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vaguely-concerned · 1 month

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Ever since watching The Wire for the first time, my brain has doggedly kept working away at the Especially the lies of it all, and specifically at how much the structure beneath the different stories Garak tells contributes to the overall meaning of what he’s trying to say. While the contradicting narratives of course expertly obscure the factual circumstances of his getting exiled, using them also allows him to tell aspects and facets of the emotional truth I don’t think he ever could have, if he’d simply told the actual story of what happened. (It’s very Varric-core of him honestly.)

The first story — the ‘oh, you think you know me?’ story — says I have done things that would sicken you if you knew any detail of it. It’s clearly meant to scare Bashir away so he’ll leave him to die shamefully in peace already lol. But it’s also one of his (probably much-needed lbr) little lessons to Julian that are so frequent in the beginning, given while Garak still has some hold on himself — “Don’t be so quick to forgive me if you don’t even know what I’ve done; what would you do if this really were the sum total of what I am?” (And Julian seems to surprise him by going ‘Well, exactly the same thing, because no matter who you are I am a doctor. But I sort of take your point.’)

The second story — the letting the orphans go story — says I have failed to smother my soul in its cradle when it was required of me, and I regret that more than anything I’ve done. To my ears this is the one most shot through with active self-loathing too, which is interesting. He’s officially lost the control he’s been clinging to and it’s about to get ugly. His TL;DR is ‘Sentiment is the greatest weakness of all’, even all the way back here. (Which is the one lesson Julian steadfastly refuses to learn, which I think in turn does some serious rearrangement of Garak’s soul over the course of the show haha. Get uno reversed into the process of loving and being loved without shame asshole.) This is also where he builds up to admitting to having any sort of need for companionship or closeness at all and — so much worse — that Julian’s role in his life actually has fulfilled some of that need, and he’s DRIPPING with defensive venom over it b/c well I get it Garak vulnerability is scary it can take a person like that.

(I also feel there’s something honest and forbidden in ‘Suddenly the whole exercise seemed utterly meaningless’. I suspect ‘actually… why the fuck are we even doing this???’ is not a welcome sentiment in an Obsidian Order water cooler environment, no matter what you’re saying it about lmao. The very first seeds of him deconstructing the things he’s been taught about Cardassia and his work might be hinted at here, though they of course take a looong time to come to any real fruition.)

The third story — the ‘Elim was my best friend’ story — says hey, remember that thing you said once, about how sometimes, you have to be loyal to yourself before you can be loyal to anything else? Well. guess what. I couldn’t even be that lmao. It also furthers that thread of being divided from yourself, split, that having ‘Elim’ as a separate person around in all versions of the story brings in. He’s in control of himself again, but he essentially hands his life and soul over to Julian to decide what should be done with them.

I’ve done horrible things and it finally caught up with me, I’m getting what I deserve → I let sentiment master me and the fact that I’m too weak to do what’s needed of me shames me more than the evil I’ve done → I fucked up. I betrayed myself and everything I held to, all for nothing, and I have no one to blame for it but myself. But it’s very nice that you’re here anyway, Doctor. (Wow. I didn’t realize quite how isolated and lonely that last one was before right now. The way Tain has shaped him really has just… locked him completely into himself, huh.) We can also see a movement through from a completely professional context in the first story, to an intensely interpersonal and internal context in the last one — even his fake stories spiral in towards intimacy, which I think is what he longs for here even if he can’t quite like. Touch that without the stories as a buffer yet, it’s clearly like touching a hot stove for him to interact with it too directly.

And you know what I find incredibly interesting the whole way through? Even on his deathbed, where he’s dying from the thing Tain had put in his head, he’s protecting Tain. He puts all the blame for where he is on himself (‘My future was limitless, until I threw it away’), even if he has to employ a strange twisty logic where he’s split himself into two to do it. Don’t get me wrong, Garak has done horrific things all on his own haha, but it’s notable that he almost isolates Tain from that. ‘Tain was the Obsidian Order. Not even the Central Command dared challenge him. And I was his right hand.’ Tain in Garak’s stories is this infallible implacable weirdly distant figure, even now. Indeed, as will make a lot of sense with the revelations further down the line, more than anything it seems the gaze of an abused child desperate for recognition looking up at an idealized (if not in any way nurturing) parent.‘He was retired at that point; he couldn't protect me’, Garak says, as if what he’d need protection from in the first place isn’t Tain himself lmao, as if Tain had no active part in any of this. He never lets blame touch Tain at all. At this stage he would rather consider himself a broken flawed tool than accept that the hands that have wrought and wielded him have ever had any fault in them. AND in the middle of it all, with plausible deniability, on death’s door and knocking meekly to be let in before he must finish the mortifying ordeal of being known and test the even more daunting possibility of being loved, Garak at the same time manages to drop the breadcrumb trail of clues to make it possible for Julian to find Tain if he so chooses and gets in the ‘sons of Tain’ thing too for future dramatic irony purposes. Truly he is the Michelangelo of lying. Every falsehood a multifaceted masterpiece. Elim ‘achieving a state of intertextuality in real life is possible if you work hard and believe in yourself’ Garak. I love him so much.

