whatever reason.  Basically this, and the part later on where Goku uses god power even after his Super Saiyan God form wears off, were what killed off Super Saiyan 3.  Suddenly characters could use superior powers without getting into the zanier transformations.  I think Super Saiyan Blue was supposed to represent a refinement of that principle, but the point is that you can look like a vanilla Super Saiyan 1 and still use the same godly ki that Super Saiyan 3 can’t touch. 

And this episode ends before Vegeta can attack Beerus, so that’s all I’ve got.  Not a great outing.

[mint-chip-cigarettes]

Desert Dancing

Nacho Varga x Lalo Salamanca

Highly recommend popping on some Buena Vista Social Club for the Vibes.

- - - - - -

Darkness had well and truly settled over the massive compound.

The party that never seemed to end had quieted to an almost dignified affair as the cool breeze swept in off the desert sands to chase away the last of the days heat. 

And consequently sending string-bikinis aplenty running for the indoor hot tub.

A high-pitched giggle and a playful screech echoed down from a second story window – breaking the quietude of the crackling wood fire and the mellow guitar still audible from Nachos hideaway.

The man let out a long sigh through his nose at the interruption.

Whatever alcohol Don Eladio had been serving was a barely distinguishable flavor on his tongue by this point in the evening, and Nacho supposed that was a testament to its quality as much as anything.

No bitter, gasoline aftertaste to remind him of why he was here.

No edge to match the twin feeling deep in his gut.

Whatever it was, it burned slow and steady like the red, glowing coals at the bottom of the fireplace he sat next to – warming him into a relaxed state he knew he should reject with his entire being.

A complacent man around Don’s and Salamanca’s could very very soon find himself a dead man.

“Ey! Nachito! There you are!”

Speak of the devil.

Lalo swaggered towards Nachos quiet corner of the yard with a surety Nacho could only assume was half-born, half-alcohol as the taller man looked about as inebriated as he’d ever seen him.

A heavy crystal decanter swung carelessly from the Don’s hand. Half-full and dark amber.

Settling himself into the chair next to Nacho with a huff, Lalo wasted no time in clinking a pair of expensive-looking glasses down onto the table between them and filling each with a more than healthy amount.

“Did we scare you away?” Lalo teased, grinning that cat-like smile over at Nacho.

Snorting, the lieutenant didn’t deign to reply – ignoring the Don as well as the second glass he’d scooted closer to Nacho with one long finger.

Pouting at the other man’s dismissal, Lalo leaned back in his chair – sliding a paisley-covered arm across the space to swing halfway in the air.

He took a long sip from his glass.

Nacho glanced over with a blank expression, finally giving Lalo the attention he seemed to want.

Chuckling around his glass, the Salamanca scion made a show of swallowing with a slight grimace.

“I don’t blame you for sticking with the tequila. The rum is…”

He made a waving motions with his free hand – stretching it farther to settle over the back of his companions chair.

“When we get back to my house I’ll get you some of the really good stuff.” 

Nacho nodded.

“Okay.”

Lalo’s mustache twitched slightly at his taciturn reply.

Not the type to be dissuaded so easily, the Don laughed lightly, reaching out to slap Nacho on the shoulder.

“Hey, you did good today, Nacho. Real good. A caballero de los Salamanca’s in the making.”

Nachos eyes flicked up to meet Lalo’s.

There were no words in any language to describe how much he didn’t want to be the Salamanca’s caballero.

Not even back when it had just been him and Tuco.

And especially not for Lalo.

“I’ll have the car ready to take us back to the states tomorrow.”

There was too much to do stateside anyway.

Collections to be made, Fring to satisfy, his papa to… what?

Nacho half-wished he’d listened to Manuel when he’d advised his son to call the cops.

A life looking over his shoulder or one caught between a rock and a hard place.

No part of him could decide if one sounded better than the other right now.

“You dance, Nachito?”

Nacho blinked back to the present.

“What?”

Lalo perked up, moving around in his chair a bit and snapping his fingers to the beat of the guitar still playing across the yard.

“You know – dance. You take your girls to the salsa club?”

Nacho scoffed a bit at the idea.

“No. That’s – no. That’s not our scene.”

Sighing, Lalo rolled his eyes dramatically.

“You can, though?”

“Can what?”

“Dance! Oh for – Nacho, if you tell me this guitar doesn’t make you want to get up and swing your hips a little I’ll be very disappointed.”

Letting out a breathy laugh, Nacho relaxed back to stare at Lalo.

“I think my dad listens to this stuff.”

