#TOMY infinite figure

[authorssd]

He's rollin'!

[okitanoniisan]

the mystery of the sleeping arrangements in kiryu's hotel room have been making me insane since IW dropped, so

in eng sub kiryu says they'll play jan ken for the floor, but in jp he specifically says that they'll use it to decide who gets the bed (誰がベッドを使うかは後でジャンケンだ)

initially my assumption was that they just inexplicably did not consider the couches sleepworthy enough and were choosing to crash on the floor instead, but this seems to not be the case, just more of the usual bafflingly pointless localization choices.

tomi takes the bed after that lol

and then chitose joins up with them, and since there are only 2 couches, it either means somebody actually is sleeping on the floor, or they've got to share the bed

we don't see where ichi was sleeping, but it seems like both couches are empty, and tomi is walking over from behind the couch, from the direction of the little alcove where the bed is. assuming chitose did actually stay the night, that'd mean she and ichi took the couches, while tomi and kiryu shared the bed

...but the wonky localization coupled with all of this implies that their sleeping arrangement looks like

[sbuggbot]

Remaking one of my first posts on this website (which I have since privated), a headcanon post about 80s Robot from The Muppets because he's my favorite and a comfort character for me. This is just some quick(ish) basics. They mainly exist in my headcanon universe where the 2011 movie was either real or based on true events rather than "just a movie".

One of Bunsen and Beaker's creations. His function was basically what Tomy Company had envisioned while creating his real-life inspiration, the Omnibot 2000. (Greeting/entertaining guests, serving refreshments, watching the house even... although Tomy never got that far with their 'bot!)

He wasn't self-aware at first; that developed on its own later because nothing Bunsen invents works as intended.

Part of that included not being able to talk at first - he figured that out later and first demonstrated this by going up to Kermit one morning and saying "Kerrr-mit". (Needless to say, Kermit was very startled. Something had been up with the robot for a while, but it didn't prepare him for that.)

80s Robot has the Y2K bug. He can keep track of what day it is, but once years get involved he gets very confused. It's also part of the reason his speech patterns and such are stuck in 80s-era slang. (He was a little more adaptive before the turn of the millennium, but defaulted to what he knew once he couldn't keep track of what year it was anymore.)

Very clumsy because of his technical limitations and plain old hardware degradation. (Retrofitting or otherwise updating him has not worked, only replacing components with like parts.)

He doesn't have a color camera. Despite this, he can still see and understand things well enough to drive. He just doesn't pay as much attention to his surroundings when he isn't piloting a two-ton hunk of metal.

By the way, he drives using a remote system he hooks himself into that presses the pedals for him.

That modem of his is a huge battery drain and probably wouldn't work correctly if it was restored and used today. Also, his antivirus is very outdated. (Although some viruses might not be able to get enough RAM to run on him.)

Somehow he has an infinite supply of Tab and New Coke. If you ask him for a Coke to drink, you must specify Coke Classic or you will get a New Coke.

No one knows if the New Cokes are still drinkable or not. Nobody's been daring/stupid enough to try one (or more accurately, allowed to be daring/stupid enough to try one).

He will not go to Dr. Honeydew for repairs if he can do anything at all to help it. Bunsen is too much of a tinkerer and 80s Robot has a very realistic concern he'll wind up with some dangerous or unnecessary modification.

[mythvoiced]

A floor is the poorest excuse for a bed made readily available to people like Karube assumes himself to be, and this isn't the floor. Still, Karube tries to pretend this is both worse and better than Akina deserves right now.

He wants to think it's worse, that she's as uncomfortable as the bruises likely littering her body will be when she accidentally brushes them in the next few days, wincing and flinching while trying to appear mundane and sane. He wants to think Akina hates this place, wants to know Akina hates him for offering help and providing a metaphorical bandaid to a metaphorical shotgun wound.

He wants his help, his presence, to be as distorted and foul-smelling as he feels when the world refuses to turn just slightly in a way that would benefit him... and her, by extension.

Life shouldn't be this complicated, not at his age, not even at hers. It shouldn't involve near death experiences that could have ended much worse without including her death - his skin crawls, she smiles like a demon asking for your soul from the shadow of your closet but she's small, easily held down if you knock her knife out of her hand.

Life shouldn't be this complicated, he shouldn't be sitting down at the edge of her makeshift resting place wondering why being a useless drop-out bartender has led him to this moment.

Life shouldn't be this complicated that he couldn't simply decide this isn't for him.

He can't decide. The same dissonance that makes him hope she's uncomfortable while also hoping she'll be able to sleep here, to feel safe, to trust in his ability to protect her, or at least his willingness.

He knows what he should want, he knows what he wants, he knows what he should need, he knows what keeps him alive, he knows he needs the world to be ugly because he'd lose his mind if it was pretty.

But he doesn't want it to be like this. Akina looks like she belonged on a campaign preaching a 'stop to violence against women!'. Akina looks like turning the page on a newspaper and seeing her black-and-white photo listed among femicide victims wouldn't be surprising.

Akina looks like life is infinitely more complicated for her than it is for him and he'd tear the sky out of its hinges to be deeper involved in it.

Maybe that's the problem.

Maybe it's this odd knowledge that he's walking along the line keeping him out of her world. It looks and sounds bloody and painful, she comes equipped with knives as if it'd be an oddity to see her without one. She grins past the blood drying on her, she lies back in a stranger's shithole because it can't get any worse, can it?

Karube wants in so bad he wonders if he's already lost his mind.

"Of course I'm fucking angry," he says, but he's already mellowed out some. He's gone from looking like he'll tear this entire place down, to sitting by her side wondering if a bullet into his skull would rid him of the imaginary headache plaguing him.

He even has the wit of mind to stare her down when she poke the tip of his nose, a deadpan look weakened in its attempt to appear unimpressed when he's looking at her as if perhaps actually ripping her apart like Tomie would finally settle some of his mind.