I think all of this is why “I forgive you. For whatever it is you did,” works so well, because it too works on a structural level. It’s such a deceptively multilayered response — it has the syntax of a joke, in a way, and it is kind of funny even under the circumstances, but delivered with such earnest warmth and fondness. It’s both recognition and acceptance (forgiveness!). It’s saying ‘I finally understand enough of what you’re trying to tell me beneath and through all that, in whatever way you’re capable of, I see you’ and ‘my answer hasn’t changed (bitch)’. The forgiveness Julian offers here is complete — on principle, and out of personal feeling and empathy (only one of which Garak deigns to respond to during the second story, where he calls it ‘smug Federation sympathy’, placing it more completely on the principle side than it probably is. ‘Dude you’re my friend please don’t just lie down and die in a completely avoidable way on me, who else is going to not only tolerate but actually gleefully enjoy me being annoying as fuck over lunch’ seems to be the subtext that’s a lot harder to acknowledge and invite in for both of them. And yet Tain seems perfectly clear on the fact that Julian is Garak’s friend, which, y’know. Must be fun living with the knowledge that Tain has eyes everywhere looming over you every day haha guess you’d just have to tune that out.)

Most of all — ’Don’t give up on me now, Doctor’... and he didn’t! He didn’t. Augh. Ow.

#garashir #elim garak #julian bashir #star trek ds9 #ds9 #star trek #ds9 meta #S2EP22 The Wire #alternate title: baby's first brush with unconditional love through unreliable narration lol #I'm not sure I got to say everything I want to in this/found the exact right words in places or hit all the nuances #but god help me I so desperately need this out of my brain to free up some disc space so go forth little meta haha be free #I'm sure I'll come back to you in time #meta #enabran tain #(derogatory)

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morriganartblog · 8 months

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Hello @canisalbus, have this wrinkled doodle of Machete

#very sorry about the look of it #it is in fact a little doodle on a corner of a sheet #which I found again because a cup of water fell on my stack of freehand phone sketches #so it not only wrinkled but it also have soggy colors #I managed to save all of my drawings #very sorry it's not a fancy nor high quality fan art #but I through I conveyed well his proud/annoyed look #(sorry not finding the exact word to convey what I'm trying go say)#well. hope you like it.#thank you for your art it's very good and inspiring and you're one of my fav artists #have a nice day

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feluka · 2 months

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been listening to refaat alareer's lectures on poetry on the subway and it's brought me to tears several times. i want to transcribe them and compile a document of all of them as soon as possible.

#there was this part where a female poet was referred to as '[name]'s sister' and he corrected it and said #to be careful not to restrict women to men's shadows even if these men are their family and #when i heard that i thought of that fuckface reporter who kept interrupting the palestinian speaker she was hosting #and she said 'you're probably not used to women speaking'#anyway. i love his words and i feel like i have more a connection to poetry than i've ever ever had through him #he said something very enlightening about resistance through poetry #and i don't want to paraphrase because i want to transcribe and share his exact words but god. god. i've never felt the power of poetry so #so strongly*

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time-is-restored · 7 months

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btw not to make everything about My Fucking Guy but i honestly think one of the things that seperates q!phil out from the other islanders is the approach he takes to dealing with the lack of agency + control all the islanders have over whatever the fuck the federation's doing.

it shows up most prominently whenever tubbo is excitedly telling him about the 'progress' he's made with cucurucho or various investigations (ie: trapping him into a corner with the 'do you have free will' questions), and phil always shoots it down w an immediate 'that doesn't mean anything. curucuho will say anything to mess with you. you can't take anything he says as true.'

and it's not that phil is... a paticularly pessimistic character? he's just EXTREMELY practical. like, he's yet to give up on anyone EVER finding ANY answers (he was the one who initially gave the federation that one week ultimatum w the cage for a cage stream), he just doesn't trust the idea that curucuho is ever going to voluntarily give them. they're uncontrollable + senseless - you might as well argue with the weather.

and like, if that's how he sees the one (1) and only point of contact the islanders HAD with the federation for months, it explains a lot abt his characters lifestyle! ofc he sits on the wall all day, talking to his kids, and keeping his head down. he believes that the federation wants nothing more than to drag the islanders into sick games + tasks just so they can fuck with their head (ie: curucuho revealing he was the one cellbit gathered all that information for). and while he can't totally PREVENT any of that from ever impacting him, he can make sure his kids are well fed, well protected, and as happy + comfortable as he can manage. this is objectively not a perfect situation, there is a guaranteed amount of suffering + fear that he can't mitigate, but he can at least account for it.

like, he REFUSES to engage. whenever curucho shows up, he treats them with total ambivalence. he's not going to get riled up by anything they do, he's not going to get super attached to the guy, he's just gonna laugh it off and irish goodbye it when things drag on. the ONLY time he's strayed from that general guiding principle has been since he's lost his eggs, and can no longer afford to let the federation's fuckery go: those are his fucking kids.

hence the completely unprecedented levels of outward rage and sadness and terror he shows throughout the birdcage streams - almost all directed directly to cucurucho. it's all a completely fair + proportional response to the horror the islanders are being subjected to, but it feels so different bc until now, q!phil has been so dedicated to not reacting, and not giving the federation any sign that they're actually getting to him.

