#anyways. steel pipe is his go-to weapon. blunt object.

[smol-bean-of-the-smols]

RAAHH another rendered drawing of my self insert be upon ye

steel pipe 💥💥

[yespolkadotkitty]

En Guard

Oh, Christ. I apologise.

I wrote this for the lovely @wolvesandhoundshowltogether​, and had lots of help from @constip8merm8​ and encouragement from @restingnurseface​ .

Henry Cavill and Pedro Pascal fight over you. That’s it, that’s the fic. Apologies to both actors and anyone who has ever fenced.

With Queens of the Stone Age piping through his headphones, Henry headed for the rec room of the sumptuous manor house-cum-country club taken over by the film and production crew of Zero Sum Game.

A heavy storm front had delayed filming for forty-eight hours, but they’d recently wrapped on a very emotional scene, and the Director had suggested that everyone get some R&R.

Henry pushed into the rec room to find his colleague Pedro already there, bent over the pool table, idly potting some balls.

They riffed well off each other on set, respectively playing MI6 and FBI officers on opposite sides of a case but forced to work together.

“Hey, man,” Henry greeted, pulling out his ear plugs.

“Hey,” Pedro replied affably. “I’d invite you to play, but there’s only one cue. That I can find, anyway.”

Henry shrugged, indicating he didn’t mind, and grabbed a tight thriller from the shelf of paperback on the back wall, dropping into one of the overstuffed leather armchairs to read.

For a few minutes, the room filled with only the sound of Pedro’s cue hitting the balls, and Henry turning the pages.

Pedro potted the last ball, and straightened up, stretching, the hem of his long-sleeved t-shirt riding up as he did so, revealing a strip of tanned stomach. “So, no filming for forty-eight, huh. Thought I’d ask out that make-up artist.”

Henry paused and looked up again from the book, uttering your name. “That’s who you mean?”

“Sure.” Pedro leaned on the cue lazily, running his free hand through his hair. “I feel like she might say yes. Y’know?”

Henry closed the book. “I’m afraid I’m having coffee with her tomorrow. Sorry,” he added with a shrug - feeling anything but sorry. He’d had his eye on you since the day you’d shown up on set, all sass and long-lashed eyes and make-up brushes, and you made his heart race.

Pedro was a great guy - but he couldn’t have you.

“Well, who knows what she’ll say when I ask her, right?” Pedro smiled, lopsidedly. “After all….” He gestured with the cue as if it was a fancy rapier. “Would she prefer you over this?” he waved the cue in the air. “I’ve been fencing for years. I could make anything into a finely honed weapon.”

Henry smirked, standing up to his full height, and rolling his shoulders back. He cast around the room for something to use as a weapon, and his gaze lit upon a huge golf umbrella. He deftly snatched it up, proffering it like a sword. “You may have a blunt tool, but mine is sharp and very flexible. What do you think she’ll prefer?”

Pedro laughed out loud. “Oh, amigo, it’s on.” He advanced on Henry, brown eyes narrowed, a smirk crossing his face. 

Henry bent into a slight crouch, gauging his opponent. He might have weight and height on Pedro, but the Chilean would be faster. “En guard,” he challenged.

The two men circled each other in the large room, as a heavy rain started to pound on the big picture windows. 

“Rules of engagement?” Pedro asked lowly as Henry watched him, preparing to strike.

“Well, our faces are our fortune, so no headshots.”

“Agreed. And no aiming for the family jewels, dude.”

They both grimaced at that. “Agreed,” Henry muttered.

He tried to calculate where Pedro might strike first, and made a jab at the other man���s shoulder. Pedro deflected. Dammit.

They continued to circle each other like hunter and prey, roles reversing every few minutes. 

“Maybe our girl is tired of steak, hmmm?” Pedro goaded him. “Maybe she’d like to try a little Chilean beef for a change?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, mate,” Henry shot back, taking another strike. He hit Pedro’s thigh with a satisfying smack.

“You get that one for free,” Pedro taunted, jabbing at Henry with the cue and hitting his shoulder, but Henry barely felt the poke of the cue.

The two men moved around the room, the back of Henry’s booted heel eventually hitting the step down into the rec room. He backed up into the hall, Pedro’s brown gaze tracking him as he did so.