But that doesn't really work.

Tomie is an entity that provokes, not because she wants to. She's designed to work as she does. Thinking back, he could never figure out if she was even ever conscious, in control of her existence. If she was simply something stuck in a cycle, a tumour of sorts. Dying cells don't have free will.

Akina... Akina has enough character and life in those pitch-blacks of her eyes that Karube realizes he never does want to rip her apart, as much as he wants to rip himself apart, wondering if that'll work instead.

Up until the moment his rationale kicks in, and he remembers this is real life... and not a Junji Ito obsession.

"Do you think I wouldn't encourage you beat the fuck out of them if I knew you could...? I don't know a single damn person who could stand up to guys like that, Mori. Why would you be able to."

And it's not lack of faith.

It's realism.

 it's not easy to breathe with blood dried inside her nose , she's going to have to clean it tomorrow or when she's able to keep her balnace when she gets up ; thin limbs and soft hair can't fight against men that want to put her in her place . especially if they liked bruised things better than happier ones , whenever they're broken it's easier to handle them . so she has to find something sharper to hit them with , has to hit them somewhere that will hurt .

 the guy karube called a friend of his , didn't exactly give her a bed but it was soft enough and it moved slightly with karube's hands . the moment he pushed the veil aside , akina was grinning at him . the smile of someone who knows they've lured their prey in , succeeded in making karube finally talk back , come here and spit out that she doesn't look pretty at all . her split lip pucker slightly under the disguise of a pout . he didn't even know he was giving her the best compliment of her life , that akina mori shouldn't be pretty when she's bruised and bloodied , shouldn't look cute when she's crying , when she could have fucking died .

 happiness isn't a familiar look on her face , not the childish glint of excitement whenever she sees karube come out from the backroom of the bar and lazily ask them what they want . akina isn't a good person , one day they're all going to pay for their sins and all she can hope for is to pay for them with karube himself for stealing kisses on emi's back . akina's friend , sometimes she thinks this is why fumiko doesn't let her see her dates .

 the grin though , vanishes slowly as he leans in , hands held to her chest as an odd way of protecting the bandaged wounds from bumping into things . karube is a mystery , he's angry about something and he's trying so hard to seem like he's as heartless as the men who did this to her . and liked it .

 why won't she stop fighting them ? ❛ . . . why do they keep thinking i shouldn't fight them ? ❜ akina doesn't want to look pretty anymore , she wants to look as ugly as she feels . wants to scream and scare everyone away , crawl inside a cave and growl at anyone who got close . one hand reaches up to poke the tip of his nose , voice a little throaty and scratchy but her smile is blooming back again . ❛ are you angry ? ❜

[primeconvoy1]

"Optimus Prime won't know what hit him! Ha ha ha ha ha!"

[shimmershae]

Right Here (a Walking Dead one ficlet, Caryl + Lydia).

So.  I’ve failed rather spectacularly with the challenge I set for myself, writing a little something for every day of November, but I bring to you this small offering as an apology.  

Spoilers for 11.23.  Creative liberties, too.  Wherein Carol and Daryl keep one more vigil. 

Typos and other mistakes are all mine.  I’ve been ruminating on this damn thing for over a week, lol.  Time to set it free into the world at large, warts and all.  

Enjoy.  

They depose Pamela.  

 Set fire to the Commonwealth and all it stands for.  Figuratively speaking.  

 Mostly.  

 Mostly.  

 And yet? Hours after the first shots have faded into distant echoes, the scorching heat of hellfire still flushes Carol’s tear-streaked cheeks.  Soot coats her tongue in heavy, choked silence.  Her nerve endings are flayed raw, angry and incandescent from the sparks of pain that still pulse straightaway to her heart.  She’s burning, she’s burning, she’s…

 “Hey.”  

 Daryl’s voice is infinitely soft, the way it always used to be before she broke his trust, before she broke them.  Ordinarily, it’d be a welcome balm for her worries.  But here?  Now? It scrapes painfully across her weary bones.  It strips them of their carefully hewn armor and transports her to a different time. A different place.  In an instant, she can smell nothing but wood smoke. See nothing but vermilion flames greedily swallowing up Hershel’s barn.  A funeral pyre not just for her lost daughter but for her former self. Then Daryl clears his throat, breathing her name between the span of two heartbeats, Lydia’s heartbeats, and Carol’s focus sharpens.  It narrows in on the still figure of the young girl that against all odds?  Had taken root in all the little crevices of her broken heart and bloomed where all hope was thought lost.  She draws her lip between her teeth to halt its tremble and resolutely ignores the flare of heat behind her eyes that threatens more tears.  

 “She’s gonna be okay.”  

 Carol wants to believe.  She aches to possess one tenth of Daryl’s conviction.  But they’ve been here before and hope?  Can be one of the cruelest four-letter words of all.  She closes her eyes and sees Elijah again, emerging from billowing smoke and chaos with Lydia cradled in his arms like a crumpled, bloodied, one-armed doll and her tears escape of their own accord.  This wasn’t supposed to be happening.  Lydia was supposed to break the hellish cycle.  Unlike Sophia.  Unlike Lizzie or Mika.  Unlike Beth. Head bowed, hoarse sob clawing free, she confesses.  “She was supposed to be the one.  The one we…”

 “Gotta stop talkin’ like she’s already gone.”  

 “Daryl.”  

 “She ain’t.”