His brow furrowed at the focused look on the others face.

“You’re serious?! Shit, Lalo. I don’t know - That’s not how I dance!”

The older man let out a long, exasperated breath – clapping his hands against his knees and rising to his feet.

He turned to look down at Nacho expectantly.

A long-fingered hand was extended -  palm up and waiting.

“Well?”

“… You’re shitting me.”

Lalo grinned.

“If you don’t step on my loafers I might even let you lead.”

Nacho stared up at the other – dumbfounded and floundering for an excuse to get out of the Don’s impromptu dance-class.

“I… someone’s gonna see.”

Lalo made a show of peering around the corner, poking his head up over the small wall of topiary cordoning them off from the rest of the party.

Well damn, Nacho didn’t know his desire for privacy would come back to bite him like this

Scrubbing a hand over his scalp in agitation, Nacho glared minutely up at the Salamanca – who was already swaying and moving in time with the beat.

“Fine. One song.”

Lalo smiled brightly, stepping far too close into Nachos personal space.

“Of course. I’ve got other things to do tonight, you know.”

Bastard.

Letting out an aggrieved sigh, Nacho reached for the other, only to have his wrists caught and held firmly.

“You said I could lead.”

“There was a big If in that statement, Nachito. These are expensive shoes.”

“Jesus Christ…”

Nacho frowned sharply as a long-fingered hand settled at his waist.

“Hand on my shoulder, Nacho. Let’s do this right.”

Nacho was going to kill him. Forget whatever Fring was planning, he’d do it his damn self he’d –

Suddenly Lalo was right there. 

Filling every one of Nachos senses and leaning in to whisper in his ear.

“There. Much better…”

Tense was too kind of a word to describe how Nacho felt as Lalo grasped his hand with uncharacteristic gentleness.

Though, was it really uncharacteristic? 

He’d seen how Lalo could be almost sweet – like he’d been earlier with Yolanda at the hacienda… hell, even with Hector in the nursing home…

God. He was an idiot.

Lalo wasn’t sweet.

Lalo was a predator. A pack animal. 

If he seemed kind it was the ploy of a wild dog wagging its tail.

No sane person would mistake a wolf for a pet.

“Nacho…”

Clearing his throat, the lieutenant blinked up at the taller man.

Lalo was close enough to smell the alcohol on his breath, tempered by his expensive cologne.

A whiff of engine grease made Nacho shiver involuntarily.

“Ready?”

Nacho watched Lalo swallow hard as they stared at each other. 

Not nearly as unaffected as he pretended to be.

They stood for a moment – almost chest to chest and waiting – as the heat that had departed with the sun lit back bright and hot in the space between them.

The younger licked his suddenly dry lips and watched the taller Don track the small movement with his eyes.

Jesus…

“… Lalo…”

“LALOOOO!!!”

“LALO SALAMANCA!!! GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE!!”

A loud, drunken call interrupted their quiet, and Nacho sprang away like he’d been burned.

Lalo stood, statue like, still watching him go with an indefinable look in his eyes.

Rustling branches signaled the arrival of more people to the area and, like a switch had been flicked, Lalo turned with arms outstretched and a smile on his face to greet Eladio and the other Dons.

Unruffled and unbothered.

As if he hadn’t just been holding Nacho like…

Fuck.

Nacho hung back as far as he dared while the party pulled them back into its ebbs and flow.

The guitar continued to play – moving on to a more uptempo tune in response to the bikini-clad women starting to writhe about for the group’s enjoyment.

But even watching this, Nacho couldn’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment that the slow, soulful strains were gone. 

That he hadn’t taken that first step.

He glanced over across the pool to where Lalo stood laughing; surrounded by men and woman and holding court as only he could.

Dark eyes moved casually across the yard – looking for something.

Nacho didn’t let himself hope it was him.

Turning on his heel, Nacho strode quickly back to his corner. 

Where he’d left his tequila and his fire and apparently his damn mind.

His step hitched just a little as he finally settled on a word to describe the look Lalo had given him.

It didn’t change a thing.

It didn’t matter.

It was hunger.

[cherryfinolahobbes]

A/N: A scene I’ve had in my head and drafts for far too long. If I get up the brain power there is a part two which has the potential for some spice.

Summary: When you’ve waited almost seven years for the moment, you think it has to be a grand affair. Roses and fireworks and crystal wine glasses. Sometimes the perfect moment is waiting in line in the bookstore.

Warnings: None. Just fluff.