#qsmp #q!phil #LIKE. does anyone else think this! i genuinely believe its like one of the major #traits of his character i feel like u can trace it through Everything.#the man lives with the constant knowledge that sometimes all it takes is a tempting ravine and a badly timed creeper to end a life #whether that life belongs to a stranger or someone you love more than anything else in the world #you COULD rage against that. you could scream and shout and tear your hair out and grieve for the futility of it all #but what does that change? the days march on. death waits either way #and that's not to say he's a laizesfair kind of guy. anyone who's seen him stress out abt chayanne's risk taking + freak out #whenever his kids don't have enough autofeed grist can see that he cares DEEPLY. which resolves into his very distinctive #defensive + protective playstyle. the goal is not to win the fight the goal is to *survive* the fight etc #but the only way that mindset doesn't spill out into unchecked paranoia + complete agoraphobia is with acceptance #'shit happens: the philza minecraft story'#i also think it even manifests in the nightmare sequence w his last words to chayanne? 'they didn't want us to live. we were never supposed #to survive' or whatever the exact wording was #he is FURIOUS and deeply hurt and sad abt the deaths he says so explicitly later #but at the time the first thing he reaches for is. exhausted acceptance. it wasn't their fault. it wasn't his fault. they did their best.#they could only do so much in the face of the federation's Overwhelming Hostility. y'know?#mine

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lambinarmor · 2 years

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Ok so I love your Wesker drawings and i was wondering if you could draw him reacting to a survivor who begs for mercy? and how would he react if Jill begs him to spare her? 🥺 pleas ty ily 💕✨

#okay so it’s not EXACT…. but this is what I’ve got for ya haha #jill doesn’t strike me as the someone who would beg for themselves (unless it’s in an uh….nsfw situation) but might beg for others #this was the best middle ground I could think of…a fresh into the realm wesker having the time of his life hunting down his counterparts #Jill still seeing her captain (even if this is the same man who betrayed her and the team)#attempting to get through to him #anyway this was fun and thank you so so much for the kind words 🥺🥺🥺🥺#my art #dbd #dead by daylight #fanart #albert wesker #resident evil #wesker #jill valentine #re

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erinarigby · 1 month

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Brian/John is very interesting to me, because there was that one interview where John I think said "that was the first experience I'd had with a homosexual who I knew was homosexual", which to me sounds like indirectly admitting that he'd messed around with guys before but nobody who he knew was actually queer, and I think that was a big draw with Brian that he already knew himself and his lifestyle and John wanted a chance to vicariously see what that could be like. On the other hand, I think John saw a lot of his worst anxieties about being queer and othered and unstable manifest through Brian, and that's why their relationship was often so conflicted, because John also felt a lot of warmth and empathy for him.

(Extrapolating further, I have this feeling that John might have feared Paul seeing his affections similarly to how John had felt about Brian's, as an object to pity and exploit.)

i have nothing else to add because i’m terrible at formulating my thoughts into posts. very good analysis <3

#ask #recontextualizing brian/john #with mclennon in mind #im so normal about this ohhhhhhh #you’ve pretty much said my exact opinions and thoughts on the subject #i’m just an art guy who unfortunately sucks at explaining through words. thank you

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gouinisme · 3 months

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i don't think our #doomed girl number one is actually gonna die anytime soon* but now my brain is going mag 40 mode like "alice, you didn't die here did you?" anyways if she ends up either already being some sort of undead/construct or turning undead at any point i'm a genius and otherwise i was just kidding teehee

#*the writers know damn well the implications of killing off their only canon trans character #esp since jonny's spoken about queer rep and queer horror #and he's even said in one of the qnas that he tried to be aware of harmful tropes to avoid them (paraphrasing cuz i'm not gonna through all #5 magnuss qnas to find his exact words)#and even from a like. marketing standpoint you're not gonna advertise your show as being about a duo and kill off half of the duo in the #first of 3 series. if she dies in season 3 in the oiar then sure but i don't think there's anyway she'll stop being a character any timesoo #tmagp #alice dyer #fuck with me #the magnus protocol #tmagp spoilers

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mblue-art · 2 years

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boyf bestfr boy, friend,,

related to this post ig///

u dont have to look at this part !! lsdkglfd

it gets p indulgent n kinda,, personal?? iguess? not pushing anyone away if you still want to scroll thru here its mostly ramblethoughts of my simping journey or whatever the heck i turned this whole thing into

hhhhgh here's two doodles i made inbetween the two posts,, maaannnnn,,,

aaaa aa a aa

(iam just putting these here for when future!me looks back on all these posts and go "haha oh wow i used to,, i used to only,, platonically like him when i think about 'me' me interacting w him,, thats,, oh,, huh that was something")

[took me THREE (3) MONTHS (from when i made that doodle on the left)......... and some light nudging and nice & lovely hc/scenarios from friends... to finally wake up one day and realize "oh. oh holy shit? i. i dont feel weird abt this anymore? fr fr? wait shit i-" cue me sitting up in bed and staring at a wall for a long while as thoughts pour in]

(S. SO YEAH. lust sans. 💘💜💙)

(sona lore is theyre still besties but now theyre dating too woooo/////////)

(LN is still a thing- my skelesona (indigo) shipped with a lust (lavender)- theyre SO in love ur honor,, im just kinda flustered abt this new development lmaoaoaoaoaoao it shouldnt be that srs yk i just think its fun and interesting seeing how i feel abt certain characters and try to make something out of that stuff yk;;)