They advanced into the huge hallway of the manor house, and the glint of steel caught Henry’s gaze. Pedro noticed at the same time, them both gazing up at the display of fencing swords pinned to the wall.

Henry lunged first, grabbing one of the swords from the display. It slid out and he crouched into the beginner’s position, jerking his head to indicate that he’d wait for Pedro to arm himself, too.

The other man tossed the pool cue aside and snatched a sword. “Vamonos, Cavill.”

Henry rolled his shoulders lazily. “Come at me.”

They rushed each other, the swords crossing with a metallic clang that echoed in the huge hall. Pedro was light on his feet, dancing away from Henry’s thrusts, and parrying expertly, but he misjudged a step and backed into a suit of armour on display, his dark blue shirt catching on the edge of a gauntlet. He pulled, swearing under his breath in Spanish, and Henry had a moment of discomfort, wondering if you’d find that sexy.

With another curse, Pedro cast aside his rapier and pulled off his shirt, leaving it hanging off the suit of armour. He bent to pick up the sword, and raised a brow at Henry, silently asking if he wanted to continue.

“Age before beauty, old man,” Henry teased.

“Bastardo,” Pedro countered, and rounded on Henry, striking a glancing blow off his hip. “My point.”

Henry retreated down the corridor, planning his strategy. 

******

Pedro saw Henry - handsome bastard - look behind him to check his footing. He snatched an antique dagger from the suit of armour that had pinned his shirt, and gauged his aim, throwing. The dagger whistled through the air and caught the sleeve of Henry’s t-shirt, pinning him to the huge oak door.

Without missing a beat, Henry stripped out of his t-shirt, leaving it hanging by the dagger’s point in the wall, and re-armed himself. “That’s against the rules, Pascal.”

Pedro rolled his shoulders, winking at the Englishman. “All’s fair in love and war, si?”

“I won’t take my eyes off you again,” Henry growled, and Pedro knew a moment of disquiet, thinking that you’d definitely like the roughness of Henry’s voice, the command in his gaze.

He shrugged it off, twisting the sword in his grip. “Come and get it, cabrón.”

Henry braced himself to charge, and Pedro stood his ground. He might not have Henry’s brute strength, but he was wiry, and fast-

Creaking on the stairs behind Henry’s back made them both look up.

*****

You paused on the third step from the bottom. Filming had paused for two days, right?

You weren’t complaining, but if that was true, why were the two hottest guys you’d seen in a long while sparring, shirtless, with swords?

You’d come out of your room to the clanging of metal, wanting to investigate, and it had been so worth your while. Hearing some of their verbal sparring would keep you chuckling for days.

“Um, hi..?” you ventured.

Henry set down his sword first, with a clang. Pedro followed suit. They both wore expressions of naughty boys caught fighting in the school yard.

You looked from one to the other. Henry, broad and built, with eyes the shade of the ocean in a hot country, his hair curling damply over his forehead, and Pedro, shorter but lean and wiry, a whole meal of tanned skin, ruffled dark hair and broody brown eyes, not to mention that husky voice.

“We were…” Henry cast about, his gaze settling on your face.

“Practicing,” Pedro finished. “For, ah… the fencing scene. It’s, um, recently been written in.”

“Right,” Henry added. “Very recently.”

You bit down on your lip to keep from laughing. A fencing scene in a tight government agency thriller. “Have you been drinking?”

“Absolutely not!” Henry objected.

Pedro shrugged. “A little.”

Henry glanced at his co-star in surprise. Pedro shrugged again.

You took a few more steps towards them, and carefully picked up the swords from the floor. “I’ll just take these.” You gestured to the shirts hanging off the dagger and the armoured suit. “Perhaps you can both clean up a little, hmmm? We’re not animals, after all.”

You looked at each in turn.

“Of course,” Henry murmured.

“Yes, ma’am,” Pedro added. They both looked cowed, and your heart softened. 

“See you tomorrow, Henry?” you asked over your shoulder, setting the swords back in their brackets.

Out of the corner of your eye you saw Henry pump his fist, and decided not to call him on it. You could tease him mercilessly about it later.

“Looking forward to it,” he replied, smoothly, in that delicious accent.