Parings: Wong/OFC (Cherry)

Tagging: @silvergryphon @diarythebookwyrm @empressofthelibrary @strxngemxgick @supremestrangeness @shieldagentnatasharomanoff @mastersofkamartaj

(If you’d like me to tag you in my stories. Please let me know!)

*****

She couldn’t quite remember how she’d ended up with her arms around him.

Not that she was complaining.

Cherry had expressed that she’d wanted to go and get in line for the newest volume of her favorite book series. She still enjoyed the hardbacks even if she read a lot on her tablet. She loved the scent of fresh pages, and today the author was signing. It was exciting and Wong had agreed to go with her. Since they weren’t looking to be stared at the whole time they were in line, Wong had opted for a more conservative and modern look. He left the plum and golden robes behind for a pair of khaki slacks, a simple turtleneck and a long flannel coat. Cherry had to admit she didn’t know Wong even owned more clothes than the robes he typically wore.

Despite her not knowing, she didn’t think he looked any less handsome. In fact, she found herself looking at him more. The coat flattering his frame, adding an air of dramatics his robes lacked, and it made her appreciate him more. Cherry wondered vaguely if she should change up her own looks.

Cherry and Wong had been in each other's orbit since the Blip...going on nearly seven, eight years now. It was hard to believe that neither of them had landed a successful move on the other.

There was the date that Tony had engineneer that had ended in diaster when he accidentally awakened an eldritch demon. How was he supposed to know the candles he'd bought in the antique shop for the evening had been cursed?

There were the concert tickets that Stephen and...everyone had the vague notion someone else had been involved, but no one could agree on who it was, had bought for Cherry and Wong, but it was interrupted when the band's lead singer was kidnapped by his spurned super powered ex girlfriend.

There was the kiss that had happened the closest they'd ever got. A fun night of karaoke with Shawn and Katy, both warm from drinking and laughter. Cherry had stumbled and Wong caught her and the kiss just...happened. There was no one to tease them, no one to push them together or force them act before they wanted to. It had been so natural. Cherry had wanted it to go on forever and then...the sky split open into a million purple shards. New York was in danger and Wong had to return. That was over a year ago and he'd been so busy they never were able to return to that place.

Now they were standing in a line in the biting autumn air and despite her peacoat, woolen skirt, tights and gloves, Cherry was cold. The line had been a slow to move and Cherry was worried she might be hypothermic before they got inside the bookstore. She had her hands tucked under her arms as she shifted on her feet miserably.

Hearing a soft chuckle, she looked over to see Wong with a warm expression on his face before he motioned for her to come closer to him, "Come here,"

It didn't take much persuasion from him for Cherry to find herself naturally leaning into his side, soaking up the warmth from his form, and then one hand and arm snaked inside the long flannel coat. It was much warmer under the layers of thick fabric where all of his body heat was trapped and before she knew it, she had her head nestled against his shoulder, both arms under his jacket, hands resting against his shoulder blades.

This. This was much nicer than shivering by herself. She'd worried at first that maybe she'd been too forward, moved too fast, but Wong didn't voice any argument. He kept one hand naturally in his pocket and another across her shoulders, thumb working rhythmically against her spine. She closed her eyes, losing herself to the warmth of him and the sound of his pulse under her ear and the scent of him. The smell of fresh clothes and incense that came and went as earthy and then changing to something spicy.

She wasn't sure how long they stood like this. He didn't press her to move forward and Cherry was certain she'd heard him murmur for a couple people to go ahead of them. She didn't care. She didn't want to lose this small moment like so many others.

Finally, Wong leaned his head down closers to hers. She could feel the heat of his skin, the swirl of his breath, and the magnetic pull she always felt around him, the need to be closer to him.

“The line is moving, if you don’t want to get too far behind,” He murmured softly, his voice velvety in her ears and she shook her head.

“I don’t care,” She said, realizing just how childish she sounded, especially as the Sorcerer Supreme chuckled softly.

“You don’t care? we’ve been out here for almost an hour and youre freezing,” He pointed out, his tone tender, and she felt her cheeks flush. She still had her head tucked against him, but now that he needed an answer, she knew she should look at him. There was an overpowering sense of girlish bashfulness that came over her. The feel of her fluttering stomach and her pounding heart, surely he had to feel it as close as they were, and the attraction she felt for him, all coming together in a powerful storm of emotion she hadn’t felt since she was in college. She knew from her ears to the apples of her cheeks to then bridge of her nose, she had to be crimson as she lifted her eyes to him. Wong’s face, that was usually so unreadable to those who didn’t know him, was soft for her in that moment. Amusement glittering in his sharp eyes and his mouth pulled into a barely lopsided smile.