#oh theyre looking at a mirror btw but i didnt bother doing mirror stuff bc egh #(look even the dialogue isnt written ok- they R talking but i only know the Vibe and not their exact words jkgnfnf)#(leav me alon w my contextless stuff hjbfsdbhf)#😳#um #so a-anyway hhaha/// :):)#underlust!sans #lust!sans #ul!sans #self insert #mblue art #LM #got to think abt stuff again yk- anyway i very much... love my comfort character... (;ú///ù)#also hmm. inconsistent art style lol o(-<#i feel like i expose so much of my emotions through my art/posts lol im beign very;; indulgent;; weghdsjzjsj #this is normal right? ppl do this? kdbcdjsk #jjjust look at him guys ok... gods if u knew how hard i simped when i was working on this... ......... lmao #apparently trying (TRYING!!) to make him look more like og sans undertale-shaped gave me a shot to the simping heart #hes so handsome and kissable im am going to cry and bang my fist on the table for the nth time #(and maybe smooch him LOTS he deserves that for being so nice and sweet and charming an- HSDGFJHDFUCK)#i now associate a song to this bc i looped it the whole time i was working on this #the song didnt have to be so catchy and a bop but it DID #to anyone who has been reading my tags hello hi thanks for reading this far; have yall looped songs for so long like i did

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commsroom · 1 year

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when it comes down to it, however much i think about eiffel's memory, whatever my reasoning might be, i think there's a much simpler core explanation for why i feel the way i do. i've said before that, if eiffel did regain his memory, i would want it to happen through 'an eiffel version of change of mind' i.e. a personal inner journey where the narrative he tells himself amounts to some greater reminder, self-confrontation, and self-realization. and that's just it:

eiffel regaining his memory wouldn't be a cop out to me for the same reason that lovelace not actually dying isn't a cop out: it's not just a story beat, it's a catalyst for character development & a better understanding of lovelace as a person. eiffel has spent his whole life trying not to be the person he is, and i just don't feel wolf 359 is the type of story to let him off the hook for that, when the ending is as much about accountability (to ourselves and to others and all the ways those responsibilities overlap) as it is about hope. i think there are ways you could argue that eiffel can still be eiffel without regaining his memory, but i think i've convinced myself that the symbolic resurrection / self-confrontation and acceptance of all the people he's been in the past, in order to move forward, is the more compelling option, especially for what it parallels, and the "eiffel is still eiffel" part is non-negotiable. it doesn't even feel like a question to me.

(and it makes the most sense to me in the context of eiffel's survivor's guilt - "of course i was fine. the driver's always fine." - and tendency towards a type of self-sacrifice and self-punishment that the show ultimately denies him / that doesn't address his real problem. he thinks sacrificing himself for the people he cares about will make up for something, but it won't. having him make that sacrifice and then keep living and keep being doug eiffel, with everything that means, feels like the natural extension of constructive criticism.)

in another story, or in a more theoretical context, there are all kinds of questions you could ask about whether eiffel's memory loss means he's a different person now, but in this case... i think it's better understood in narrative terms and what it represents for him as a character than any broader philosophical conclusion about the nature of the self and human consciousness. (and it is in no way as absolute as people sometimes behave like it is, considering he still has a concept of, like... everything. but that's a whole other topic of discussion.) most importantly, i just don't believe wolf 359 is a story about ideas as much as it is a story about people, these people, and in order to (hypothetically) continue to tell a story about doug eiffel, well. he has to still be doug eiffel. one way or another.

#wolf 359 #w359 #doug eiffel #this was supposed to be a short post just to get some thoughts out #i don't know if it'll even make sense to other people like it makes sense to me.#obviously i have plenty of other thoughts about this. which belong in more structured posts #but i will say i still believe the question 'am i still doug eiffel?' is answered by its context -#that he's already asked 'am i still that same person?' - a different question. the answer to which would be 'no' even before #and that 'am i still doug eiffel?' is the set up for 'wanna find out together?'#that's the actual question being asked. it's the answer to the previous question and what the show leaves you with #when asked about the show the writers talk a lot about their fondness for 'earned happy endings' in those words #so i can only see the finale and any post-canon hypothetical through that lens #it's not a tragedy so any option that would make it feel like one just doesn't resonate #and i will say it feels important to me that he regains his memory but equally important that it doesn't happen right away #like i'm sure of this from a narrative perspective but from an in-universe one it has to be something he grapples with #the fact that eiffel almost certainly doesn't want to still be eiffel is the exact reason why he has to be.#it's the same 'earned happy endings' principle in my mind

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good-beanswrites · 7 months

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Could I request "cooking is an art form" with mahiru and presumbly orekoto? I read your Night drabble of those 2 and now the idea of a potential friendship has been stuck in my mind for days, that was probably the sweetest interpretation of him I've seen! Mahiru can't cook in the current state she's in though so I guess orekoto could act as her hands...?

Ah thank you so much!! I was so worried about doing Orekoto justice, that's so exciting you enjoyed 😭 We still don't have a ton of characterization for him, so bear with me, but I absolutely loved writing this. Thank you so much for the request -- with food playing such an important role in Mahiru's story/symbolism, and the pair's unique relationship, this made me so crazy to think about !!!