 Her gaze drifts to Daryl’s hand.  It’s the only part of him she can bear to look at right now.  If she dares look in his eyes, she fears the inferno will rage higher.  Spread faster.  She looks at Daryl’s hand and watches his calloused fingertips touch Lydia’s pale skin with infinite gentleness.  He’s careful to avoid the various tubes he finds there, bypassing them to trace the rainbow configuration of bruises left behind by Tomi’s desperate bid to find a patent vessel.  To find a conduit to pump life-saving blood and fluids and antibiotics into Lydia’s system before infection took its insidious hold.  He thumbs the sleeve of the too-big gown that dwarfs her, that makes her look all of twelve years old, and Carol hears his breath stutter and catch.  Breaching the distance between them, she gathers his hand in her own before she can second guess herself and weaves their fingers together, holding on tight.  “She’s right here.”  It’s a reminder.  It’s somehow a promise.  It’s the exact right thing to say, because Daryl uses their handhold to pull her close and wrap a strong arm around her.  His nose nuzzles her hair as he echoes it right back to her.  

 “She’s right here. And she’s puttin’ up one helluva fight.”

 Nestled safe in Daryl’s arms, soothed by the steady beat of his heart, Carol feels the blaze, like her tears, start to recede.  

 “Why don’t you go on and sleep now?”  

 “But Lydia.”

 “Between Ass Kicker and all the other shit that’s gone down, ain’t seen you close them eyes in days.  I’ll wake you soon as she does.”  

 His promise rumbles beneath her ear and Carol’s reminded of how so much could have gone wrong. How so much did.  Judith’s holding court in a hospital bed just down the hall, no doubt showing off her war wounds to RJ and Hershel.  She’s got youth and the survival skills she’s learned from everyone that’s ever loved her on her side.  Others?  They weren’t so lucky.  Lydia, though?  “She’s the one…”  

 “…we both get to save.  Sleep, Carol. Do this for me.”  

 Carol feels herself fading.  Feels the flames ebb, dying down to mere flickers.  “The minute,” she mutters into the worn fabric of his shirt.  “I mean it, Pookie.”  Daryl’s answering huff of a laugh brings a tired smile to her lips and for once?  She doesn’t fight it.  She lets the love she feels for him consume her, and it leaves nothing but banked embers in its wake.  She’s okay with that.  

 That’s the thing about Phoenixes.  

[recentanimenews]

Mugen Train Turns into Sushi Train in New Demon Slayer: Kimetsu no Yaiba Toy

  Has watching Demon Slayer: Kimetsu no Yaiba Mugen Train arc made you hungry? Maybe you just to go "UMAI!"? Well, why not blend your want (and at this point, need) of food and the current Mugen Train arc with a Demon Slayer sushi train! Announced today, Takara Tomy Arts in Japan will be releasing a sushi train based off the Mugen Train from the latest TV anime arc that you can use at home.

    It even comes with a little Tanjiro figure to protect the train from any demons that may be on (or inside) it!

          The Mugen Train Sushi Edition can pull up to four of the included trolleys with a plate and food on them, with the plates being themed after Tanjiro and Nezuko's iconic designs. The pack also includes a loop of track, making the Mugen train go for an infinite amount of time. 

  The Mugen Train Sushi Train is set to go on sale in Japan in December 2021 for a price of 7,480 yen (US$65.65) both online and at all major stores across the country, letting people at home enjoy watching the Demon Slayer: Kimetsu no Yaiba Entertainment District arc on Crunchyroll while eating crunchy rolls off a sushi train.

  Source: Comic Natalie

  ----

Daryl Harding is a Japan Correspondent for Crunchyroll News. He also runs a YouTube channel about Japan stuff called TheDoctorDazza, tweets at @DoctorDazza, and posts photos of his travels on Instagram. 

By: Daryl Harding

[allspark]

For a time, Hasbro considered sparing our wretched little wallets. Now, we shall witness… their dismemberment.

Hasbro Pulse has just unveiled their latest HASLAB campaign: a fan-funded project that will result in the creation of the uncreator, the Chaos-Bringer himself, “War for Cybertron” Unicron! This massive figure, set to be the NEW “biggest Transformer ever”, clocks in at 19 pounds in planet mode (with a 30-inch diameter), and the robot mode stands at 685.8 mm (past 27 inches) tall.

Unicron costs $574.99, and is set to ship sometime in early 2021. The project will commence once a minimum amount of 8,000 backers (maximum of 5 per transaction) send in their support by 11:59 PM EST, August 31, 2019. That may sound a bit daunting, but given what’s on offer, it’s not like Hasbro’s bargaining posture is dubious or anything…

Hasbro adds these details:

There are moments that define a collection. This is that moment.

The gigantic Unicron would be our largest converting Transformers figure ever created, taking the title from our previous record-holder, Fortress Maximus.

In his immense robot mode, this version of Unicron will be over 27-inches (685.8 mm) tall and has more than 50 points of articulation. 

He converts into a terrifying planet mode that will be a stunning 30-inches (762.0 mm) in diameter. The planet mode features the iconic planet-eating jaws, geared to open so Unicron can devour unassuming worlds. The planet mode also features a series of posable planetary rings.

The massive planet mode sits on a custom stand (included) to support the approximate weight of 19lb of the Lord of Chaos.  

This will be the most accurate Unicron figure ever created. Artists and designers from Takara Tomy and Hasbro reviewing various movie references and are working to capture little details and features of the relentless Chaos Bringer.

And…

“And nothing! You belong to me…now.” – Unicron

Robot Mode

Cower in fear as you come face to face with the mighty Unicron in his intimidating robot mode, standing at over 27” tall.

The legendary fiend moves methodically with more than 50 points of articulation.

He sets his intimidating glare on his enemies with movable eyes.

With his articulated fingers, he clutches the air menacingly and makes fists full of his infinite fury.

He insults pitiful lesser beings through his articulated mouth and grins malevolently with his movable teeth.

Planet Mode

Convert and bring forth the terrifying planet mode of Unicron, a stunning 30” in diameter.

His iconic planet-eating jaws are geared to open so the vicious Planet Eater can devour unassuming worlds.

The Chaos Bringer’s imposing presence is amplified by his massive posable planetary rings.