He removed the hand from his pocket, the other still across her back, and brushed away her curls with blunt fingers. He followed the motion through, tucking several strands behind the pinkened shell of her ear. The contact electric, as she rarely let anyone as close as she let the sorcerer supreme. “If you truly don’t want the book we can-“

He never got to finish she sentence as much like the night outside the karaoke bar, the kiss just happened. Cherry was fairly sure she had initiated it, lifting up on her tiptoes before he was done, but she swore she felt his hand thread through her curls to cup the back of her head before their lips met.

It was like a sun igniting between her lungs. A white hot burning thing that she thought she’d never experience again as her fingers tightened into the fabric of his shirt. The kiss was slow and luxorius as Wong set their pace. It was like they had been, sure and thorough, as he pulled back enough for breath, but never enough to truly break contact with her lips, before leaning back in to start the process all over again.

She wasn’t sure how long they stood there. It was long enough for several of the others in line to share secretive smiles and shuffled past them. If they only knew what this moment meant. A moment both Wong and Cherry believed needed to be grand and momentous as they both had waited so long, only for it to come in a moment of quiet, mundane stillness.

When they finally pulled back and the stars that skittered in her veins died down and she caught her breath, Cherry murmured, “I don’t want the book…I don’t care what we do…I just want to be with you,”

Wong studied her a moment before with a gesture, he spun open a portal that made several people in line squawk in surprise. The portal revealed a stack of glossy bound books. Wong reached in with a free hand, keeping his other around her, and withdrew a book. He handed it to a bewildered Cherry before depositing a heavy coin on the stack of books before closing the portal.

“You can’t-“ Cherry began, looking torn between being shocked and amused and Wong raised a brow at her.

“That coin would easily purchase dozens of those books. I think I can,” He corrected her before spinning another gateway open. “Come on. I think I know a place you’d enjoy,”

She was reluctant to leave her space against him, but took a consolation prize as she untwined herself, of pressing her hand to his cheek and leaning in for another soft kiss, this one sweeter and more familiar. It left them bright eyed and smiling before she slipped through the gateway, leaving Wong to follow and close it in a shower of sparks.

[pellaaearien]

Wondrous Tails FFXIV: Bondage

The infamous Bloody Banquet. cw poisoning, restraints, gagging. 600 words.

Everything happened in slow motion. 

The cup slipped from Nanamo’s grasp as she clutched at her throat, tears streaming down her cheeks as she struggled to breathe. This was something her axe couldn’t defend against, even had she been permitted to carry it; all her antidotes were safely stowed in her pack, far away in her room where they could do no good. She hadn’t been expecting to need either in the depths of the sultana’s own chambers.

Nanamo tipped sideways and crumpled to the ground; Eyn’ara moved a second too late to catch her, feeling like her limbs were mired in quicksand.

Fuck. FUCK. Her brain felt slow too, struggling to comprehend the scene before her. Vitals. Check for vitals. She dug her shaking fingers into the side of Nanamo’s neck, unsure if they were even in the right spot. Somewhere far away she heard the chamber door open and she barked orders over her shoulder without looking to see who it was.

“Get Y’shtola. Or Alphinaud. They’re healers, they’ll be able to—”

“Bind her.”

The cold voice, incongruous to her panicked mind, permeated slowly enough that she offered no resistance as rough hands grabbed her and pulled her away from the Sultana’s body. As her wrists were manacled behind her she stared into the face of Teledji Adeledji, nearly at her eye height as she sat on the floor.

“What are you doing?” she demanded, chains rattling as she processed her new predicament. “The Sultana needs help, get a healer!”

“Her Grace the Sultana is dead!” Teledji exclaimed, as though he hadn’t heard her. “Poison in her wine, and the “hero” of the realm caught, literally, red handed!” His act was spoiled by the glee he failed to keep from his voice.

“What are you talking about?” All Eyn’ara could think of was Nanamo. “I was checking for vitals, you numbskull, there are two highly competent healers at the banquet right now, go call them while there’s still time!”

Teledji jabbed a dramatic finger in her direction. “Spare us your denials! I see no other suspects, and the room has but the one entrance!”

Eyn’ara ignored her chains for the moment as she gaped at the lalafell in disbelief. “Why are you wasting time accusing me? I didn’t pour the wine, that was—” A breath later, the wheels in her brain started turning again. “Wait. How are you so sure it was poison? How do you know she’s dead if you haven’t even examined her?” She took in the presence of the lady in waiting behind the group of Brass Blades, and Teledji’s impeccable timing. “Oh. Oh, I see.”