You stood back, admiring your handiwork with the swords. “Now, are we going to play nicely together?”

They both nodded mutely, Henry already wiggling his sword out from under the point of the dagger. Where had that come from?

“Oh, and Pedro?” you added, sweetly.

He looked up, thoughtful brown eyes meeting yours.

“Why don’t you join us, tomorrow? I’ve got a craving for both grass-fed British steak and Chilean beef.”

You didn’t quite hear their jaws hit the floor as you walked away, but you could imagine it rather well.

[chromemuffin]

Shoukoku no Altair Liveblog (Chapter 11)

The highlighting is a nice touch. I think the glow on Mahmut’s pants is supposed to be from the jewels? Suleyman’s weapon is quite interesting as well. What is it even supposed to be?

Chapter 11: The Falcon’s Joint Struggle

“Your friends will soon be here to pick you clean.”

What a lovely mental image.

AGAIN, VERY SCARY. Don’t just stand there! I know, logically, he survives this just fine, but it’s still scary.

...at least he knows to protect his face. D:

O-ow...THOSE BIRDS ARE SO BIG. Poor kid. I mean, it fits narrative-wise, but. USUALLY it’s the protagonists who use the enemy’s strengths/moves against them, but this is the complete opposite here.

That beak is dangerously close to his eye. >.<

But ah, the water shrine! They did make a big deal out of it last chapter. It’s also where the town’s well is.

The composition of this shot is wonderful and heart-wrenching at the same time. Obviously, the lighting differs from the previous panels drastically. Everything was dark and pitch black, and as soon as the birds fly away in this panel, the whole scene is bathed in (metaphorical) light - hope.

At the same time, Mahmut is portrayed in such a lonesome manner. He’s tiny, hunched over, almost pitiful. It goes a long way in displaying his current station in life.

Yeeesss Suleyman to the rescue!

He definitely has this sort of roguish charm.

I love how his whistle (flute?) is different from Mahmut’s. Mahmut’s is that oval/cylindrical shape, and his is a series of three square blocks. The shape/number of slots probably affect the sound that comes out?

(笛 is probably the word used, it can mean flute or whistle)

Meanwhile, Mahmut books it over to the well shrine to wash the blood off...though realistically, what the heck kind of water is in the well that it can wash blood out of white clothes.

Very nicely drawn, though please get out of here and leave everyone alone, lady. You and your weird sword (is it supposed to be rusted or covered in blood or rusted AND covered in blood? I suppose I could just watch the anime to see, but...).

Ah, I wondered a few panels back if Mahmut was able to make different signals or even knew about them, since they brought up the fact that he might not have received the full training in falconry due to the war. You can only learn so much at 5 years old, after all.

One of those is a weapon, most likely, the one wrapped in bandages. The other one is a pipe, I think? It’s huge.

While it’s a good thing to learn to rely on others in these situations, it seems quite frustrating for Mahmut at the moment. You can see the frustration clearly on his face - frustration, embarrassment that he was caught off guard like that, that he had his own techniques turned against him no less.

I’m dying heeeereee. (also, note on the next few panels how Mahmut’s clothes are torn a bit, especially those billowy sleeves.

“Their skill in wielding steel weapons is unparalleled.” So. Um, was that one guy Mahmut defeated in Hisar just an outlier? Because all he did was use his club of a sword to break Mahmut’s in half and then he bludgeoned him and stabbed him in the shoulder. Not much skill there.

Again, not buying the whole skilled thing, but nice to have confirmation that the club sword is indeed intended to be used to bludgeon people to death.

Guilt seems to be something that nags at Mahmut’s conscious for one reason or another quite often...It always goes back to that event in his childhood, which he dreams about to this day - his inability to act or do anything to affect change.

But, like, maybe you shouldn’t go charging ahead like that. It didn’t work out well the last two times you did it...I wouldn’t count getting beat up and stabbed in the shoulder with a blunt object a success, nor nearly getting eaten by eagles.

SEE??

On one hand, great determinator face there. On the other hand, look at the panicked expression Suleyman has on his face when he’s normally quite smirky.

MAHMUT.

wtf is this accordion-like “sword”. THAT’S NOT A SWORD ANYMORE.

