#grey digital target

[katiajewelbox]

Have you ever wondered what it would be like if Miguel La Variel was the tragic hero of a hard sci fi action anime movie with deep philosophical themes? 

That’s how I would describe the hidden gem of 1980′s anime Grey: Digital Target.

I recently watched this anime in Spanish as part of my language learning journey, and I was impressed with the writing, world building, and atmosphere of this vintage sci fi action adventure anime. The hero Grey not only looks like my favourite guy in Escaflowne but his personality is just like Miguel in my own fanfics. 

Grey: Digital Target follows the harrowing life of a soldier in a far future dystopia named Miguel, excuse me, Grey and his struggle to find freedom as an individual in the repressive system of enforced and pointless war his society is locked in. 

Check out the anime en espanol here!

[athena-gunpla]

Xingfeng Knockoff HGUC 1/144 P-Bandai E.F.G.F Specialized Mobile Suit RGM-79S "GM Spartan"

GM Spartan is a really cool looking kit, with a a lot of cool details and an excellent set of extras. Unfortunately it's also a P-Bandai realease, and for once I couldn't be convinced to shell out the $100 or so for the actual kit. Luckily a friend from my uni's model club let me know the Xingfend knockoff clone of this kit was only $6 - a price so low I'd be stupid to say no.

So how was the Xingfeng kit? It's essentially a one to one clone. I'm not sure how they got the moulds, but they've pretty much exactly replicated the sprues from the actual kit, although they've had to separate the multicolored "A" runner into three separate pieces to maintain colour separation. The only issue was the kit being a more yellow-tan and brown rather than the JGSDF Green that the actual kit is supposed to be, although I just headcanon this kit as being a desert variant.

There was a little bit of flashing and some mould lines, but nothing worse than older HG Bandai from the early 2010s. Overall a surprisingly good experience. In fact, it had some perks over the official kit - it includes a perfect clone of the EVO Waterslide decal set and by god they're miles better in quality than Bandai's official decals. They're thin, strong, and only need a little bit of water to come off the sheet, and look super vibrant on the plastic.

I ended up using the digital camo as a base layer and placing the marking decals on top, which gives it a super gritty, realistic look.

So how is the actual gunpla then?

The GM Spartan is a super detailed kit. The legs and arms are full of panel lines, and there's some great detail on the feet with little claws and treads, which I've painted grey. There's a large reactor backpack, which has a pop-up Minovsky Particle dispenser, really cool vents detailed in both grey and brown to emphasize depth, and a pulse knife/MS combat knife.

The kit also comes with a shoulder mounted set of wire-guided missiles, a forearm mountable beam saber rack with two beam sabers and two beam effects (The Xingfeng KO effects are hard plastic and UV reactive, as is the visor), and a really cool minigun.

The minigun targeting sensor can flip down sideways or remain upright. The magazine can fold to the side to allow an extra magazine to be added to the top, or the spare box mag can be stored on the back skirts. There's also a foregrip-mounted beam handgun with its own E-CAP magazine in the handle. The handle swings freely allowing for super easy posing.

The kit comes with one left open hand, a right and left pistol grip hand, and a right and left open fist hand.

The beam saber rack can be easily relocated to either forearm, or swapped with the shoulder missiles and attached to the right shoulder, or left shoulder if you remove a part. Beam effects can be added while stored, or the sabers can be removed and posed normally.

The GM Spartan's MS Combat Knife is my favorite part of this kit. The knife actually goes into the sheath on the backpack, and can be held nicely by the open fists either upright or backhanded.

This kit does use some polycaps, but it's still overall a very well articulated and solid kit. It's not floppy or lose at all, doubly surprisingly since I'm working with a knockoff.

A neat feature of this knockoff is the dual-effect visor. It fluoresces blue under UV light, but it also glows green in the dark. Bandai wishes it had features like this.

Overall, if you can get your hands on the Xingfeng knockoff you should really give it a chance. It's a really fun kit, and at a fraction of the official kit's price.

[reality-detective]

Masters of Deceit: Abduction by Grays and Mantids Through the Eyes of a Witness 1/9 🧵

Drew, a teacher from rural Montana, experienced a series of regular alien abductions over several years. Her case, documented by Ardy Clarke in the book "More Encounters with Star People: Urban Indian Americans Tell their Stories" is quite unique. Unlike most abductees, Drew was able to resist memory manipulation and mind control, allowing her to consciously remember her experiences.

Her account closely aligns with a typical abduction scenario described by David Jacobs and other researchers who used regressive hypnosis. This immunity from mind control enabled her to act as a dispassionate observer, almost like a "spy," and here is what she discovered: 👇

Masters of Deceit: Relying on Secrecy 2/9 🧵

Aliens who perform abductions don’t want publicity and witnesses, so they often choose lonely targets in rural areas. 👇

Masters of Deceit: Shapeshifting 3/9 🧵

Aliens can take any visual appearance, including a human form, to fool abductees. 👇

Masters of Deceit: Pretending to be Benevolent 4/9 🧵

Aliens often manipulate abductees through strong emotions and feelings of being special or “chosen” 👇

Masters of Deceit: True Form 5/9 🧵

Two groups are usually involved in abductions - the Greys and Tall Insectoids visually similar to a large Praying Mantis. Drew mentioned the frightening appearance of Mantids, a pungent odor coming from them and claw like hands with three digits. 👇

Masters of Deceit: Experiments and Hybrids 6/9 🧵

Drew’s experience confirms what other researchers have discovered as well - these alien groups are involved in a hybridization program: 👇

Masters of Deceit: Why don’t they Disclose Themselves? 7/9 🧵

Drew believes that these aliens will not disclose themselves because it is in their interest to maintain secrecy. They treat us as their property. 🤔

Masters of Deceit: Punishing Resistors 8/9🧵

Abductors demand compliance and punish anyone who dares to resist. 👇

Masters of Deceit 9/9 🧵

Alien abilities of deception and manipulation of the human mind should be always taken into account by researchers into abduction phenomena. They are masters of deceit. 🤔

[enigmatist17]

Previous parts 1-4

---

It was very rare for Prowl to lose himself to his emotions.

From the moment his battle computer had been installed, Prowl had sacrificed what most bots considered everything that made a Cybertronian an individual to pour it all into his worth as a tactician. None of his fellow Enforcers had ever taken such an extreme step in serving Praxia and its people, or at least within recent memory, but no one ever complained when his hunts always ended with his targets in stasis cuffs. When the War struck, it was both a blessing and a curse for the Autobot command staff when he joined their ranks. While his worth as a tactician with no rival other than Shockwave was not up for debate, most had an issue with his apparent lack of emotion at knowingly sending bots to their demise, alienating the Praxian almost immediately. No one save Jazz ever saw the part of himself that was buried underneath his battle computer, manifesting itself in the rare times when Prowl was sent into the battlefield himself.

Call a mech crazy, but what Jazz always saw on that battlefield was nothing short of deadly grace, the hunter within Prowl taking over to destroy those they fought against. All the anger and hatred underneath cold logic manifested into a battle cry worthy of Optimus Prime, clawed digits tearing into Decepticons to prevent Prowl from succumbing to the overwhelming despair of every spark snuffed in this War.

Losing Jazz was the only time since that night Optimus and his team had left so long ago when Prowl had lost himself, but now he found himself at the mercy of them again as he stared at the berth before him.

Moments ago, the room had been filled with light, the air crackling with energy that soothed his spark rather than caused alarm. His first thought was to try and send an alert to Optimus, to anyone from the outside, but the movement in front of him chased away any logic his processor could offer.

"Prowler?"

A visor that had been black was slowly turning to an achingly familiar blue, the whirring of onlining systems filling the air from a frame that had been silent for over two years. Dark grey metal began to take on the shine of life, pedes twitching and servos flexing as energon raced through empty tubing, bringing feeling back to non-live wires and cables. What caught Prowl's eyes the most was the exposed slot in the middle of Jazz's chassis, a small ball of white light growing bit by bit with each passing moment, taking in the blue shimmers he had spent breems drinking in the sight of back on Cybertron. Trembling digits rested above the casing as Prowl moved closer, letting out a soft series of clicks as he watched the impossible become possible right before his optics.

"Prowler...look at me..."

---

Jazz had never felt so free, the pains of starvation and countless years of War gone from his gleaming frame. Friends and family that had died so long ago ushered Jazz into a tight embrace, and he doesn't know how long they've been there when he wonders where he is.

You are home, little one

Jazz has never heard the voice before, but at the same time, he knew in his spark who spoke to him like a beloved sparkling.