The knife twirled through Mikoto’s hands. He brought it down with a grunt. Emotion pulsed through his veins. He went back for another swipe, much harder than necessary. He wiped spatter from his face.

“You’re making a mess.” Mahiru observed from behind.

He glanced back to find her scowling at the tomato he was taking out his frustration on. “Who gives a shit? We’re not on cleanup duty.”

He wasn’t supposed to be on cooking duty, either. It was Mahiru’s night according to their usual rotation, but she was in no shape to do any physical activity. Mikoto must have volunteered, and also gotten into some fight about it, because now there he stood: angry at an unknown source, full of adrenaline, and worst of all, in charge of tonight’s curry.

“I suppose…” Mahiru said. “I think that’s Muu tonight, I’ll apologize to her later.”

It was unsettling, how she remained positively cheery as she walked him through each step of the recipe, despite her current condition and his bad attitude. Not that he’d ever turn his anger on her. Mikoto approved of her, and that was enough for him. She’d been going through so much at the hands of their common enemy, he wouldn’t say a single thing against her. Even as she tested his temper with her cooking instructions.

“No, no!” With her good hand, she tugged on the side of his uniform. “You have to turn the carrot as you cut it. Like -- yes, like that!”

Mikoto rolled his eyes as he did what he was told. “It’s all going to get cooked together anyways, it’s not a big deal.”

“It is! You have to take your time with things like this.” She placed her hand over her heart. “It’s about the process, not just the final product. Cooking is an art form!”

“It’s about the final product to me. I’m fucking starving.”

She was briefly distracted with the next set of instructions, telling him how to combine everything over how much heat. When she returned to the topic, her lighthearted voice was laced with a bit of desperation. “I mean it, there’s something magical about pouring your heart into something for someone else. Putting in your time. A little finesse here and there.”

“I know what it’s like to do something for someone else -- and there is absolutely no finesse involved. Or potatoes.” He gestured to the cut pieces before dumping everything into the pot over the stove.

“One of the most universal love languages is food, you know? People make meals and treats for their loved ones in every culture, in every time.”

“They do a lot of other things, too.”

“You went to art school, you understand. This is an expression of yourself!”

“It’s a waste of time.”

“It’s the surest way to help someone!”

“That’s a load of bullshit.”

There was a pause. Then a nervous laugh. Then, “yeah.” As she dropped into more uncharacteristic silence, he stole a glance at her.

Tears poured from her eyes.

“Mahiru?” Fuck, he didn’t mean to make her cry.

“It is.” she hiccuped. “I thought… I thought it could save him. I made this big meal… I thought… But I was so stupid…”

She buried her face in her hands, offering weak apologies for the sudden outburst. He threw the lid over the pot before stepping back to her.

“Hey, hey. Come on. Don’t cry.” It was a command rather than a comfort.

She didn’t listen. She just continued sobbing and blubbering on. “It was all stupid, worthless… I should have known…”

He crouched by the wheelchair. There didn’t even seem to be anything wrong, they’d just been talking about food. Why was she such a mess? He gave an impatient sigh. No reaction. What was Mikoto’s nickname for her again? “Listen, Mappi --”

She snapped her head up to look at him.

Her teary eyes flicked all over his face, making him scowl. “What?”

“Oh.” Her shoulders relaxed, though her breath still hitched. “Sorry. You said… and well… I thought you’d gone away. I want you to stay.” She took his hand. “You.”

His eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“Because you understand me.”

He did not. Like, at all. But he kept his mouth shut.

Thankfully, she was too talkative not to explain herself. “You love someone very much. That love turned out to be dangerous -- deadly. And you weren’t forgiven for it.” She pressed her lips together, suppressing the wave of emotion that almost overcame her. “And now we’re both getting what we deserve for it.”

“Like hell we are.” He felt the spark of rage again. “Neither of us deserve any of this shit, okay?”

“But --”

“No.” He glared at her. That familiar fire rose up inside him. “I’m tired of all your speeches and optimistic crap. You’re always falling over yourself for others. You’re pathetic. This place is hell, so you need to get your shit together and act like it. You might be willing to forgive the others, you might be able to treat them with that stupid sweetness all the time, but no one’s going to do the same for you. Stop letting them fuck with you.”

She gaped at him. He realized he’d leaned in very close. He prepared himself for more tears, or maybe some cowering away from him. Good. Mikoto didn’t need people like her who would convince him this verdict was deserved. He didn’t need any of these people. It was fine to push them all away.

Mahiru surprised him by leaning over. Her head rested on his chest. “It’s hard. It’s so hard, Mikoto. But… I’ll try.”

His attention was quickly ripped away by a hissing behind him. He yanked himself away from her to run to the curry, which was bubbling and burning and spilling out of the pan all over the stovetop.

With an outpouring of profanities and clattering of dishes, he cleaned the sad remains of dinner off the burner. When he looked back at Mahiru, she had dabbed at her eyes and composed herself slightly.

“It’s okay,” she said, “I’ll pick something easier you can make instead.”

“Nah, I’ll make more curry. Tell me how much of everything again.”

“A-alright.”

His agitation slowly faded as she began her gentle instructions again. Though he had just tore her apart for it, he was grateful for her patience with everyone around her. He probably could have left, then, seeing how calm the kitchen became. But he wasn’t risking ruining the meal a second time with an unexpected switch.