Teledji’s smile was insufferably smug. “I’m certain I have no idea what you mean. Gag her,” he ordered. “I’ll not have her spreading her lies to the public.” One of the Blades stepped forward and used the red cloth of his bandana, forcing it between her teeth and over her tongue as she glared daggers at him, tying it behind her head tightly enough it pulled at her hair and cut into the corners of her mouth.

Eyn’ara let it happen, running furiously through her options. This reeked of a plot; there was no way they’d feel secure in treating the Warrior of Light like this otherwise and think they’d get away with it. Tempting as it was to break herself free and damn the consequences, there was a quieter voice in her head that sounded like Alphinaud counselling patience. If they’d truly killed the Sultana and wanted to frame her for it, fighting her way out of the chamber would not do her any favours. Right now, her best option seemed to be going along with what they wanted until she could figure out what was going on and who was in on it.

Teledji let out a contented sigh. “That’s better. I hereby accuse you of regicide! Men, take this viper to the Fragrant Chamber! Let the masses see the true face of their hero.”

[fourseasonsfigs]

Han Ye with Sword

There's a tale to tell with this fig!

But first things first! What we have here is Gong Jun as our noble Prince Han Ye from The Legend of Anle, due out soon! I can't wait to see this show! We've had so many wonderful figs that have already been inspired by it, I can't imagine what it will be like when the show actually airs.

This beautiful fig was inspired by this beautiful behind the scenes picture during filming:

This costume is just gorgeous - I love the translucent painting effect at the bottom.

Let's have a few more pics of Gong Jun from these behind the scenes pictures so you can, ah, see the costume from all different angles. Right!

I'm not too busy staring at Gong Jun's Immaculate Face (although that's a worthy full time occupation for sure) to also continue to obsess with Han Ye's collection of rings. I want to buy them all when the fan merch comes out after Anle drops. I can't wait!

This fig arrived tucked away in his protective polystyrene box, his sword carefully held in his elegant little hand. Yep, as you can tell from the box, this prince is made out of resin.

Like all resin figs, princes or otherwise, I take a deep breath (and hold it!) when I unpack them, for fear they've sustained some terrible damage crossing the ocean to me. So far I've been pretty lucky, but I've seen some pics (I say with a thousand-yard stare into the distance, and mutter darkly, I've seen some pics).

Thankfully, this handsome prince arrived on my doorstep perfect and precious.

LOOK at that mouth. If you've been reading along this far (thank you!) you know my all time favorite expression is exactly this one (closely followed by the happy smiling uwu). One look at this rascally smile and you know they're up to some cutely devilish mischief! There's a whole lot of personality packed into that wiggly mouth.

I was so super happy and delighted that everything was damage free that I immediately started taking pics for this blog, stopping to ooh and ahh over how delightful he is. And then I realized (when I was all done of course), that wait, Han Ye should not be holding his sword by the blade. So I just slid the sword out, easy as anything, reversed it, and tried to put it back into his hand.

Nope. You can see how the blade itself widens at the top, and how the handle is the widest thickness of blade. And that the guard (and the pommel) are significantly larger than the blade of course, and how thereis no way to slide the sword handle in from the top. So with a sinking heart, I stared at his perfect precious little hand, and tried verrrry gently pushing the handle into his hand.

Nope. I tried bracing his little hand against my finger, and pushing the handle in a little bit harder, literally the personification of these emojis: 😰😬

Nope! So I'm sitting here sweating, and coming face to face with some choices, namely how much do I care about authenticity here, does he really need to match the picture or maintain any kind of basic sword discipline? Or do I press harder hoping that it just magically pops into his hand and risk accidentally snapping off fig Gong Jun's fragile resin fingers / hand / arm?

Dearest figthusiast, I pose this question to you, a philosophical question for the ages. What would you do? Keep a safely intact but incorrect fig pose that you know is wrong every time you look at him, or risk a slow motion nightmare of a little fig hand exploding in a shower of resin dust?!?!

Ok, maybe the explosion part is a bit dramatic. But still!

After some significant fretting philosophical pondering, I came down on Team Match the Picture. Before I do anything, I grab my phone, pull up Xianyu, and run a search. Turns out that at this particular moment in time, this fig is replaceable, and even at a reasonable price. So I thought, ok, worse case is manageable, never mind the psychic damage.