To support the substantial weight of the approximate 19-pound villainous planet, Unicron requires a custom stand.

Do not be fooled. The premium detail and deco are, indeed, inspired by classic 1986 movie, but it is not, in fact, The Lord of Chaos himself.

The HASLAB project page also gives us a neat behind-the-scenes look at how the design for this iteration of the Chaos-Bringer evolved.

#gallery-0-5 { margin: auto; } #gallery-0-5 .gallery-item { float: left; margin-top: 10px; text-align: center; width: 33%; } #gallery-0-5 img { border: 2px solid #cfcfcf; } #gallery-0-5 .gallery-caption { margin-left: 0; } /* see gallery_shortcode() in wp-includes/media.php */

“But we belong to him”, indeed. Let us know how you’re taking the news on the Allspark Discord server, on the Allspark Forums, and on the Allspark Facebook group!

Hasbro Pulse reveals HASLAB “War for Cybertron” Unicron! For a time, Hasbro considered sparing our wretched little wallets. Now, we shall witness... their dismemberment.

[infinitejackal]

so i just arrived home and my Tomy Infinite figure arrived in the mail!! (used his shipping box as a rudimentary backdrop lmao)

ordered him from toywiz since they were selling him loose/on his own (versus the multipack he comes in with sonic and zavok)

he has a couple minor flaws (a dot of white paint on his right elbow and a red smudge on his tail) but i could always paint those over if i really want to

otherwise, he’s pretty great!! love having more official merch >:3c

[hypershadow92]

Remember my custom Tomy Shadow and my Infinite figures I did? Now they have there own two pack box!

[httplovecraft1890]

Friends Like These

          A rather aimless drabble done in preparation for a crossover fan fic I’ll be writing in the future for Junji Ito’s Souichi and Tomie series, this is a writing exercise to get a feel for Tomie’s character. She’s such a great villain, isn’t she? I feel she’s probably Ito’s most terrifying creation because she’s ultimately so fundamentally human in how rotten she is.

          Without further ado…

"Sorrow found me when I was young. Sorrow waited, sorrow won.” - The National, “Sorrow” (2010)

           Tomie hates the In Between Place.

           It’s what she’s come to call the plane of existence after whatever idiot she’s decided to ensnare inevitably does her in – a long list that includes stabbing, choking, dismembering, beating with various objects, electrocution, hanging, to name a few things – before she is reborn. The In Between Place is nothing more than an inconvenience but one that Tomie isn’t sure how long will last. Sometimes her regeneration takes hours; other times days, even weeks. There are no gods to judge her misdeeds. There’s just the void, an endless gray mist that stretches out before her as far as she can see.

           At one time Tomie had been afraid of the In Between Place. The brief respite she had been given due to her miraculous recovery from being pushed over the cliff deep in the forest had only made things worse when every eye that had leered down at her had been as cold and distant as those she fixes others with now. When she had been murdered by Takagi, Yamamoto, and every other boy in class 1-B she had awoken scared and lost in the now familiar purgatory. She had cried herself hoarse unable to understand or comprehend her fate. Her mind had felt as if it were swirling endlessly, a shaken snow globe that had been unable to stop, as she had gone through varying states of consciousness before she understood that each piece of her was growing anew. Eventually, though, she had been drawn back through the membrane between the In Between Place and the world of the living. She doesn’t even understand after all this time what she is exactly. A demon? A witch? A ghost? There’s no one around to ask and Tomie isn’t sure she cares enough to know even if there were.

           What matters is that she’s mastered death, conquered it in a way that no one else has. Tomie is special, just as her father had promised her from multiple lifetimes ago now, when she had been small enough to sit on his lap, the smell of sake on his breath as he read her a bedtime story, even if sometimes he never managed to finish them before passing out. The Western ones had been her favorite with their princesses waiting to be rescued by brave knights in castles. She had been ignorant then as to how boys truly were but she can’t completely scrub her father’s soft voice or his gentle kisses goodnight to her forehead from her mind.

           “You can have anything you want if you try hard enough, my lily.”

           That had been one of the first lies ever told to her by a man.

           If that had been the case, she would not have found him on the floor having drowned ingloriously in his own vomit one morning at the age of five. Nor would she have been left at the mercy of her mother, a shrill harpy of a woman, jealous of Tomie’s beauty (just as all the others are, of course), who always had her brought back by the police when she tried to run away from home. Mother is another reason she can’t stand the In Between Place. It leaves her alone with her memories of people and places that no longer matter, of bruises that she had to hide underneath school uniforms or black eyes that were explained away from falling down the stairs.

           Yet to say she is alone isn’t accurate. There are shapes within the ‘fog,’ twisting and turning about, faces that are so stretched in agony they barely resemble the human beings they once were. All the girls she has ever absorbed, everyone who Tomie has devoured to help regain her strength, anyone unfortunate enough to come into contact with her are all here like an enormous extended family. At a time when Tomie couldn’t control them they terrorized her. They had swarmed as if they were an angry nest of hornets buzzing about and howling into the nothingness that she had no right to keep them against their will. But the more souls she accumulated the softer their voices had become until at last the hellish choir had died just as so many of them had.

           All but one.

          Time is frozen in the In Between Place; she can’t feel its passage and there would be no way to tell even if the laws of the outside world applied here. At the very least it keeps her stroll through her personal fiefdom a leisurely one. The spirits flee from her in fear as she walks by them, dancing away from the expensive pair of couture heels her lover had bought her days before he’d run her over with his sports car in a fit of rage. It had to have been a record, Tomie is sure. They had lasted an entire six months together though she is sure his love of verbal abuse had something to do with it. They’d connected via a dating app after all. He hadn’t even minded that she’d been unable to keep up appearances in her profile’s photo. He’d told her that he’d been into special effects when he was younger and that it was “wicked cool” she could do makeup like that.

          Gag.