And maybe Mahiru’s words still played through his mind.

The food was back on the stove in no time. He stood diligently next to it. They’d lapsed into a content silence. He still didn’t know what had set her off earlier, but wasn’t about to ask questions.

Mahiru had regained her usual bright smile. “Hey, when I get better, I’ll cook something for you, okay? I think you don’t appreciate cooking because no one’s made something special for you before. I want to do that.”

He sneered. “Heh, sure. And I’ll let you in on my preferred art form.” His words were layered with sarcasm. By now, she could guess that included destroying things by putting all of one’s might behind a powerful swing.

But she giggled, completely unfazed. “Well, friendship is about give and take, right? I’d love to try.”

#milgram #mikoto kayano #mahiru shiina #trying to find a balance between his canon violent temper and harsh mannerisms #while showing hes not uncontrollable/frightening and is very protective of his friends as well as himself #he cares but he can only communicate very simply/bluntly #hes used to people being afraid of him specifically so hes suspicious of kindness (but still it means a lot to him)#i wasnt able to articulate it here but i think mahiru likes him so much because of his honesty #when she thought he looked like a cheater it was because she could pick up on his secrets/lies (even if he was unintentionally keeping it)#that and the fact she thinks theyre very similar #i mention he loves bokukoto -- this genuinely could be platonic or romantic depending on your thoughts #but mahiru definitely assumes its romantic asdfsdfds #omg the mental gymnastics i was going through when i first got this request because i wanted this exact setup but knew milgram wouldnt allo #prisoners to just be around all the dangerous utensils and kitchen items -- they could just steal a knife after all!#so i had all these meticulous plans to make it work and then amanes vd was like 'yeah anyone can just pick up a blade whenever' -_- ok #thank you again!! it really did make me crazy to think about it was such a good combination 👀👀👀#and i really was so relieved to do his character some justice ;-; thank you for your kind words!#drabbles

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tvckerwash · 2 months

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do yall ever think about how weird wash's fight scene in s12 is? specifically, that moment where he does that sideways flip while shooting (I believe) at felix? like wash is an enjoyer of combat rolls, my man is always rolling, but that one flip is a flashy, and dare I say, unnecessary move for wash to use.

I also find it interesting that they had him use his sidearm instead of his battle rifle, since in previous cqc situations wash has always used blades or blade like objects such as the epsilon unit. the only times I recall him using a magnum off the top of my head is when he shot south in s6, when he shot donut in s8, and when he threatened carolina in s10. if wash busting out his magnum, it's always symbolic of him letting some part of his personal feelings guide his actions, because shooting someone with a sidearm meant for close range is more intimate than using his primary mid/long range weapon.

this was obviously not the case in the s12 fight, and they probably did it just because it looked cool, but idk that's my random wash thought of the day.

#rvb #red vs blue #agent washington #mine #not t/oaru #look we all know that the chorus trilogy combat doesn't compare to monty's but idk i feel like they just didn't /get/ wash's fighting style #wash is pretty nimble and quick on his feet #he's not as graceful or as aggressive(?) as lina but he's definitely the kind of guy who doesn't just stand around and let himself get hit #words are not working atm so idk how to describe it but he's like not an exact equivalent but he acts as lina's counterpart among the dudes #like he's not staying in one place he's not muscle-ing his way through a fight he's dodging weaving dancing around his opponents #if he needs to get close he gets close if he needs to back off he backs off #carolina is short bursts of high intensity combat meant to overwhelm her opponents #wash is more focused on endurance and steadily picking away at his opponents over a longer period of time #but they both share that sort of “it's not bad if you don't let it hit you” mentality if that makes sense #also related to this post. why did he cut his hand and throw his blood on locus in the s13 fight. wash literally fought the meta who used #the same cloaking tech without needing to do anything like that bc he paid attention to his surroundings #or when he needed to take off his helmet to find locus via the trail from his gun #like yeah its cool but. idk it doesn't /feel/ like stuff wash would necessarily do you know?#idk I'm chalking it up to miles going like “my characters need to be so much better and so much cooler than these characters.” or smthn

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mayxo-hxh · 8 months

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thinking abt illumi always using hisoka's last name whenever they're outside mainly because the zoldyck name attracts too much attention and he doesnt want that but also because hearing illumi morow makes hisoka have multiple floaty hearts above his head and woozy for the rest of the day

illumi registers as "hisoka and illumi morow" in a restaurant and hisoka starts giggling and batting his eyelashes and follows illumi to the table with heart eyes while also floating behind him cartoon style

However, when Illumi hears "Hisoka Zoldyck" it triggers the most feral parts of his brain. His eyes grow so wide for a couple of seconds it completely betrays everything he'd just felt at that moment before composing himself. Hisoka obviously takes notice of that and is like. ohohohohoooo.

He uses it to tease Illumi while theyre alone ONCE. just ONCE. and illumi pounced on him like a predator. the quickest way hisoka learned that this was not just a reaction trigger word for illumi. it was an ACTION. he just has a godly amount of self control when theyre not alone.