Primus

For all of the beauty the Well of All Sparks held, a Cybertron gleaming and bursting with life that Jazz had forgotten, it was incomplete. He was a dancer without his partner, and as much as he loved those taken from him, he ached for his other half, the one who made him complete. Time held no meaning, but Jazz somehow knew that he'd been gone too long when Primus spoke to him once more, his family hugging Jazz before they and Cybertron faded around him, leaving the saboteur cradled in massive servos he could not see.

Mourn no longer, you are to be reunited

---

His entire frame ached when the feeling came to him, able to feel with some sort of strange fascination as life quite literally flowed through his veins. Jazz could feel the repair work Ratchet must have done to his body after his death, unfamiliar coding popping up into his HUD to reveal he'd been given some upgrades, but those were a problem for his future self. All that mattered was the bot that met his view when his optics finally cycled on, revealing his other half crouched over his chassis, watching his spark grow and reestablish itself within his body. His Prowl was still a stunning sight, and despite the questions he had, Jazz had to focus on one issue at a time.

"Prowler...look at me..." It was more effort than he figured it would be to speak, but if your body had not been used for an unknown length of time, disuse had to make itself known somehow. Cobalt-toned optics flick over to focus on his visor at his static-laced voice, and the smaller bot watched emotions swirling within them faster than he could point out. "Beautiful.."

"Jazz." Doorwings that had been stiff into a sharp V fluttered as he whispered the others' name, a trembling servo resting on the side of his face as the Praxian leaned close to nuzzle his helm with a soft series of chirps. Jazz mustered enough strength by then to lift one of his arms, clumsily slinging it around Prowl's shoulder to draw his bonded into a kiss, his exposed spark already trying to reach out for the other half just out of reach.

"Sweetspark...look at ya." Jazz crooned when Prowl drew back, tracing that familiar chevron with a tired smile. "Ya look tired."

"I am...so very tired, my shadow." Prowl traced the edge of Jazz's visor with a click, voice wavering as he rested his servo over Jazz's spark chamber. "How is this possible?"

"'M not sure, but I'm not complainin'." A soft smile crossed his bonded's face, and it takes a second before he realizes with a start that they were, in fact, not bonded. "Prowler? I just rea-"

"What in Primus' name is going on in here?"

Not many things could shock or impress Ratchet, but Prowl proved him wrong the second he caught sight of Jazz moving and seemingly alive. In the span of an optic cycle the tactician had put himself between Jazz and the medic, claws out and ready to defend the mech struggling to sit up behind him as his doorwings flared in warning. Admittedly, he had little dealings with Praxians even before the War had begun, but he wasn't stupid enough to try and challenge one who was defending a loved one. He was honestly more surprised at the instinctual reaction from the ordinarily logical mech, but if his bonded had somehow come back to life after being offline for two years, Ratchet supposed he couldn't blame him, lowering his helm so his gaze wouldn't meet Prowl's.

"Sup Ratchet, what's kickin'?" Jazz's cheerful voice was...jarring, to say the least, but all Ratchet could do was let out a soft laugh.

"I don't know how you're here, how you're alive, but it is so fragging good to have you back, you old glitch."

"That hurts mech, that really hurts." Prowl slowly straightened as Jazz laughed, Ratchet slowly looking up before doing the same with an unamused look.

"Prowl, I say this with the utmost respect; get the frag out of the way so I can examine your glitch of a bonded." He was already pulling a scanner from one of his subspaces as the other bot stepped out of the way, giving Ratchet the space he needed while remaining close by if Jazz needed anything. Ratchet explains that the light had not been confined to the room but had enveloped the entire island, and that Optimus was holding back everyone else to give Ratchet time to figure out what had caused it.

"I do not know what caused his...return, just that one moment I was singing the Song of Mourning, the next he was onlining right in front of me." Prowl had to fight back a hiss when Ratchet helped Jazz sit up, the smaller mech clearly starting to falter from exhaustion as the medic scanned his spark chamber. A series of angry clicks escape his vocalizer before he can stop them when Ratchet clearly finds something, rushing off to the nearby terminal without explaining, remaining rooted to the spot when Jazz reaches over to take hold of his closest servo.

"This...this is unbelievable." Ratchet looked back at the couple from his terminal in shock and awe, a smile tugging at his lips. "These readings tell me that the Allspark brought you back, but I don't know how that's possible, the cube was destroyed."

"Maybe Primus decided otherwise." Jazz shrugged, oddly sure of his answer. "Ratchet, good as it is ta see ya, I'd appreciate it if Prowler an' I could have some privacy. I need ta renew our bond right now, and unless everyone an' Primus want a show..."

"I shall come fetch you when things are done." Prowl stepped in, losing his patience faster than he expected. "Please?"

"Don't worry about it, take all the time you need. Jazz, it is terrific to have you back, you've been sorely missed."

"I know mech, you'll have time ta fill me in later." With a nod, Ratchet stepped out of the small building and closed the bay door behind him, his voice audible for a few seconds as he undoubtedly ushered the humans outside away to give them privacy.

"Alone at last." Jazz lay back in his berth as Prowl moved across the room, retracting his visor to get an unadulterated view of his lover as Prowl climbed up onto the berth and crouched over him. "You're so beautiful.."

"You've stolen my words, my heart."

[ficoandleo]

Leo's posted a TikToc! The description is simply "did that himbo even notice???"

Leo is walking down a dorm hallway in Vagastrom. He's kindly angled the camera so he wouldn't be recording the name plates on everyone's doors as he walked past.

"So I know it's still kinda warm in mainland Tokyo, but it's starting to get cool here in Darkwick." Of course he couldn't explain the anomalous nature of the island, so he began a (surprisingly, if someone was new to Leo's channel or didn't know how smart Leo was) scientific explanation about the nature of weather patterns and how temperatures are impacted by being close to water. . . . "Anyway, totally off track. What I'm getting at is: it's almost sweater season!!!

"So if you've been following me since, like, at least last year, you know I steal Sho's sweaters. I have been stealing Sho's sweaters since we were fourteen years old. But this year," Leo rounds the corner and begins descending the stairs into the garage, "I have a new target. . . ."

The shot changes frontwards and Leo is walking towards the back of the Vagastrom garage. Fortunately none of the cars in view are so anomalous that the censor prevents him from showing them.

"So I mentioned I'm in Vagastrom house and I mentioned my captain and how he doesn't like being on camera and gets mad if I record him--oh! There he is~!" Leo whispers only loud enough for the camera to hear. He turns the camera to one of the lifted cars where Alan's large body is beneath it, working on some problem. The angle prevents one from easily seeing his face but anyone familiar with him might recognize him. Leo zooms in on Alan and pokes his fingers into the camera view and pretends to rub his belly, then squeeze him between his digits. "So he's a big dude. Like, bigger than Sho, legit the biggest guy in Darkwick. He's like. Over 2 meters. And muscular too."

The camera shot changes to be facing Leo as he walks down a hall somewhere in the back of the garage.

"So I'm hoping. . . ." He stopped walking and reached out with excited, parted lips. The sound of a door knob turning reached the camera and he smiled in dull amusement, mumbling as he walks in. "He seriously doesn't even lock his door. . .? So I'm hoping he's got some good, big sweaters or hoodies or something for when it starts getting cold. I could buy my own but it's always better when it's someone else's. Trust."

The door closes quietly behind Leo and he looks around the room, walking around. "Wheeere. . .?" He mumbles, turning his head back and forth as he walks the room in search of Alan's closet. When he's finally found it, he lets out a bright little 'oh! Got it!' and opens it to search.

"Guys, there is not a lot in here." He grins, leaning forward. "Buuuut. . . ."

The screen pops to another room--based on the tile and towels, a bathroom--with Leo standing far enough away from the shot that most of his body is in frame. He holds up his bent arms, a severely oversized grey sweater dwarfing his slim frame. It droops over his hands, completely covering them, and it runs down his body to about halfway down his thighs, and the neck opens a little deeply down his chest. He's positively beaming. "Look at this!! It's fucking huge!"

He waves his hands, flapping the sleeves a little, and approaches the phone with a smile still on his face. He reaches for the phone and it falls over with him whispering 'oops.' "I've got such fucking sweater paws in this thing I can't even hold my phone. . . ."

He manages to right it, then flaps and shakes and pulls the sleeves until his fingers poke out enough to use. He fixes his hair where it got slightly mussed from pulling the sweater on, using the phone camera as a mirror, then fixes the other sleeve. "Also this thing is so warm. Like, crazy warm, it's not even an autumn sweater this is a winter sweater. I'm k--" Leo turns his head and looks at something off-camera, picking up his phone. He whispers, still sounding pretty amused. "Oh, shit."

The shot cuts to Leo from slightly below, partially obscured by the sweater blocking the view. He's walking, smile catlike.

"What're you doing in here." Alan's gruff voice is heard, although he's not seen. Leo shrugs.

"I had to go to the bathroom. Yours was the closest I could be sure was clean."

". . .get out. Don't just come in here without permission."