          When at last she comes upon the being she’s sought, sitting in a ‘clearing’ hundreds of steps away from where Tomie arrived, it takes everything within her not to let her normally barbed tongue slip. Somewhere in the corners of Tomie’s mind, or in her shriveled, blackened heart, there is an ounce of compassion that still exists for the poor figure in front of her. Stuck with the ugly bob cut (a poor decision she’d warned her against even at the time), clad in clothes that are over a quarter of a century out of date, sits her only friend. Tomie lowers herself down next to her, subconsciously being careful not to crease her long and expensive blue dress her idiot had bought for her a week ago.

          “Do you try to make it difficult for me to find you on purpose or…?”

          Silence.

          That’s normally how their one-sided conversations go. Reiko Mizutani has long since given up speaking. She had always been a girl without much of a backbone and her time in the In Between Place had ground her into less than nothing. Sometimes she even sits so still that her ghastly companions all about them act more lively than she does.

          “Always the same with you, Reiko. Why the cold shoulder? I’m doing you a favor, you know.”

          She had never intended it to be this way.

          It hadn’t been Tomie’s fault that the one piece of her that had not reconfigured itself as fast as it should’ve, the heart that Reiko had dropped tearfully off of the bridge on the way home from school they’d once taken every afternoon, and had found its way out to sea and then to the town where Reiko had moved. Tomie hadn’t had much control of her powers then. The hunger that had gnawed at her had been so all-consuming she had barely registered she had pounced on Reiko until she was halfway through sucking the marrow out of one of her femurs just who her victim had been.

          Tomie knew she was not a good person, even before her transformation. She hadn’t cared what others thought of her and saw no reason not to play with her vapid peers’ thoughts and feelings. Yamamoto was nothing more than a passing curiosity as interchangeable as anyone else in their year was. Takagi had been a fling just to see if she could destroy a marriage, though admittedly the decision not to use a condom had been his idea, not hers. Her fellow students had called her so many different names behind her back that they had drowned together in a sea of white noise. Whether Tomie was called a whore at home or at school didn’t matter.

           “This one wasn’t so bad looking this time, was he? Foreigners do tend to have bigger bank accounts…”

           Foreign. That’d have been the way to describe what she had felt as she had looked away from Reiko’s unseeing eyes by the tide that day. Reiko may have had awful fashion sense, a childish view of romance, and an assortment of other personality flaws that had seemed grating when they’d been in class together but it hadn’t mattered in that moment. When the deed had been finished the sensation of truly having severed the last connection to her old life had hit Tomie. There would never again be phone conversations late into the night to complain about the latest test, what universities they were considering, or anything of the sort. In a way she’d died for the second time that balmy afternoon.

           “…Bigger dicks too. I told you if you stick with me you’ll never be disappointed.”

           Reiko simply stares at her feet, utterly unresponsive to her attempted camaraderie, and Tomie is more than fine with talking to the wall her companion has erected between them. It is an infinitely preferable fate than being railed against for what she has done to her. Better that than being forced on the defensive for the events of the past 30 years.

           She reaches over, taking one of Reiko’s small hands in hers, giving it a squeeze so gentle she surprises herself. “What about you, though? I never can tell what you like or don’t like when we’re out fishing together. Surely you’ve got a type, Reiko.”

             The other girl’s glass eyes remain unfocused, staring out into the expanse just as they always do whenever Tomie asks her questions. This is all that’s left of Reiko – a dying ember that must be tended to prevent it from being snuffed out. Tomie stretches out her legs, leaning comfortably against Reiko’s shoulder.

          “I’ll get the answer out of you sooner or later. We’ve got all the time in the world here.”

          She hadn’t cared at first whether or not Reiko would suffer when she first returned. She had been so consumed with hatred at the fact her so-called friend had not fought harder for her, to tell her classmates off for murder. Instead Reiko had done what she always did: clammed up at the first sign of trouble and tossed her heart away as if it were yesterday’s garbage. It was only her attempt at going to the police in the end that Tomie had decided to spare her mind from being broken at all.

          “I have to admit I’m getting tired of foie gras and caviar… it might be easier just to find a chef. It is fun watching some of them when the check comes, though.”

          Reiko stiffens at the contact between them, her back ramrod straight, and while she has no need to breathe Tomie can feel her diaphragm shuddering against her. She never fights or crawls away; Reiko is nothing but a broken-in horse at the stable now. It doesn’t offend Tomie either. She’s used to those around her recoiling in horror when they get a glimpse underneath her carefully maintained façade.

          “Something wrong, Reiko? You know I don’t bite much.”

          Tomie can’t help herself. The joke tumbles from her mouth before she can stop them and Reiko takes the opportunity to press her forehead against her knees. Despite not talking Tomie is sure that prayers are being mentally sent to anyone that will listen to free her. A curious mixture of contempt and regret settles in her. She doesn’t need to allow the link between them, their souls becoming one when she chooses, to let her breathe fresh air with her lungs, to taste the foods and drink that she consumes, or allow her to experience whatever lay she has found. Then again perhaps expecting gratitude from finding a man desperate or pathetic enough to withstand her and then allowing him to have his way every so often to keep him strung along might not be something in her favor. She usually finds a knife entering her gut a more satisfying experience than being under a sweating pig whose idea of ‘passion’ is generally limited to a few minutes of grunting before emptying his seed inside her without even the minor courtesy of pulling out.

          But Reiko does not experience the trauma of dying again and again. If Tomie wanted she could let the girl’s mind embrace the cool nothingness of the In Between Place every time the inevitable occurs. It is the quirk to her dark magic – to have her fate be replayed ad nauseam by those around her – that she protects her friend from. Once was enough for Reiko.

          “I shouldn’t have said that.”

          Tomie finds she means it too.

          “I’m just an awful tease. That’s what you told me when we were younger. Guess I never did grow out of that, did I?”