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stromer · 11 months

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hank green’s hating style is so unmatched because he confirmed on the interwebs he’s pretty much a boss baby stan and added another layer to the one-sided mt19 feud lore

#did he say it in those exact words?? no. but he is #he sees the sens appeal. he’s so me. and since he’s so me that can only mean one thing…#all that even matters anyway is that brady came out on top and he won #through hate maybe bridezillas can win. amen

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kelpiemomma · 1 year

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It was a knock at the door that pulled Ingo out of a deep slumber.

It was not frantic, not a sound that had him leaping out of his bed in a panic, but it was firm. Insistent. It compelled him to emerge from the warm comfort of his blankets, piled and wrapped atop of a straw bed to block the chill of the night, and to the thin wooden door blocking the chill and snow. He stumbled in the dark, tripping over smoothed wood and catching himself on the wall of the hut. His hand grasped the coat he’d hung up before crawling into bed and he pulled it down, wrapping it around himself like a protective cloak. Still with no light, and no real thought process beyond answer the door, Ingo pulled it open.

“How may I-” he began the sentence through a yawn, cut off midway by the sight before him.

The ground was lit by the moon in the sky, bright enough that Ingo could clearly see the person who had woken him up. It was impossible to determine an immediate gender so Ingo didn’t even bother to try. Whoever they were had long hair, a light gold that nearly appeared white in the moonlight. They had a long, stern nose with a flat bridge. Their gaze was flat and serious, lips thin as they stared down - very, very far down - at Ingo. At full height Ingo was a few inches taller than those around him within the village, but this person made him feel like a child. If his head came up to their chest he would be surprised. They were dressed in what appeared to be an old-fashioned white robe, the wind carrying across the valley lifting it gently before placing it back down as though it was the most delicate fabric. Intricate golden details laced the trim. Perhaps it was the sleep but it seemed to Ingo’s mind that the trim was… moving. One moment he thought there was a sun rising over a valley, and in the next it seemed to be some sort of battle between two pokemon. Hands appeared and disappeared, a wave of appraisal and worship before sinking down into a wave.

Rubbing his eyes to clear the odd sight - and upon second glance, the delicate lace no longer slipped through design - Ingo took a second look. Their height had not decreased at all but he was able to notice something new. Something that, somehow, he had missed in his awed staring. The person’s arms were wrapped around their chest in a cradling position. A blanket, the color of which he’d never seen before, was swaddled tightly. Though the hold was confident there was also a looseness to it that sent alarm bells ringing through Ingo’s mind, waking him up further. As he opened his mouth to speak the bundle moved, a tiny fist raising itself from the blanket and pounding on the person’s chest. Barely a moment later, a piercing cry erupted from the blanket as well. The stranger did not blink. They barely seemed to notice the noise at all. Their hooded green gaze had not left Ingo’s face.

“Is that- are you carrying a child? Are you hurt? Are they hurt? Here, please- come inside, I’ll get a fire started! It’s awfully cold tonight; a baby shouldn’t be out in this weather.” Ingo reached out impulsively, grasping for a sleeve and ending up with an arm ful of wailing baby. He pulled the child close to his chest in surprise, looking down into light eyes full of tears. The infant hiccuped through their tears, arm waving furiously. He grasped the limb gently to protect his own face only for his hand to be pulled down towards the babe’s face. They immediately began gnawing on his fingers, the wail dying gradually as they found something to occupy themself. The cold was forgotten.

Something clicked into place.

“Warden Ingo,” the person before him finally spoke, pulling Ingo’s gaze reluctantly away from the baby, “I leave her to you.”

“I’m sorry? I’m- I’m not a Warden? I'm just- a guest. Why are you- are you leaving? Are you leaving your child behind?” Anger rose in his chest. Was this infant being abandoned? Directly into his arms?!

“She was never meant to join this world. She was not part of my plan. I heard the world cry and there she was.”

“Do you need help? If you can’t raise her on your own you may join the village, I’m sure. They would be willing to take in a parent in need!”

“I am not her parent. I brought her into existence but she is not mine. She never has been and never will be.” There was a darkness in the person’s eyes, a bitter sort of anger laying under those words. They were sharp, pointed enough that the baby wiggled in Ingo’s arms and let out a high-pitched whine. Immediately he rubbed their - her? - cheek, the whine slipping into a gurgle. His fingers were pulled and tugged on until the baby managed to slip a fingertip into their mouth, chewing on his limb. Ingo’s gaze never left the person’s before him, though they finally dared to look away from him. Their flat expression became something like a sneer as they looked down before it was schooled into disinterest once again.

“As you were never meant to be here either, I leave her to you. I would bid that you take care not to lose her and do not tell others where she came from.” The person slid their hands into their sleeves, the gold filigree flashing blindingly bright as the sleeves made contact. Ingo turned away to block his and the child’s eyes. “Not even I know where she may end up next time.”

When the light faded and Ingo could look again the person was gone. He took several steps forward, looking around to try and see where they had vanished to, but not even the snow gave a hint at what direction the person had gone in. Only the moon looked down at Ingo, the light solemn and soft. He turned his gaze to the infant in his arms; cheeks were being carelessly bitten by the wind and turning red, eyes wrinkled up in discomfort and watery, but his finger remained chewed on. Despite the infant’s abandonment, they didn’t appear disturbed. In fact they appeared… content. As the chill nipped insistently at Ingo’s bare feet, driving him back into his hut to pull the door shut, so did the baby’s eyes. They let out a gurgling noise, grip tightening on Ingo’s fingers, and then they began to snore.