"Okay~!" Leo beams, trotting past. "Try locking your door next time~!"

Leo walks into the hall and the door is shut behind him. He makes a befuddled face and holds his phone out so the camera can see that he's still wearing Alan's pilfered sweater. He holds his other hand out in a confused position, then gestures to the outfit, mouthing the words 'why didn't he say anything' before starting to grin, giggling quiet and airily. The video cuts out.

The comments cheered for Leo's cuteness and asked about the sweater. Leo comments that it's a very, very warm sweater and he probably won't even be able to wear it until winter. For autumn he'll probably have to get another one of Sho's as usual. A few comments expressed jealousy at Leo getting to wear a 'boyfriend sweater' and, of course, asked what exactly his relationship was with Alan that Alan didn't question him wearing his clothes at all.

Leo has since taken the sweater off and hidden it in his own closet for when it gets really cold around here. He could easily buy his own oversized clothes. . .but where was the fun in that?

[saturn-scribbles]

i want to be able to eat @nopanamaman's music but alas i can only draw edgy fanart

id under the cut

[id: five digital drawings of characters from the vocaloid song series parties are for losers.

the first is of of katya/KT. she is visible from the waist up, and is smiling peacefully at the camera. she has white skin and chin-length straight brown hair, and is wearing a blue and red jacket. on the top and bottom of the image are black bars with white text reading "some things are simply meant to be contained," which is a lyric from the song KT's official guide to coolness. the background is red with a black sillhouette of splattered, stylized gore. there are numbers in the background counting up from 200.

the second is of anya. it is a full body drawing. anya appears scared or shocked, and looks like she is falling backward with one arm reaching forward. she has pale skin, long straight reddish hair, and is wearing a hoodie. behind her are yellow circles in a target pattern, where lyrics from the song "punch it, punk" are written in a circle. specifically, the lyrics "i may not know anything at all / and something tells me this is out of my control." on top of the drawing are crisscrossing black lines with lyrics from the song "convergence" written on them. specifically, the lyrics "and it's all because i was simply too naive to run on the edge of the knife."

the third is of yura. the main image is a close-up of his face. he has pale skin and short reddish hair and is smoking a cigarette. there are black bars crisscrossing the drawing, with lyrics from the song occam's razor on them. specifically, the lyrics "this particular troubled youth on the diagram / found his footing in saying, i need, therefore i am." in the middle of the quadrilateral formed by the crisscrossing lines is a second image that covers up yura's eye. it is another drawing of yura who appears to be falling through a void.

the fourth is of sanya. the camera is looking down at her and she is reaching one hand up. there is a chain link fence in front of her. she has spiky grey hair, red eyes, and white skin. there is text in the background that is lyrics from the song false disposition.

the fifth is of dmitri/dima. he has white skin and short spiky black hair and blue eyes. the top left and bottom right corners of the image are filled with black gears over a bright red background in the shape of triangles that look like shattered glass. written behind dmitri is the final verse of the song comfort zone. /end id]

[the-heaminator]

What if?

Alfred and Matt, mostly alfred sort of losing his mind, mild angst.

Alfred had spent so much of his life - the vast majority of the life of a man who was now on the cusp of middle age, blond hair turning grey, glasses (and a belly) growing thicker every year - trying to find his brother. His twin brother Matthew.  

 Just, disappeared one day. 

He’d gotten on the school bus with Alfred, got off it with him and had arrived at school together, but that was the last time he ever did see Matt. Naturally Alfred waited for him; he waited for him for a very long time, even now, 27 damn years later he could feel the utter and sheer terror of those few hours, his beloved brother, gone like the wind through his hair. 

God he missed Matt, who wouldn’t miss their brother should they just up and vanish like a puff of smoke?  

And the worst thing, the worst goddamn thing.  

Was that no one seemed to remember who he was talking about. His Ma, when he got back home late, sick with worry and on the verge of tears, they were only 15 then, all teenage bravado tended to bend and crack under the pressure of a missing sibling, and she had the audacity to act like nothing had even happened, who was this Matthew? She only had one son, was he feeling alright?  

He asked around school, Gilbert, Arthur, hell, even Ivan, a scary bastard who tended to steal all their food and scare them from behind, someone who adored targeting Matt for his....forgettableness...is that a word?..probably not.  

Ivan absolutely loved targeting Matt for how easily forgotten and girly he was; he had grown his hair out past his ears when they were children and kept it that way into his teens, a shade of blonde just a shade and a half away from ginger. A pretty colour, he was always a hit with a very specific breed of girl, the type that liked their boyfriends like skittish prey, like pretty little rabbits.  

But none of them remembered him, not one bit, they all looked at him like he was crazy, hell, even Arthur of all people, and that man clapped thrice when anyone said fairies didn’t exist, someone like him saying that Alfred was crazy hurt, more than he let on.  

But this was years ago, years and years, and in time any images of Matt started to disappear too, printed photographs started to fade, the pictures he showed as evidence of Matt’s existence started to fade, it was beyond unnerving.  

Some took weeks to fade. Some merely hours. But inevitably he was always gone. 

Ultrasounds, photographs, videos, analogue or digital. All of it, gone.  

Hell, if he wrote out Matthew’s name, Matthew Williams next to his name, Alfred F. Jones (differing surnames on account of Alfred keeping his Father’s surname and Matt keeping his mothers for reasons that Alfred never really questioned) and Matt’s name started to rub out, actively, fading out of existence like even the whole darn universe denied his existence so vehemently that it forced any trace of him out of existence with just a click.  

No one believed him, a teen with an overactive imagination was believable, sure, but his Ma got him tested for schizo once ‘cause she was so worried for him, she had every right to be, being his mother of course. But he wasn’t seeing things! He maintained this but no one believed him. Of course they didn’t 

Even the doctors guaranteed that there was no hallucination. But she still looked at him like he was insane sometimes, not sometimes, oftentimes.  

He wasn’t some kind of damn loon!   

He wasn't someone destined to be locked up for the safety of themselves and others, he was perfectly damn sane!   

But no one believed him. Now an adult, close to middle age, he couldn’t dare speak Matt’s name aloud, should he not want half the room to wonder who he was talking about. There was plausible deniability; honestly, genuinely not knowing someone was one thing. Vehemently denying their existence was an entirely different beast.  

Anyone he asked, anyone and everyone, people that could have not conceivably ever been anywhere near Matt, people that should just look at him with confusion and ask to specify which Matthew, there were many of them after all, a biblical name from one of the four writers of the gospel would naturally be a pretty popular name.  

But no. People vehemently denied any existence of a Matthew that could be linked with Alfred, hell he even had a coworker called Matthew, again, common enough name, right?  

And even he, when asked about Matt, Alfred’s twin brother Matt. Pulled a firm, almost overly convincing blank that no, he didn’t know a Matt, why was he asking? 

It was confounding, baffling, infuriating, and a bunch of other adjectives that Alfred was currently too drunk to name, he didn’t have a wife, didn’t have kids, just him, a dram or four of absinthe, and the memories of a bother no one believed ever existed.  

He knew he shouldn’t have let his obsession with Matthew take over like this, Matt wouldn’t have wanted this.  

But if Matt had cared what he wanted, even a little, then he wouldn’t have disappeared without a trace. No word, no memory. Just a Matt-shaped hole in Alfred’s heart that there was no conceivable way to fill.  

But at times like this, warm with drink and cold with longing.  

He liked to think.  

What if?  

What if Matt had never gone, what if he still had a brother?  

What if he had a small army of nieces and nephews, he could be the fun uncle and return the little gremlins to their rightful owner?  

What if his own Ma and Pa didn’t look at him like he was some sort of madman whenever he asked about him?  

What if? What if? What if?  

He had no way of knowing where his brother had gone, on some days he truly did feel insane, maybe he never had one, but those were not good days.  

But often he thought. 

What if his brother had never left him?  

[bonezone44]

'Get a Grip' (18+)

Watch Model!Joel Miller x Manicurist!Reader

Word Count: 3,8k

Summary: Joel Miller comes to your salon for a manicure, then he invites you to assist him during a photoshoot.

Tags: afab!Reader, hand kink, glove kink, finger sucking, fingering, p-in-v, creampie

a/n: this story came about during a brief discussion of Pedro’s watch modeling era a few weeks ago. Thank you to @xdaddysprincessxx and @iamasaddie for the inspo!

+++++++

Hands. Fingers.

They’re your job.

Every once in a while someone will walk in with a nice set of digits and you admire them while they’re in front of you. While you push back their cuticles and clean beneath the nail. Add the acrylic and the polish. Then they’re out of your mind again as you wait for the next client to plop into the chair and request a full set or a simple repair. 