          It’s not quite an apology but Tomie knows that this minor peace offering will suffice. There’s nothing she could say or do to make the situation worse than it already is. She pulls away from Reiko’s side, hands on her knees as she stares out into the In Between Place, watching her slaves drift in their eternal torment. She wishes she knew why she’s gone to such lengths for Reiko, why it matters so much that she keeps a token reminder of the girl she’d once been around. Even back then Reiko was someone who only made her look more beautiful by comparison – the girl next door versus a woman. There is no need of that now. All she has to do is so much as look at a man and he will follow her to the ends of the earth.

          “We’re all rotten deep down. I’m…”

          She’s what exactly?

          “…Glad you’re not like that.”

          Her eyes roam over Reiko. The schoolgirl’s features have frozen in time just as much as hers have, whether crystallized by Tomie’s own willpower in the In Between Place or if this is a side effect of dying itself she doesn’t know. That damned jumble of emotions washes over her again as they both sit now in the uneasy quiet that fills the air between them.

          “Tomie…”

          There are very few things that can surprise Tomie. Any eventuality is one that she has either experienced or tried to prepare for. But in all the years that have passed since that day on the mountain there has never been a word between them; all she has gotten in return for her efforts at keeping Reiko ‘alive’ has been her refusal to flee from her presence, probably more out of terror than loyalty. But this is fresh, almost exciting in how unexpected it is. Reiko’s head lifts itself up and the gaze she is fixed with is hard enough to cut through a diamond.

          “Yes?”

          “…You’re wrong. You’re not a tease at all.”

          Tomie can feel her one of her perfectly manicured eyebrows raise ever so slightly at that remark. She is never wrong; her ability to read others and stomp their dreams into the dirt is what she prides herself on the most. There is no good in her, if there ever was any to begin with, and even assuming there had been at all is self-pitying charity. Surely there is no way that Reiko after all this time forgives her for what she’s done.

          “What makes you say that?”

          “You’re a monster.”

          Oh.

          Oh.

          This will not stand.

          Memories of her mother threaten to wash over, an angry, spiteful hag who couldn’t stand the thought of her own daughter not being as miserable as she is, punching and kicking whatever part of Tomie is not tucked into her fetal position in whatever room she has found her in. Nor does she care to remember the growing pain of finding out that she will never be able to have a picture taken for fear of revealing what she’s become. Almost involuntarily, she reaches over and grips a handful of Reiko’s hair, forcing her friend face to face with her.

          “Reiko, I think you and I both know that you’re better than that. Words hurt – especially when friends turn against on one another. All those special memories together can become the nastiest kind of rumors imaginable.”

          Reiko’s bravado seems to fizzle out in just as much time as it emerged. She barely struggles against Tomie’s grip on her pixie cut. Why did Reiko find it necessary to make things so ugly? After all that Tomie has done for her, her nerve astounds her.

          “I think that you owe me an apology.”

         The spark of rebellion isn’t quite put out as Tomie’s little flame looks at her again as a small smile graces her face. Her eyes leave her shoes and glance out towards the purgatory that surrounds them before she shrugs.

          “You owe everyone here an apology first.”

          If there is one thing that Tomie hates it’s rebellion. Every man who has ever been able to resist her charms, every girl who couldn’t put two and two together to get out of her way, they’re all as tedious as the last. She offers them nothing but her presence, something alone that should suffice, but this is a slap in the face on an entirely different level than what she’s used to dealing with.

          No matter.

          If mother taught her anything it’s that if a message is drilled home enough it’ll stick.

          “Apologize?” Tomie tilts her head in amusement. “I don’t really think I’d have to. After all they made their own beds to lie in and they understand their mistakes. They’ve atoned for what they’ve done.”

          Releasing a hand from the side of Reiko’s face Tomie snaps her free hand’s fingers. All at once the world around them changes. Dozens of the phantasms that haunt this realm begin to swirl about them, faster and faster, as they shriek and moan in despair. They’ve long ago lost their individuality; the only way she could identify them now would be to focus on their tormented faces (not that she cares to).  Gripping the side of Reiko’s face once more Tomie watches as Reiko’s eyes dart wildly about them, unable to press her hands against her ears to make the voices stop, unable to prevent the dizzying whirlwind of her fellow prisoners from giving her vertigo.

          “I sacrifice so much for you, Reiko. All those dates with men, every weak compliment, every kiss with awful breath, every passionless evening… I’ve tried so hard to find someone you’ll enjoy. Yet you’re still ungrateful.”

          Reiko only whimpers in response and Tomie is sure she is regretting ever standing up for herself now more than ever.

          “What more is there I can do? We’re friends ‘till the end, aren’t we? I remember you telling me that when we were younger.”

          Reiko’s jaw is working back and forth, almost as if she is about to cry, but Tomie knows just how little tears mean. She’s done it on more than one occasion herself to get out of a situation that looks bad enough. Tomie is sure that Reiko hasn’t forgiven her yet, isn’t truly sorry. It’s just another trick to get her to stop her assault.

          “Even when we were in school I’d try to find someone who could stand you like I could. You rebuffed them all. ‘I’m waiting for university to get serious,’ wasn’t it? I believed you then; you didn’t have many social skills. The more I think about it, however, the more it sounds like… an excuse.”

          Tomie truly is the worst. She can’t help herself. Her mind now runs with every possible thing she can do to make the situation as cruel as possible for her friend. She’ll pay for finally speaking up with nothing but a slap in Tomie’s own gorgeous, perfect face.

          “Was it because you didn’t think you could keep them around for long? Scared that you’d look like a complete amateur next to me? Or maybe something else…?”

          Releasing Reiko’s head at last, Tomie plants a finger on her chin, rhythmically tapping it as she ‘ponders’ in thought. She’s decided already how this will end between them. Tomie loves nothing more than to push boundaries after all.