But, I figure I'd better be smart about this. So I message my BFF (Best Fig Friend, naturally), who, along with her exceptionally fine taste in figs, has experience in BJD dolls and modding. As an extra bonus, her brilliant and talented wife also has experience in modding. So between the two of them they had a whole solution, two different plans of attack, a recommendation, pro tips, safety advice and encouragement - in like 5 minutes.

So I grab my finest grade sandpaper, my dust mask, and my courage, and get to to work. Mindful I need to take it slow and cautiously, I go slow and cautious.

I could have run a (metaphorical) marathon with how much I (metaphorically) sweated over this!

I finally wiggled the handle in.

Success! Not the best job ever - I did sand down a little too much in some areas and barely enough in others, but I'm happy with it. Whew!

Ok, all fig dramatics aside, please do take a look at the beautiful detailing on the costume - the pattern at the bottom and the gold under robe. Beautiful!

You can see the sword, and slightly less elegant hand (sorry, Junjun!) there. It looks like there's a lot of room for it, and there kind of is in many places, but I still had to wedge it in.

I really like the little pleats in the back of his robe - a bit of detail that makes the back a little more interesting.

Speaking of the back, here we go. This pose always makes me think of Wen Kexing's hand behind his back, so I particularly like it. Glad I didn't have to do anything to that hand!

Detail of the hair and guan. The tiny little bit of over-painting on the guan isn't at all very noticeable when the fig is sitting standing in front of you.

He has a nice broad base with his shoes, and the robes, as usual, do a great job supporting him. This fig stands perfectly on his own, with no need for a fig base (although I'm putting him on one to match the rest of my figs).

The polystyrene box the fig came in was just in a plain white box, so we get to enjoy the lovely art just in card form. It's so pretty!

The fig maker says this fig is Xiao Zhe's "most handsome husband". When her matching Xiao Zhe arrives at my house I will pair them up!

Material: Resin

Fig Count: 202

Scene Count: 17

Rating: Perfect and precious (and thankfully, still with a sword arm, hand, fingers, and thumb!)

[link back to Master Fig Index for more posts]

[zennis]

Once we’ve got past the mesmerising opening shot showing us that Lily-Rose Depp — like her Britney-meets-Miley character, Jocelyn — can act fearlessly, we meet the orbiting team of this disaffected singer in a mise-en-scene that rings with a distant echo of the opening sequence from Altman’s “The Player”. An echo that could have been more interesting if also played out in a continuous one-shot as we eavesdrop on their various conversations, but that’s just me…

As it stands though, the sequence does its job introducing us to the supporting cast in this young woman’s career. A career that seems to have been interrupted by the loss of her mother. A career that now seems to be getting back on track, even if we sense that our protagonist is most decidedly broken and that her comeback single is dodgy as fuck. Oh, and a revenge porn money-shot photo of Jocelyn has just surfaced on the internet. But hey, “it could have been worse,” says our heroine, leaving us to imagine how much worse.

In the pilot’s second half, as we watch Jocelyn come together with The Weeknd’s respectably played pygmalion character, Tedros — labelled “rapey” by bestie-slash-assistant, Xander, but that’s okay because that’s what Jocelyn kind of likes about him — we feel as if we’re watching a slow-motion train-crash infiltrating a wet dream, perhaps evoking in some of us that one relationship which turned out to be more disastrous than the rest.

In my case, coincidentally, it was with a girl I met on a train. She approached me in an empty carriage and asked if she could borrow a pen. I’d been around the block enough times and one look was enough for me to know she was trouble — and of course she was, costing me so much more than I can ever tell you here. So let’s just say that even if I knew it was going to end badly, I couldn’t stop myself because I never could have imagined it ending as badly as it actually did.

And this is exactly the foreboding spidey-sense that tingles through us as we are inescapably transfixed by The Idol. Yes, it’s slow burning but we find ourselves enveloped in a kind of dramatic irony, knowing damn well it’s not going to end well when these two locomotives finally collide — but we still can’t help ourselves from watching how it plays out.

Okay, the show’s semi-nudity and sexual peccadilloes may be “deliberately provocative” (to use the director’s own description), but throbbing at the heart of this is soul-haunting stuff that I sense will far transcend the woke brigade’s hating on whatever it is they are inevitably gonna be hating on as they go about their puritanical business — like the young star’s creative director — of “cockblocking America”.

PS. Special mention must go to Jane Adams who plays Jocelyn’s wickedly vulgar label executive, Nikki, with perfect pitch.