Your repeat clients usually want the nail art. That’s where you shine, to be honest. Delicately painted swirls. Boxes like Mondrian. Gold leaf. Rhinestones. Each nail a tiny little canvas for you to create something unique.

The male customers are different. The masculine ones, anyway.

They want simple hygienic maintenance. Maybe a massage. Maybe they just wanna flirt with a woman while she provides a service. And you appease them. It’s no bother to you.

It’s your job.

It’s just your job.

It’s the thing you do all the time every day and have done for years.

And yet no matter how many times you try to repeat those words in your head, you find yourself salivating over the man sitting across from you–with his playful baritone Texan voice and the beautiful steel and gold Cartier watch on his wrist. Not that you’re one to dig for gold. You simply admire fine craftsmanship.

Just like you admire the fineness of his hands.

The veins that rise on the top of his right hand, over his fingerbones, look like wandering rivers and you really wanna admire them with the tip of your tongue, tracing along their edges. His fingers themselves are long, thick rectangles that you wanna slip into your mouth one at a time.

In simple …admiration. 

“Not too smooth,” he says when you pull out your buffer. “They don’t want me lookin’ too clean.”

“Who’s that?” you ask, keeping your voice nice and even while your cheeks feel hot and your thoughts are a million miles away from ‘appropriate’.

“The… oh, whaddya call ‘em.” He hums. “The brand specialists, I guess.” He chuckles. “They hit me up about a month ago. Got a new line coming out that’s–get this–” he says with a flash of his eyebrows. “--’safari’ inspired.” He scoffs.

“Safari, huh?” You roll your eyes.  You can imagine the Cartier boardroom of pompous old Frenchmen glorifying the art and tales created during the French expansion of the 1800s—easily brushing past the eugenics-based mission of the violent nationalists. “Colonizers,” you mumble under your breath.

Joel laughs. “My daughter said the same thing.” He shrugs. “‘S no matter. I don’t mind takin’ their money if all I gotta do is have pretty hands.”

Your face burns immediately and keep your eyes and face focusing on the small nail at the end of his middle finger. “So, how’d you get started anyway?” You swallow thickly, trying to ignore the heat building between your legs. “No offense, I guess, but you don’t seem like the pretty boy-type.” Besides the watch on his wrist, he’s wearing plain Levi’s blue jeans and a black t-shirt that you can almost guarantee came from Target. You can tell his brown and grey curls don’t have any product in them and he’s got about two or three-week-old scruff on his face. 

He chuckles again and you glance up, watching the deep creases in his forehead soften. “Daughter’s the one to blame for it.” He shakes his head with a smile. “We were visiting Houston and she wanted to go shopping, so I let her pick the mall.” His brows go high. “This little 12 year-old picked a luxury mall and I didn’t realize it til we got outta the truck.” 

Your lips go between your teeth, imagining his embarrassment. 

“She was so excited, too. She hopped down out the truck and–fyoo!--took right off runnin.” He grins. “I had to chase her down and tell her not to touch anythin. I woulda had to take out a second mortgage to pay for it if she broke somethin.”

“I bet,” you smile. You finish buffing his nails and pull out the moisturizing oil. You begin to massage each of his fingers, one-by-one, rolling the flesh between your thumb and index finger, marveling at how long it takes you to get from base to tip. You were admiring the mathematics of it. 

The proportions. 

The number of fingers he might could get inside you.

“Next thing I know, she goes runnin into a Cartier store sayin that they can fix my watch ‘cause they got watches in the window.” He shrugs and rolls his eyes. “I was tryin to politely escort her back out, when some big wig saw me and started talkin to me.” He shrugs again. “They took a couple polaroids and got my info. And now every once in a while, they’ll call me up for somethin.”

You stop massaging and stare at him with your eyes big and wide. “I know women who would literally murder to have that happen to them.”

He chuckles and it gets your body even warmer. “Yeeaahh, that’s what I hear.”

You shake your head in disbelief, returning to your task. You can believe his story, too. You’ve only been staring at his hands for a few minutes and you are enraptured by them. Is it the hands? Or is it him?

Or is it all of it together?

You’re not sure. You’re just enjoying the muscle you feel beneath the surface of his nearly square palm, the thick round meat between the web of his thumb and the end of his wrist. You can’t help but admire the basin in the center where the heart and head line lie parallel. Not that you were a palm reader. But you couldn’t help but know a thing or two about the intuitive art.

Hands. Fingers.

They’re your job, afterall.

“What do you do for work?” you ask, because hands like his were used. Too thick not to be. They couldn’t just sit pretty all day.

“I’m a contractor.”

You blink. You look up at him with your brows high into your forehead. “These are not contractor hands,” you say, stroking along his palm. You don’t see a single cut or abrasion. The few calluses he had could barely be considered calluses at all. More like small rough spots.

“I wear special gloves,” he says with a smirk. “It’s a special kind of leather that fits around ‘em real tight.”

“Oh,” you answer, heat fully overtaking your chest and face. You imagine how nice his fingers must look wrapped in a second skin, smoothing over all his contours and lines, making each appendage even thicker and his hands even broader. You imagine what they would feel like, sliding up your bare calves and pulling you apart at the knees. You imagine the soft, conditioned leather moving back and forth across your clit, driving you mad ‘cause your aching for his skin and his touch and his heat.

“You know, I uhh… got a shoot coming up in a couple weeks. I’d love to see you again.”

Your heart races in your chest.

He smirks, his eyes soft and hazy. “You know, since you’re doin’ such a good job takin care o’ my hands right now.”

“Absolutely,” you try to temper your excitement. “Just give me the date, time, and place.” You shrug in a way that you’re sure is very nonchalant. “I mean, I-I-I can come to you if you need me to.” The Pope himself could have an appointment scheduled, and you would cancel it without regret if this man is implying what you are desperately hoping he is implying.

“Well, alright then.” He grins.

—------------

You’re pressed into the door of the hotel room–the one right next to where Joel just finished his photoshoot. He’s got one arm wrapped around the back of your neck, pulling your face into his. His kisses are heavy and fervent. His tongue licks into you in a way that makes you want it even deeper–makes you wanna swallow him whole and keep him inside you. One of his hands is gloved–in one of the ‘special gloves’ he told you about. It’s a camel-colored leather, hand-stitched and form-fitting. And it is definitely not one he uses for work. They fit tight around the heel of his palm, like driving gloves. Must have gotten a new pair from Cartier themselves. 

His gloved hand is under your shirt, sliding up your mid-section and grasping your breast. You gasp and moan into his mouth when he starts pinching and plucking your nipple. 

“Open up for me,” he says after pulling away from you. 

And when you do, he shoves two fingers between your lips, the rest of his hand resting on your cheek, your head still cradled by his arm.

“Good girl,” he coos with a smirk. “Good girl.” He grinds his hardness into your side.

You’re melting into the door behind you, into him, into your own body. You close your lips and suck, not quite sure what to do or how to turn him on. You curl your lips beneath your teeth and slowly bob your head back and forth.

“No no no. Not like that,” he chides you. “This ain’t no cock in your mouth.” He shakes his head. “They’re my fingers.” His eyes are wide and serious. “And I don’t want you thinkin ‘bout anythin else but that. Alright, darlin?” He’s nodding up and down, waiting for you to mirror him.

You nod back the best you can and adapt.  You press the two fingers into the roof of your mouth and suck hard, scraping them along your teeth as you pull your head back. Your lips are wrapped tight around them. You rub your tongue back and forth between them as you engulf them again. You watch him as he watches you through heavy eyelids.

“Good girl,” he says again and licks his lips. His gloved hand moves to your other breast, squeezing it with a rough grip. “Good fuckin girl. Suck those fingers,” he says and you can feel him wiggle them in your mouth. 

You go weak in the knees and you’re not sure how you’re able to stay upright. By the grace of god, you’re able to reach up and grab his hand. You pull his fingers out and then take only one finger back inside. 

He watches you, curious, twisting your nipple in his hand.

Then you add the second finger back in, sucking it. Wetting it. Drool pooling around the edges of your mouth.

You pull those two out and then you suck three fingers in–not as deep and they’re scraping against your teeth more, but you try to give that third finger some extra attention, tracing along the bottom of it with the tip of your tongue.

“You want it bad, huh?” He looks like he’s scowling, but he’s still grinding against you–hard as ever.

You nod.

“You want my hands all over you, baby?” He applies the smallest amount of pressure to his bare, wet fingers in your mouth, causing you to gag. 

Tears tumble out the edges of your eyes as you nod.

He pulls his hands away from you and steps back. “I need you on that bed. Naked. Now."

You rush to do as he says, removing all your clothes in a flurry. You barely register the low hum of the A/C and the cool temperature of the room. You’re too focused on the towering man walking towards you, your legs spreading of their own accord.