          “Perhaps you actually weren’t interested in all those boys I tried to bring around. That would’ve been embarrassing, after all, to admit that they just didn’t cut it for you. Really, I think that maybe it was me who you had a crush on.”

          It is in that moment that Tomie can begin to feel some part of herself beginning to drift away, as if her mind is beginning to shatter into a dozen different pieces. She will be leaving the In Between Place soon; she’ll have to keep this little charade shorter than she’d like.

          “I wouldn’t blame you, of course. Being around me for so long, it’d only be natural that envy turned into something else, especially if you thought you could use your friendship to leverage it.”

          Reiko’s eyes are confused, scared, and Tomie takes a moment to revel in the liveliness she sees in them. This is what she’s been missing all this time – a companion that she can call on in her thrall who will never hurt her.

          “N-no, that’s not– I never–!”

          She has practically forgotten about the countless spirits spiraling about them. Her attention is on nothing now but Tomie herself.

          As it should be.

          “Shh…” Tomie whispers gently, bringing a finger to Reiko’s lips. “It’s okay. You don’t have to hide it, Reiko.”

          The pull towards the world of the living is stronger now, insistent even. With her free hand Tomie snaps her fingers once more and all at once the souls she’s collected scatter to the non-existent wind. It is just her now and Reiko, sitting across from one another, in the gloom.

          “You don’t have to forgive me. I forgive you.”

           She leans forward, inching slowly toward her target, as she places a chaste kiss to the other girl. She can feel Reiko sputter, choking and spitting as the other girl violently pulls herself away from her, spastically scrambling backwards.

           “W-what the hell was that?!”

           Tomie rolls her eyes, barely even containing the urge to break out laughing at the overreaction. Perhaps she will do this more often, both with Reiko and without. Men are awful but women are a riot to watch squirm.

           “A kiss.”

           “Why would you ever think–”

           “You’re a bad liar, Reiko. You always have been.”

           She doesn’t particularly care if her poking is anywhere near the mark. But Tomie has found something at last that gives Reiko life, animation, and if it means she has to do it again…there are worse fates Tomie can think of that she’s sure Reiko would beg her not to unleash.

           Reiko says nothing, her eyes flashing and angry, as she hunkers down once more into her resting position. With this Tomie knows she has won for now. She has tended to her little spark for so long that she’s managed at last to make it into a small fire. The only thing left to do now is to keep adding more kindling to its blaze.

          As she leaves the In Between Place behind, her mind drifting back across the void she gives one last glance to the small, shaking girl near her. For a moment the anger she felt earlier dissipates and in its place is something Tomie can’t identify. It is a strange, murky thing that she’s never experienced, as confusing as what she’d felt on her initial search for Reiko. Tomie doesn’t dwell on it – self introspection is not something that matters – but at last she settles on ‘longing’ to describe it. Perhaps Reiko will forgive her someday.

          Perhaps Tomie will learn to not be selfish.

[authorssd]

He seems to like cats! (Happy Caturday :D)

[awkward-ninja-kitty]

Awww yeah, Tomy’s releasing an Infinite figure next year, so getting it!

[minttearoom]

Nick Spencer’s Captain America is Bad, but in these ways

OK  ... I made this blog so I could dump my bad opinions on it, so call me out on this if anyone needs to.

-- This isn’t something I care about too much, but I feel like I need to start off by saying that Hydra doesn’t and shouldn’t always have a 1:1 equivalent with Nazis or the political specifics of fascism. In their first appearance, they were a generic mustache-twirling, world-domineering evil enterprise. Although that’s changed because Nazi leaders were retconned in to match the WWII backgrounds of Marvel’s heroes, it’s always been story-dependent as to whether that element really mattered. Sometimes, Madame Hydra trying to take over the world was just Madame Hydra trying to take over the world so that superheroes could have fistfights. There’s a usefulness to a generic SPECTRE-type evil organization for when comics that need a villain to punch. Although it’s important for stories and readers to criticize what that evil entails, there’s a messiness that’s involved when it comes to shared universes and different tools serving different functions in different contexts. This is an issue that mostly irks me when it comes to how the conversations about Captain America are framed, and how they’re framed solely in terms of Hydra, when there’s a little more going on there; this was especially bad after Captain America: Steve Rogers #1 came out.  *HOWEVER, this is kind of irrelevant to the rest of what I want to talk about.*

-- I’m not sure if a story about an altered-reality Captain America being evil, or even being a Nazi is off-limits. I’m not a Jonathan Chait “protect malevolent free speech” type, but I do think that you might be able to tell a somewhat meaningful (and possibly respectful) story under these conditions. I understand that WWII is highly sensitive and emotional, and I also understand the situation surrounding Captain America’s creation. However, it’s not like similar stories (or story beats) haven’t been done before -- even one drawn by Jack Kirby. I hate Nick Spencer’s Captain America for a variety of reasons, but part of the reason why is that I think you might actually be able to publish a story like this, even (or especially) in these times, and have it be salient and productive and well thought-out.

-- The problem with Nick Spencer’s Captain America goes back to the beginning of his run. From the beginning, he set out to do a run that broached extremely topical political issues, but keep his comics from making too strong of a stance in any given direction, while insisting that it did have a stance. For example: since the KOBIK/Cosmic Cube plotline, he��s been paying lip service to the idea that there needs to be a discussion about the growth of the security state and what it means to create unimaginable and invasive authority and power when you don’t know who will be in control next. ... Except whenever someone does have anything to say about it,it’s usually only a couple words, or a weak sketch of their stance. You might think this is fine, as long as the conflicts that Spencer brings up are carried through the plot to create meaning. After all, you don’t want to buy comics just to see talking heads debate politics. However, this doesn’t carry through for a few reasons!