O-ouch, in a whole different manner...I guess that guy he fought in Hisar wasn’t that good of a fighter? Or wasn’t suited to that sort of combat. He didn’t have an accordion-sword.

But, yeah, I really like this shot, the movement of his sleeve, hair, and the jewels. There’s motion there, but each part is sort of moving in its own direction.

Seems like someone has experience fighting the cult, and it’s not Mahmut...

BWAHAHA. “Let’s run.” Gotta love pragmatic characters.

I sort of feared/expected this to happen...This is the first time in the present timeline that someone has actually gotten hurt to save Mahmut, the last time we know of was when his mother died. And for another person, especially someone from the same clan as him, to get hurt for his mistake must be absolutely terrible. This time, it isn’t even a circumstance he couldn’t control. He has some culpability here, and that makes this so, so painful.

Kato draws anguish, and the interplay of anguish and frustration and guilt on his face so well, but. D:

I wish the anime would have kept the scene of Mahmut hugging Halil Pasha, back in chapter 1, because he’s a protagonist whose emotions do get the better of him in situations like these. Especially when it concerns his past. It’s natural, and I prefer they show him on the verge of tears rather than stoicism. It feels so much more human.

I love this shift and transition from guilt and frustration to this totally misguided determination to not cause Suleyman any further trouble. It plays into that human aspect of him. And once again, he has the attitude and the drive to do something, but not the means to do it.

He really needed that punch, because it’s dangerous to keep thinking like the teenager he really is.

It’s almost funny, in a way. When protagonists of shounen series show determination, you are generally convinced of their competency. If you take that one panel of Mahmut declaring he will take care of matters, you can almost believe he has the power to do so. It’s the vulnerability beforehand that makes it hollow, inconsiderate of how Suleyman feels, and incredibly stupid.

You go, Suleyman, you go.

Being a pasha that young really did him no favors. It made him think he has to shoulder the burden of these things alone.

(Suleyman punched him on the side where he has a cut too, ouch.) 

Suleyman: Heey, you.

Mahmut: sulking

Iskander: O>O

But, YES. COOPERATION TIME IS NOW HERE. Thank you for pulling this sinking boat back into working order, Suleyman.

The fight scene flows nicely, one side of the page for Mahmut, the other for Suleyman. Considering two of my favorite anime/manga have the most awkward fight scenes, I am very pleased that these are good.

Aaww, his uncertain “b-but...” face. I’ll need to remember it for future reference. I don’t know what to label some of his expressions sometimes, so...

Niiice. Everyone pulls their weight in this fight.

Very nice movement, and sequence of actions here.

Though. Did he just. Run up that column to get to the roof. It seems their aim was to get the snake-sword stuck in the latticework.

WAIT. DID.

DID THEIR BEAKS JUST. CUT THROUGH THAT SWORD. MADE OF STEEL.

Are you ok, lady? Apparently Katerina’s beak can cut through steel.

OH. That’s not good-

Nope, never mind. He’s got it.

This is interesting. Suleyman mentioned last chapter that Zaganos pretty much gave him a purpose, gave him this title so he could make a difference and help people he could not hope to save in the last war. Mahmut became a pasha for the very same reason, but he seeks peace. Suleyman sees the maintaining of peace as a constant war with their enemies.

They are so very alike, and subtly different too.

Aw. He looks so young here again. Much less guarded shock here.

(Iskander you look like a chicken)

This is such an adorable panel??

It’s subtle, but Mahmut looks up to him now. He still has that wide-eyed, open expression, and he’s not looking directly up but is still waiting expectantly for Suleyman to finish. It’s mirrored more clearly in their birds.

Are you breaking the fourth wall, Iskander.

Not as good as Shara’s deadpan, empty soul look, but cute nonetheless.

Yeess. That determination is back on his face, but it’s not as hostile as before.

(why you so pretty mahmut)

Anyways, looks like we are onto the next arc, and the next phase of Mahmut’s journey (which is an actual journey this time).

I have been negligent in my admiration of the architecture and detailing the past few chapters. This is an awesome boat, though. And nice cliffs.

And that looks like the end of volume 2! I really like the credit pages. The illustrations here are top-notch.

← back・onward →