His lips are tight and he sucks in a deep breath. "That is one good lookin pussy." He unbuckles his belt and rips it from the loops of his jeans. His eyes roam over your body as he tosses it to the side, the buckle thudding against the carpet. He tugs his t-shirt up his stomach and over his head. "Can't wait to make it mine."

Once his jeans are off and he's just as bare as you (except for the glove on his hand), he waves for you to scoot back before joining you. 

Joel settles himself on his side, propped up on his elbow. He makes no move toward his hardened cock. Instead, the hand you were sucking on before finds your face again–cradling it. And this time, his thumb tucks itself between your lips. 

You suck on it like a straw. 

"How many o’ these you think you can fit in there?" He says. But he’s not referring to your mouth. His gloved hand has found its way between your legs and folds. One lone finger is prodding at your wet entrance. He squints and looks down as he pulls it back out–only having gone in an inch or two. The tip of his glove glistens in the warm glow of the room's lamps. He looks back at you with a grin, sliding his finger in deeper. "Wonder if I can fit em all." He bites his lip as he stares at yours, plunging his finger in and out. "Fuck you with my whole hand."

You close your eyes and moan.

"Yeah? That sound good to you?" He adds a second finger, pushing both into you slowly.

You open your eyes and nod eagerly–humming in agreement. His thumb tugs at your cheek from inside your mouth. 

Joel chuckles. "Nah, not this time." He licks his lips. His eyelids are heavy. “My cock’s too hungry for it.”

 You pull his thumb out of your mouth. You lick his palm, tracing the deep creases with your tongue. "Whatever you want."

He curses under his breath.

His two gloved fingers curl and stroke your inner walls and while the sensation is high-pitched and pleasing, you're more focused on properly worshiping his bare hand. 

Your tongue leaves his palm and you turn his hand over so you can suck the knuckles. Fulfilling one of the many fantasies you've had about Joel since first meeting him. You swirl your tongue around the hill of bone beneath the skin before lowering your mouth and suckling. 

Joel groans. "You love it that much, huh?" He curls his fingers, scraping against your inner clitoris muscle. "Love sucking on me?"

"Yeah," you whimper as your hips jump. 

"Fuck, that’s what I like to hear." Joel removes the two gloved fingers from inside you. He glides them up and around your folds, spreading your slick and teasing your clit. 

It feels …different–how the hard and thin seams of the glove create an added sensation. A starker tease alongside the languid movement of his hand. 

You look down in time to see Joel adding a third finger inside you, the pressure growing too slowly for your taste. But again, you have another task to attend to. 

You suck Joel's pinky in your mouth and bob your head a few times before releasing it.  You suck it right back in with his ring finger alongside it.

He grunts and moans, his three fingers jerking inside you. Your pussy is wet and squelching. His lips go tight as he watches his glove shine more and more with your slick. 

He pulls his fingers out of your mouth and holds your head in place as he kisses you, biting and tugging on your lips. His tongue pushing in so deep, it feels like he's trying to drink you. 

"Fuck, that wet pussy sounds fuckin good. You gonna let me put my cock in there?" He speaks into your mouth. 

Your stomach swoops and your body is on fire. "Yes, please, Joel," you moan. "Please fill me up with your cock." 

He pulls his gloved fingers out of you. His eyes are big and wide. "You think you deserve it?"

"What?!" After everything? After all the sucking and fawning and–how? How could he deny you? You panic. 

"Please, Joel," you whine. You wrap your arms around him and kiss him up and down his neck. "I sucked your fingers so good. I sucked you so good." You're desperate. "I'm so wet for you." You kiss him down his chest. "Never been this wet."  You grab his cock, aiming to put it in your mouth. "Please-please-please!"

His gloved hand, covered in slick, wraps around your chin and jawbone, stopping you. "That's not the wet hole I want," he says and pushes you back, flat on the mattress. He quickly settles between your legs. There's no need for him to spit on his cock or glide it through your folds–your leaking arousal on the sheets. He uses his bare hand to guide it to your entrance. 

He groans and curses as he pushes in. 

"Thank you thank you thank you, Joel," you whisper and whimper as he sparks all your aching nerve endings. 

His forearms are on either side of you–his broad shoulders and body cage you in. “Fuck, this pussy is heaven, baby.”

The slow moving roll of his hips is the opposite of your panicked desperation, but it feels delicious. Turning all the glowing embers into full-blown fire. “So good, so good,” you mumble.

“Yeah? You like that cock, baby?” he asks with a smirk.

“Cock’s so good, Joel.”

He thrusts harder, his speed only slightly increased. Each heavy, steady flick of his hips sends a shock wave of pleasure through you. His bare thumb finds its way back into your mouth. “Suck on this ‘til you cum, baby.”

You nod. You can’t imagine what you look like. The lower half of your face feels wet with your spit. Your eyes are barely open, but you can’t stop staring at the beautiful man above you. His furrowed brows. His tight lips. His flared nostrils as he pounds into you faster and faster.

“Good girl,” he says as he tucks his head down and presses his cheek into yours. “Good girl, suckin me so good.” His arm wraps around your shoulder and pulls your body closer. “Knew you’d take good care o’ me. Knew this pussy’d be so wet.”

The heat inside you is building faster than you expected. You’re meeting his thrusts with your own–your thighs slapping into his hips. 

“Love suckin my fingers, don’t you, baby? Don’t you?” His lips find yours again and he kisses you with his thumb still in your mouth. 

His hips slow down and a desperate groan escapes your lungs, punched out by your diaphragm. You plead, but your words are intelligible.

He pulls his thumb from between your lips. “Whatchu need, baby?” He's rolling into you again, languid and rhythmic. 

“Make me come, Joel. Please make me come.”

“You need to come, baby?”

“Please, please,” you whine. 

“Alright, alright.” He leans back, his bare thumb back in your mouth and his gloved fingers on your clit. He doesn’t thrust any faster and it drives you crazy.

You try to shift his pace, fuck yourself on him til he gets the point–but instead he stops thrusting altogether.

“You got this, baby, come on,” he says with a smirk, making you do all the work. “Come on.”

Well, except for his hand rubbing circles on your clit. You writhe and squirm on his cock, chasing chasing chasing that fiery, burning heat. It’s there. It’s so close.

“Good girl, good li’l thumb-sucker,” he says and something twists inside your gut so hard you immediately come with a loud whimper. Body pulsing and pussy contracting around him. He grunts and curls his hips–as if he didn’t have a choice but to push himself deeper into your orgasm. He pulls his thumb from your mouth and strokes your chin with it. “Good fuckin girl, comin all over me.”

He falls back on top of you and wraps you up in his arms.

Your vision is blurry and you’re trying to catch your breath when he starts thrusting again–hard and fast.

“Knew you’d be good for me. Knew you’d be so fuckin wet.” 

Your body jerks and trembles from the stimulation, and you’re too blissed out to do anything but take it. 

“Knew you’d love suckin me.” He speaks through panting breaths. “Knew this pussy’d be so fuckin good.” He pushes himself up onto his hands. “You wanna come one more time, baby?” he asks.

You’re not sure, but you think the noise that comes out of you is one of agreement. You nod your head, whole body bouncing from his thrusts.

“‘M gonna fill you up,” he grunts with his brows pulled tight. “Come with me while I fill you up.” 

You want to, you really want to come one more time. And he’s pounding into you so hard, your bodies are slapping again. And his eyes and his voice and the determination on his face.

“Come with me, baby, come on,” he chokes out. Then he groans, heavy and low, and you can feel it–you can feel his milky release spurting out and filling you up. He stays above you, trying to catch his breath. “Didja come again?”

You smile. “No, but that’s okay,” you say. God, he’s beautiful. The way his eyes crinkle at the edges and how his beard frames his face.

“Like hell it is,” he murmurs and pulls out of you. He falls to your side again and two gloved fingers dip inside of you, his come spilling out. “You want my thumb again, baby?”

You nod and he gives it to you. You suck on it, pressing the pad of skin against your teeth. He pulls his fingers out and spreads his seed around your clit in circles, making a big mess of your folds.

You’re still dizzy and still over-stimulated, but his eyes are so big and sweet.

“I’ll stay here as long as it takes,” he says as he alternates between thrusting his fingers inside you and rubbing your clit. His brand-new gloves likely ruined.

You grab his wrist when you feel yourself getting close. When the heat hotter than fire starts to build inside of you again. You pant through your nose, your mouth glued to his thumb.

“Took such good care o’ me, baby.” He leans over you and presses his cheek to yours. His voice echoing through you. “Lemme take care o’ you. Lemme make you come, beautiful. Lemme make you come. Wantchu comin on my fingers every day with this pretty li’l pussy. So good for lettin me fill you up. You sucked me so good. Lemme take care o’ you, baby. Lemme make you come.”