-- The first way, most commonly seen in Sam Wilson, is that he’ll bring in some way for the critical/left-leaning position to be criticized. Though this is mostly like to preserve some sort of apolitical company line, it ultimately amounts to centrism, which is a political stance in and of itself, defined by the extremes of political climate in which you’re speaking. You see it first with Rick Jones -- he was a whistleblower hacktivist in the early issues of Captain America: Sam Wilson. The characters in Spencer’s book seem sympathetic to him when he gets caught, but Rick did BREAK THE LAW :( so his rightful course of action is to join SHIELD to help the security state keep on doing everything he despised! 

Then came the infamous issue where a Tomi Lahren-type character was inciting hate against a specific undocumented teen -- the new Falcon, Joaquin Torres. Joaquin, understandably, was about to go give her a piece of his mind, but he gets derailed by the appearance of a group of teens who obviously serve as an in-universe warning of the dangers of what he was about to do. These teens, the new Bombshells, not only spouts awkward online academia-derived lingo about safe spaces and trigger warnings but they also advocate violence against racists! They come and fight Falcon and Rage as if to, say “Look out! Don’t become like them!” 

You see it when Sam goes to stop Rage from getting in a confrontation with the AmeriCops (Spencer’s convenient robotic representations of racist police brutality). There’s no real strong reason for Rage to have not gotten into a confrontation, as the AmeriCops were ridiculously over-the-cop brutal and terrible, except for concerns about optics and (this is a recurring theme which obviously clashes with some of the issues Spencer wants to bring up) respect for authority.

You also see it when the only true far-left voice in the entire run, Flag Smasher, is the only the only one to fully articulate his issues with corporate influence over politics, the security state, and the no-fly list, and ends up being not only a violent terrorist assassin, but also (amazingly) a plant by Steve Rogers. I can’t begin to say how ridiculous that was.

-- The other way that Spencer undermines the political claims in his run is in how the villains are made overly sympathetic. So much of Captain America: Steve Rogers is about the ideological purity and clarity in Steve’s heart. He is destined to lead Hydra because he is still a great man in the way that Dr. Erskine recognized. (This bears out in the most disgusting of ways in the FCBD issue of Secret Empire, where Steve is still worthy to lift Mjolnir.) 

Steve is part of a faction of Hydra lead by some horrorterror old god/sweet old lady named Elisa who becomes Steve’s doting mother figure. She gets in close with his mother, and then dotes on Steve day and night about how he’s good and pure and destined for greatness -- and there isn’t much to undercut this as fascist BS. Elisa goes on and on, essentially dogwhistling what might as well be soliloquy about Steve’s Aryan purity and good heart, yet she never really gets a strong villain moment to underscore the idea that what she’s saying is wrong. The one truly evil thing she she was supposed to have (kill his mother offpanel) apparently never happened! She appears unharmed in later issues of CA: Steve Rogers.

-- This links into the other major problem in Spencer’s run: his depiction of Hydra. From the get-go, he plays up Hydra as not only a fascist neo-nazi organization, but specifically one that parallels modern ethnonationalist movements, all being propagated by the Red Skull. He further links Hydra to literal European nationalist militant movements by having Hydra take over Sokovia (#moviesynergy). Linking back to what I talked about at the beginning, this is all fine, so far; Spencer is making the specific choice in this story to use Hydra as an analogy for Nazism and its connection to the modern day, and this is a story that is obviously just as much about the Red Skull. EXCEPT, over the course of Spencer’s flashbacks to Steve’s altered past, we see that Steve is a member of a faction of Hydra that has always opposed not just the Red Skull, but Hydra joining the Nazis in general!

-- It’s an insanely weird choice to decode: does Spencer want to tell a story about Steve Rogers being allied with the Nazis ... or not? He certainly shows him helping the Nazis in WWII. What’s the point of saying he was secretly opposed to them and the Red Skull this whole time? What is he trying to do with Hydra?

-- For that matter, how much less fascist is Steve supposed to be? He rails out against Red Skull’s cheap inflammatory tactics, yet by the time his Secret Empire is set up, he’s already created an authoritarian state that rounds up Inhumans and puts them into camps! CAMPS!

-- There’s a lot of other, little, infinitely frustrating things. The FCBD issue explained that Wanda joining the HYDRA-vengers probably wasn’t of her own will, but having the Romani girl on the Nazi team is still unsettling, especially if they don’t end up giving her any space to react to it. Spencer’s writing is way lacking in nuance -- whereas Ales Kot gave a thoughtful look at the paranoia that must feed the drive to do crazier and crazier things in the name of security when he wrote Maria Hill in Secret Avengers, Spencer’s Maria Hill shrugs off each evil thing she does in the name of the state with a joke and a condescending comment. Spencer sucks at writing spies and spy stuff in general (there’s no reason he should have gotten two tries at Secret Avengers!), so seeing him try to handle SHIELD in general in the context of this run has been annoying. Also, ... why can Steve lift Mjolnir WHEN HE JUST HELPED KILL BUCKY, jfc.

-- Again, this is partially upsetting because some parts of this aren’t terrible. Sam Wilson is the most effortlessly diverse Captain America book ever, with somewhat decent stories about things like police brutality and immigration when they aren’t being undercut by other elements Spencer sticks in to ~balance things out. Seeing the Champions fight HYDRA in Secret Empire is also pretty unobjectionable. It’s the context and the handling that’s made this all atrocious -- even the publicity of blowing this Nazism thing up to a huge event is pretty dubious.

[infinitejackal]

brokenweapon replied to your photoset “so i just arrived home and my Tomy Infinite figure arrived in the...”

[ Fuck I need him. Time to save my money. ]

i hope you can pick him up eventually!!

it’s pretty wild seeing him in person as an actual...real official toy? i hope he gets more merch down the line

i desire a jackal collection...

[hypershadow92]

‪Tomy is actually making a figure of Infinite from #SonicForces in July 2018!!!