It’s less powerful than your first, but the pulse of pleasure your orgasm sends through you is strong and satisfying. You moan and tug Joel’s hand away now that you're starkly overstimulated. “Oh my god,” you sigh, barely able to open your eyes.

Joel chuckles as his hand slides up your body. “Knew you’d be good for me.”

++++++

a/n: It’s been so long since I’ve written just-smut that I really don’t know how to end it. ‘And then they showered and took a nap!’ lol!

[cecelianonymous22]

I redesigned Koda from MHA because he's my favorite and everyone is so mean to him about his dogshit costume :(((

More specifically, his pro hero design! Since the top of his head is supposed to be a horn that's growing out, I made it a bit taller, since this is supposed to be a post-UA design, aka him as an adult

This may or may not be my design for him in a rarepair fic I may or may not be posting soon

I tried to go for a hunter theme, with nearly everything except the mask and the falconry gloves

Also because he's a nature hero, my man needs some fucking camo!!! That seems tremendously more on brand and useful than yellow shorts but idk maybe thats just me

The mask, like the one he has in the anime, is rigged with a microphone to make himself more heard. However, to stick with an animal theme, i made the holes look more like bird or lizard nostrils

What I forgot to draw was some sort of utility belt for him, since I feel like he would have various support items due to not having an offensive Quirk

However, speaking of support items, his glasses aren't just for show. They're equipped with various technologies to allow for zoom and targeting, but also spacial tech like sensors and an ability to pull up a HUD of the area he's in. The functions are controlled by the panels built into his gloves

And i tried coming up with a new insignia, but I honestly don't mind the teeth if they're not front and center

While black would be the primary color, i still think it would be cool to add red and yellow accents as a nod to his original design

But for practicality, these colors would probably just be greys and greens

I might digitize if this fixation doesn't go away

Reference images under the cut!

(also just used general searches for the pants, jacket, boots, and gloves)

[technicolorfamiliar]

The Wandering Jew Dir. Maurice Elvey 1933

[Note: This film along with 1934's Jew Süss set Conrad Veidt apart from many of his German film actor peers. While he was not Jewish, many of his close friends and colleagues -- not to mention his wife Lily -- were, and he was committed to portraying these deeply complicated and sympathetic characters with as much care and empathy as humanly possible. You can see it in his performance. These films are what got his work banned in Germany in the '30s and painted a huge target on his back. Later he would double down and donate most of his acting paychecks to the British war effort, and arrange to help friends and family who were in danger of violence in Germany safely get out of the country. Maybe it's not necessary to mention all this, but just in case I want to make it abundantly clear where he stood.]

When I first saw this movie about a year ago, I couldn't get into it. It didn't help that I only watched the shorter version on Youtube. The poor quality of the picture and audio, plus a mostly terrible cast, made it a tough watch. But I wanted to give The Wandering Jew a second chance, if only for the Conrad Veidt of it all, and I'm glad I did. So over the course of the first weekend in November, I watched both versions: the shorter, much-censored version and the digitally restored version with over 20 minutes of additional material.

---

After watching the two existing/available copies of the film, I definitely think both are necessary if you want to get the whole picture.

Unfortunately, the shorter version is in semi-rough shape and the audio is pretty garbled, but the edits are smoother which helps individual scenes and lines make more sense. There's more air in this version; the director clearly wanted to give the actors, especially Connie, room to breathe, and it not only helps the pacing but the atmosphere of the film as well. However, the shorter version is missing several important and interesting moments due to some heavy-handed censorship.

The longer version has a cleaner picture and slightly clearer audio, but some of the dialogue gets randomly chopped up and there are abrupt cuts that make the film jumpy and take away from the languid atmospheric feeling that in retrospect I think actually makes the film work. Or at least tries to make it work. And, being the longer version, there are key scenes that made it past the censors: all the scenes related to leprosy; the aggressive anti-semitic stuff at the Renaissance Faire crusaders camp; and a great line Matathias delivers in an added scene in Act IV, "All men are Christians. All men are Jews. The faith is only a mask, it does not make a man what he is." MIC DROP, AIR HORNS. There's also a wild scene where Renaissance Faire crusade era Matathias cackles at Anne Grey's crucifix for well over a minute. But for whatever reason, the longer version is missing random things too, like the forward, which isn't entirely necessary but if you're presenting your film in a kind of storybook style, a written forward makes sense.

And there is an illustrative, storybook quality to the film. The costumes and sets feel like something out of a N.C. Wyeth painting or even vaguely Pre-Raphaelite at times. It's heavily romanticized and I think this threw me the first time I saw the movie. But it makes sense, the story is a parable after all. And yet, while you're going in that direction, why not go bigger, why not compose each shot with even more care? I know they shot this movie in 1933, but all I want is some vision and intentionality in the cinematography and staging, dang it! I do like the two moments when Jesus is speaking and his dialogue is only shown as text. We don't see or hear him, but everyone else in the shot is frozen and the sound drops out. Time seems to stop for a few seconds. But nothing else in the film really manages to match those moments stylistically.

I feel like a broken record saying this, but Connie's performance once again carries the entire film. Pretty much everyone else is just so bad, the women in particular. Seriously, sound was being used in films at this point for over 5 years -- so why is everyone in this movie doing this style of acting that is maybe only acceptable for huge stage productions? Three of the four lead actresses are legitimately the worst. The only exception is Peggy Ashcroft in Act IV who isn't great, but at least she's a better scene partner. That could also have something to do with the first three women being annoyingly pious, and Act IV's Olalla is just a more interesting and better-written character. In Act I, the woman playing Judith barely engages with Connie. Sure, she's dying, but she's dying like she's on stage in some 2000+ seat West End theater. And the wife in Act III is literally giving Connie nothing to work with, nothing! There's so little believable intimacy in these women's performances that it really makes the movie suffer as a whole. Maybe that's harsh, maybe that's what the director wanted, but I think about Connie's other British films from this time and their lead actresses -- Madeleine Carroll, Jill Esmond, etc -- weren't nearly as painfully awful.

Though this is Connie's fifth English language film, it almost seems like he's still getting his sea legs as an actor in the British studio system. Maybe with the exception of I Was A Spy, his previous English films were all roles for a character actor, and so Matathias was the first opportunity he had to really show off his range. I have no idea if they shot in sequence -- unlikely -- but from Act I to Act IV he seems like he's progressively carving out a foundation for his future work in British films. After The Wandering Jew, he was off and running with a great series of meaty and fascinating roles. Josef Süss, The Stranger, even Convict 83 have some roots in the performance he gives in this movie.

Matathias is a role an actor would consider one of their crowning achievements but would probably never want to play again. He's incredibly demanding and challenging, very likely made even more so by Connie's uniquely holistic and intense method of preparing for a role. Even though there are moments when his performance comes across as a little stilted, that could be more due to him trying to match the tone of the film itself, especially early in the narrative when he's a little flat -- he has to start like that so he has somewhere to go with the character. There's zero humor or levity in the script so Connie had to humanize Matathias through his journey across time by incorporating moments of deep compassion and the pain of loss, shame and regret, and ultimately complete surrender.

No other actor would believe the story and its message enough to pull off the heart-wrenching performance Connie gives in this film.

Act I Matathias is a difficult guy in a fabulous robe (the sleeves!). He's clearly selfish, but not really cruel. After all, he and everyone else know that the woman he loves does not belong to him and were she to go home to her husband, she would most definitely not survive whatever violence awaited her there. And Matathias does not allow harm to come to her, at least not in that way. His selfishness means he'll keep her at any cost, meaning he refuses to see how ill she really is. But he's not a bad guy, he's just a regular person in a very difficult situation which makes his impulse to bitterly lash out at Christ understandable. But there is some part of him that does believe because it doesn’t take much for him to get on board with the whole curse thing. With very little convincing, he appears to be resigned to his fate. But that's fine, we have to move the story along, after all.

The cruelty comes out more in Act II. The Unknown Knight just wants to fight, feast, and get his freak on. Connie gets to be pretty aggressively sexual (good god, the way he grabs that woman) and blasphemous in this section ("Blasphamy, blaspha-you, blaspha-everybody in the room!"), especially for the early 1930s, so no wonder it's one of the shorter acts. His haircut might be hideous, but his veiny forearms are, uh, real nice (as are all the long shots of his exposed throat and sternum throughout the film). Confession time: it took me three viewings to get the whole leprosy thing. Judith has it in Act I, so does the guy who wanders into the camp in Act II, and the sick boy in Act IV as well. The son in Act III is bit by a snake, but it could be something to do with snakes = the devil or something, idk. The appearance of sickness/leprosy always signals a lesson Matathias has to learn, or signals the ending or beginning of something important. So his reaction to Renaissance Faire Babe's rejection isn't really about her at all, which is revealed in the longer edit of the film. He hears the leper's bell and mutters, "Unclean…," before letting Ren Faire Babe discover her murdered husband. Matathias may not have killed the man, but he continues to leave behind a trail of death and destruction as some kind of act of defiance against the curse of wandering the earth until such undetermined time as Jesus will appear to him again. By making his life dangerous, he flaunts how he is able to cheat death, but when he hears the leper's bell and is reminded of the events that set him on this path, he realizes he can't go on like this, that there has to be something else, something more. I like how the shot of Connie at the end of this section echoes the end of Act I, suggesting he still has a long journey ahead before he can hope to reach own end.

So when we next see him, he's a merchant and family man living in Palermo named Matteo. Instead of causing mayhem everywhere he goes, he's trying to build something, maybe even a legacy. This is my least favorite part of the movie, but the way Connie shows Matteo's heartbreak, first at the death of his son and later at losing his wife to the Church, is something else. When Gianella tells him she's leaving, he goes through each of the stages of grief in like two minutes and we can see it happen in his face and in his body language. The way his knees buckle and he slowly crumples to the floor, ugh. Also, shout out to the attention to detail in this film. If you look closely at the beginning of Act III, Connie's fingernails look ink-stained like he's been writing and handling documents all day. Not to mention the fact that he wears the same onyx ring throughout, and the same necklace in Acts I and IV. I also thought it was interesting how the music cut out when Mateo is handed his dying child, it immediately reinforces the gravity of the scene. This movie did not come to play.

Act IV, set in Seville, is by far the best part of the whole film. And I'm not just saying that because Care-giver!Connie is doing things to my brain. How sweet and gentle he is with his patients, the way he keeps looking up to check in with Olalla when he's treating her broken ankle, the way he murmurs and coos little things under his breath like "Come on, let's try a little walk…" and "Ohh, what's the matter, my boy" that sound totally improvised. That's the good stuff, right there. And when Olalla says, "There's magic in your hands." I BET. This whole fourth act is just Connie kicking in the door of 1930s British cinema. The scene in front of the Inquisition alone is the most powerful and important part of the movie. Connie manages to fill Matteo with such humanity and empathy by the end of the film that it's practically radiating out of him. In an otherwise one-dimensional film he brings real, complicated, fascinating, tragic and beautiful life to this legendary figure. It's astonishing.

Is it a good movie? Not really. Is it an important movie made at a critical time in history, as a statement against anti-semitism on behalf of the filmmakers and cast? Of course it is. Despite the mild annoyance of needing to watch two different versions of the same film, and needing some patience with the tone and supporting cast's performances -- it definitely helps to be in the right mood going in -- it really is essential viewing in the Conrad Veidt canon, especially if you're interested in his work as an actor. I mean, just watch this movie and bask in the glow of his radiant, spiritual performance. Bask in it!

In the end, I'm glad I gave 1933's The Wandering Jew a second chance.

P.S. Connie looks unbelievably stunning in this movie. His costumes, wigs and facial hair are all basically perfect. The silhouettes and lines of his robes, the details in his jewelry and accessories. He really knew how to wear the clothes so they wouldn't wear him. He must have been a costume designer's dream. Or nightmare (he can be your angle;;… or yuor devil).

[xbraveheartx]

WARNING !! Contains spoilers for Lies of P! If you haven't beaten the game, be warned! This is just a first draft !! I might change it... I might not. I'm just testing the waters and seeing how far I'll get. I think I'll just post the prologue for now and then proceed solo in google docs after. But I wanted to see how people are feeling about the idea ♡ I'll upload the rest most likely on AO3 A "I don't care what canon gave us, I'm bringing Romeo back" fic that'll end up in a romance between our favorite real boy and his bestie ♡ It takes place post-canon!

Prologue

The sun had barely risen when they set off on their mission, a gentle shower coating the city of Krat in sleek rain that took little time to drench every stone and tile. Only once they had reached their destination did the skies suddenly open, a hint of blue smiling down on the otherwise desolate buildings. One couldn’t avoid puddles under such conditions, but there wasn’t any true concern to be had over them.

There were far greater things to worry over. He only hoped they were still there.

“Jeepers. It sure is creepy being back here again.” Gemini chirped, effectively breaking the silence that blanketed Krat Central Station. “Now that the monsters aren’t as much of a problem, everything just feels kinda…” He trailed off, causing the boy’s head to turn just slightly in an effort to toss back a glance in the lamp’s direction. “... Spooky? Haunted is the word, maybe? Almost like something is hiding just around the corner, ready to just– Jump out at you!”

“You’re being dramatic.” Slender digits rose to tuck a long, grey lock behind an ear, palm rubbing a stray droplet of water from a freckled cheek.

“And you’re being careless, pal!” Gemini countered, ignoring the eye roll given in retaliation. “I’m just saying, even if we can’t see the monsters all around like we used to, I’m sure there’s bound to be some still lurking around! Just be more careful, okay, Carlo?”

There was a pause in his steps, the echo of the last dying out shortly after as nothing but the dripping of water and creaking of pipes met their ears.

Carlo… it was still strange, hearing that name, and while he felt it was just right, it felt strange in the same breath. It was familiar yet foreign; He was still learning.

He felt his heart beat.

“Did I say something wrong?” Came Gemini’s chirps once more, the sound coming off as one of concern. Carlo shook his head, lashes fluttering rapidly as he came back to himself whilst lips tugged into a slight smile.

“No, no. Sorry, just… Thinking.” It wasn’t necessarily a lie. Gemini seemed to accept the excuse regardless, trilling gently in a way that Carlo could just picture a real cricket practically vibrating with eagerness.

“Then what are we waiting for? Let’s go! Er– b-but! … Y’know!... Carefully.” The guide seemed to beam, and Carlo couldn’t help but beam right back, hopeful that their journey would be fruitful in the end.

There, in the dimly lit station, was their target. Track C, train number three– The Blue Fairy. It was funny, looking back on it now, but there was no stopping to admire any form of happenstance. The train itself had been subjected to all manner of bile and questionable fluids, but otherwise, remained intact. The boy hesitated just before entering, hand rising to touch the door frame as he stood at the entrance and listened. When nothing but silence rose to greet him, he pressed onward, stepping over forgotten luggages and shattered glass.

“You really think something like this’ll work?” Gemini spoke again, chirps blending with the crunching of a wineglass underfoot.

There was no immediate response, not until they had made it to the back of the train where a familiar chair sat in the middle of the aisle. He stepped around it, choosing instead, to make his way into the hidden workshop behind.

“I don’t know.” Carlo confessed, fingers trailing across abandoned notes and papers left atop a messy desk. Blueprints were among the litter, notes bookmarking heavily written pages of journals, their fine leather covers worn and frayed. He gathered it all, leaving nothing he deemed important behind. One of many discarded suitcases was chosen among the piles, and with its original contents discarded, was used to house the very legacy his father had left behind. “But I have to try.”

Venigni thumbed through the blueprints, eyes roaming through Geppetto's old notes that had been laid out before him. It was a daunting task, to say the least, and they both knew it. 

"This is... beyond my field of expertise."

The moment of silence to follow after felt far too long, seconds seemingly to stretch into hours that didn't exist. Finally, the boy's lips parted, voice heavy with newly gained emotion that unashamedly manifested as a beg.

"I believe you can do it." Came the quiet encouragement, brows drawing together to further accentuate his plea. "Please?" Yet another pause followed after whilst muted blues fell for but a moment, until finally, they resettled on Venigni. "For... a friend?"

The sigh of defeat to follow the request said enough.

"I shall do what I can, but I make no promises, compagno!" As if a switch was flipped, suddenly a black gloved hand rose with a snap. “Pulcinella! Some fresh parchment, if you would! I must get started immediately! And you!” Once more did the man’s head snap in Carlo’s direction, a finger dramatically being pointed all the while. “You still carry the most important component, do you not? All that’s left is the body– Go and bring it back here. I will give it my all, for I am the Incredible Lorenzini Venigni, and I will settle for no less than my one-hundred percent!... But again, no promises.” 

The emotion to grip at his heart was almost overwhelming, the heavy THUD THUD of the organ pounding against his chest in a mixture of anticipation, joy, and above all else, hope.

“I’ll be back.” He announced with a nod, though he made no move to leave just yet. Instead, he gave the man a smile, brighter than any he had expressed in the past. “Thank you, Venigni. I appreciate your help.” The words were met with a nod and something akin to that of a mutter and a hum. Already was the other absorbed by the notes before him, ink meeting paper in rapid scribbles from the very moment Pulcinella had provided the writing tools.

“Let’s go get your pal… pal!” Gemini chimed in, spurring the boy into motion with a nod. “Leave the technical stuff to the professionals! Rosa Isabella Street awaits!” A trip that would surely be a bit more eventful than their visit to the train station, knowing full well that the puppets would still be prowling around their fallen king’s domain.  Please let this work… The silent prayer was sent skyward.

[schwarzfee]

[saltycharacters]

[ID: Digital artwork featuring two bipedal feline characters, one dark grey and striped and the other red and lynx-like. The dark grey one is sporting a captains hat, coupled with a simple earing and belt, baring her teeth at the audience as she extends her claws. The much shorter, red one has some patterns sprinkled on her, both spots and stripes as a particularly large one makes a target-like symbol on her bangs. Both characters have their bangs covering their right eye. End ID]

Feline cousins

[hhbluedynamite]

TADC AU: Superstars!

Yep. I do have fanfics cooking up, plus some drawing, and I did think of an AU of my own.

First, summary:

Nothing seems to want to go right for Monica Brightwen today. Depression was hitting her hard like a freight train, but she somehow was able to push through to go to work, which was a challenge in itself. Her car breaks down, she gets soaked to the bone by some reckless driver, she loses a taxi to some busy woman, and she was nearly late for work…which was apparently fine because her boss was planning to lay her off anyway to free a position for someone else. No biggy…It’s not like Monica actually liked being an accountant… Annnd just to make her day even worse, her apartment building was apparently getting condemned due to the presence of black mold that the landlord failed to tell his tenants about, effectively making Monica homeless… …Great. Just [%$!#]king great! What was the point of anything? Why continue this miserable existence? She didn’t expect the answer to be from a job posting for a gaming complex called the Amazing Digital Circus Arcade Center. The ADCA Center is owned by an extremely eccentric billionaire who has provided lodgings to his employees in exchange for working at his arcade. Well…Monica had nothing else to lose at this point. Besides, it's just a regular arcade center… Right?

If you want to learn more (i.e spoil yourself), keep reading.

(WARNING: It's long)

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Premise:

Obvy, this is a TADC human AU, but with a twist. Through means that I'm still trying to come up with, anyone who works at the arcade center can turn from matter to data so they can transform into their avatars...including Caine, as he's human in this AU. Think Digimon (and, in a sense, Digimon Frontier). While the original purpose of this is unknown to most, the gang uses this ability to save the populace from rampaging entities called the Abstracted.

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AU Name:

It took a while for me to come up with a name for the AU, mainly because I wanted something catchy and circus-y. Popular AUs Freakshow and Carnival came to mind. I did think of Festival or even Showstoppers, but I remembered canon Caine calling the players 'superstars' and that wound up sticking. And it was fitting as the groups' avatars are the mascots of the arcade, having sections dedicated to them and has gained fanbases in-universe of the AU.

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Characters:

Pomni

‘Real’ Name: Monica Brightwen

Pronouns: She/Her

Age: 25

Fractal Color(s): Red, Blue, and Gold

Human Facts: Appearance wise, human Pomni looks -- as some would put it -- plain. She is short (5 feet tall to be exact), wears large round glasses, short and unkept dark hair, and usually wears her dress shirt, trousers, and tie as day wear (and work).

Avatar Facts: Nothing has changed much except that her jester outfit is in a slightly darker shade and the yellow accents are more golden in color. The balls on her person also become golden sleigh bells. She also gets extra bells on her gloves and footwear.

Special Abilities: She would eventually learn that she can detach the bells on her person and manipulate their sizes. She can use these bells to either contain the target or as bombs depending on intended use. The bells regenerate after use. Her limbs can also mimic the whole rubber hose animation thing.

Caine

‘Real’ Name: Caine Adams

Pronouns: He/Him

Age: Unknown (late 40s or early 50s)

Fractal Color(s): Red, Orange-Yellow

Human Facts: He is also short (5'5) with olive skin and slicked back red brown hair with a grey streak and is generally fit. He does have heterochromia.

Avatar Facts: Not a lot has changed in his overall design, except for some golden accents, like around his tophat and cufflinks.

Special Abilities: He can create projections either as hard light or visual illusions.

Ragatha

‘Real’ Name: Agatha Weaver

Pronouns: She/Her

Age: 30

Fractal Color(s): Orange

Human Facts: A plump woman with fair skin and freckles. Her red hair is usually seen in a messy bun.

Avatar Facts: Her outfit has a more Victorian steampunk style.

Special Abilities: Her main weapon(s) are a large assortment of knives that she can manifest, having an affinity for bladed weapons. She also has the ability to heal via a needle and thread. She doesn't feel pain while in her Avatar form.

Kinger

‘Real’ Name: Axel Callahan

Pronouns: He/Him

Age: 48

Fractal Color(s): Purple, Gold

Human Facts: The tallest human in the group, just passes 6 feet. Kinda lanky and scruffy looking with a stubble, his dirty blonde hair just reaches his shoulders. He wears triangular framed glasses.

Avatar Facts: He wears a royal military uniform instead of his robe, which is more of a long, elaborate cloak with a hood. Wearing the hood helps him focus. And instead of regular gloves, he wears gauntlets.

Special Abilities: He's a marksman, specialty in long range weapons, having great proficiency with firearms and deadly accuracy. His main weapon of choice is a double barrel shotgun, though he also carries a repeating rifle and two flintlock pistols.

Kaufmo

‘Real’ Name: Isaac Kaufmman

Pronouns: He/Him

Age: 35*

Fractal Color(s): Yellow

Human Facts: A large man with a greying beard. (I guess think Jack Black)

Avatar Facts: Not a lot has changed.

Special Abilities: He mostly uses himself as a distraction, sort of like rodeo clowns. He can also throw his voice.

Gangle

‘Real’ Name: Ayaka Kagami

Pronouns: She/Her

Age: 26

Fractal Color(s): Rose-red, Spring Green

Human Facts: The second tallest member, clocking at 5'10. She is well-endowed and dresses modestly. She has really long black hair that she usually keeps in a neat ponytail. She wears small oval shaped glasses.

Avatar Facts: Her ribbons make up most of her body and outfit. Her limbs are tightly coiled for thickness and her 'outfit' resembles that of a ballerina okay more like a magical girl. Can’t think of which right now. Her head consists of both her masks, one facing forward and one facing back. They can switch around depending on her mood.

Special Abilities: She's the fastest of the group, very acrobatic, and hits with precise strikes and can use her ribbons to entangle targets.

Zooble

‘Real’ Name: Ashe Pace

Pronouns: They/Them

Age: 22½ 

Fractal Color(s): Hot Pink, Deep Purple

Human Facts: Androgynous in appearance with dark skin and light patches. They have medium length hair with one side cut and dyed dark magenta. They have piercings on their lip, nose, eyebrow, and ears. They walk with a limp, aided with a cane. They have a sleeve tattoo on their left arm.

Avatar Facts: Nothing has changed, except for two slots in their back.

Special Abilities: They can change their detachable limbs into any usable tool. The two slots are usually reserved for wings.

Jax

‘Real’ Name: Jack Pratt

Pronouns: He/Him

Age: 22

Fractal Color(s): Golden yellow

Human Facts: Tanned skin and dark cropped hair with blonde highlights.

Avatar Facts: Does look noticeably buffer than canon and broader shoulders. Wears a muscle shirt, a leather-looking jacket, baggie pants, two belts, and wrappings around his hands and feet.

Special Abilities: The physically strongest. His main use of weaponry are usually giant hammers, but he would use bats, and knuckledusters. He specializes more in blunt weapons.

(Note: Human names are just for the AU. Their canon real names are unknown)

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That's it for now until I can think of other stuff. Feel free to ask questions over in the ask box.

[cryptidclaw]

Ivypool! I usually imagine her as a short furred cat, but I liked the idea of her having Hawkfrost/star’s cheek fluffs!

She takes after har father Hawkfrost in looks, but she has much more white! and her tabby colors are grey and light brown, which is like a dilute version of Tigerstar’s pelt color! She has her father’s dark stripes and eyes though! I really love how this design came out , she looks so badass. 

Ivypool’s Identities: GNC molly she/he/they pronouns, bisexual !

like I said with Dovesong, he is a River order cat and their parents are Primrosedawn and Hawkstar! She was targeted by dark forest Hawkstar because they are his daughter and he views him as the perfect heir/successor. 

like I also said in my Dovesong post, I havent read OotS yet, so I dont realyy have many plans other than this yet... 

I am thinking about having Fernsong along with some other characters, switched over to being Rover Order born cats! there are already too many Thunder Order cats so it wont hurt anyone lol. 

[Image ID: a digital drawing of Ivypool from warrior cats. They are walking with her right side showing, and he has a serios, glare like expression on their face. She is a slender, long furred, white molly with gray tabby patches and yellow and blue eyes. His tabby patches are mostly light gray with light brown along the lower edges, and black stripes. They have scars across the bridge of her nose, on her neck and on her back. Her inner ears, nose and scars are all light pink./End ID]