Ingo rubbed his face, trudging back towards his bed. There were things he needed to do and yet- something pushed him towards the blankets. He pushed them to the side, keeping the infant in one hand while removing his long coat. Using it and a blanket he created a nest to cradle the little one in. As he set the child inside, covering them with one of his sleeves, they sighed in what he could have mistaken for content. One chubby fist grabbed the wristband of his coat while the other migrated to the infant’s mouth, thumb settling into place as though it belonged there. Half awake and half aware, Ingo prepared his own blankets upon his straw bed. He put the infant between himself and the wall, and then hesitated before moving them between himself and the opening of the room. Then he hesitated again- the wall would be colder, but perhaps safer, right? If the baby was facing the room it might roll out of the blankets and fall off the bed. It wasn’t a long drop by any means, but still! He swapped the child to the other side once again, wrapping another blanket around and over the nest, and then laid there.

What had just happened? Where had the baby’s parent gone? They had said they weren’t, but where else could it have come from? Had it been stolen?

Despite his concern that these thoughts would keep him awake, another force pulled Ingo’s eyelids down and he drifted off to sleep.

It was a knock at the door that pulled Ingo out of slumber.

The sound was quick and heavy, quickly joined by a voice.

“Mr Ingo! Are you awake?”

It was not so much a genuine question as much as it was a wakeup call. One that he was used to at this point. Several months among the Pearl Clan had helped him come to understand not only their language but their habits- he was needed, and so they were waking him.

Sunlight warmed the wooden floor as Ingo slipped out from under his blankets and padded across the floor. His head felt fuzzy and he felt a little confused; his jacket was not hanging up where he had put it the night before and there was a small snowdrift on one side of the door. He looked at it curiously, trying to figure out where it had come from, as he opened the door.

Irida stood before him, her gaze slightly narrowed and her brows drawn tight. Rather than angry he could see the stress in her expression, the way she held herself. He wondered what had happened.

“Good morning, Miss Irida.” ingo said. “How may I be of help?”

“Mr Ingo, it’s almost afternoon. We had a large amount of snowfall last night and need your help. Since you’re an early riser we thought you had already gone out- are you ill to have slept so long?” She asked. “We can’t have anyone else getting sick not so soon after the last wave!”

Ingo blinked, shaking his head and raising a hand. He had arrived, lost and freezing, to the Pearl Clan at the tail end of a lingering sickness. Though he had been cold he had also been healthy and immediately stepped in to help the recovering clan; distrustful members had warily guided the confused man around the territory to gather berries and check game. They doubted his memory loss but couldn’t afford to deny his aid. To many he had been a necessary evil. To some, he still was. To Irida, who was still young but in the running to lead the clan, he was a goal.

“I apologize, Miss Irida. I woke up last night after having a very strange dream. It must have taken me a while to fall asleep, if I indeed slept until noon. I will get ready to help.”

He went to close the door so he could dress, sighing out, “the moon was so bright it seemed to be daylight.”

Irida shot him a look.

“Mr Ingo, there was no moon at all last night.” She stated. “It’s why we didn’t see the amount of snow until this morning, despite the watch.”

Ingo froze.

“No,” he said slowly, “no, there very much was a moon. In fact, there was a person as well. They-”

From his bed came a piercing wail. Ingo froze and Irida jumped.

“Mr Ingo,” she said after a moment of listening to the crying child, “is that a baby?”

Pulled out of his panic by her words Ingo rushed to pick the child up. A terrible smell greeted his nose as he removed the baby from the nest of blankets and coat.

“There was a moon,” he said as he stared at the crying child, “it was full and bright, and-”

“Moon later, baby now.” Irida said, taking the infant from his hands. She paused, and then glared at him. “Baby explanation later, baby cleanup now. Where do you keep your changing supplies?”

“She was a… a gift,” Ingo replied dumbly; somehow it felt like the right description, “I have nothing.”

Irida stared at him in complete confusion and irritation before she sighed.

“Baby explanation later, finding the baby new nappies and…. ergh, new clothes now.” She exited his hut with the wailing child. As if pulled by a string Ingo followed, barely slipping his shoes on before stumbling into the soft snow that had yet to be cleared from in front of his home. He ignored the stares as Irida marched - baby held in front of her like a shield - to the home of Calaba. The old Warden was opening the door before they were within ten feet of the house, watching them approach with barely concealed displeasure. She allowed them in with pursed lips and the shake of her head.

Ingo dreaded to know what she was thinking.

As he watched Irida strip the infant to clean her, all the while narrating what she was doing as if Ingo was paying that much attention, one set of words caught his ear.

“I’m sorry, Miss Irida, I am- I am a little… a little off course. Could you please repeat yourself?”

She shot him an irritated glare over her shoulder. This one was truly angry with him; he would be sure to get an earful later. Though she was mostly fair she was also a hot-headed young woman determined to become the next lead of the clan. It was possible this had just hurt her chances.

“I said, Mr Ingo, what’s her name?”

“Her name?” He repeated, “I- I don’t know. They… she didn’t come with a name.”

“They normally don’t,” Calaba snapped from behind him, “which is why their parents give them one. She may be a little young for a name yet- she doesn’t look that old. You moved awfully quick Mr Ingo.” Her tone left no room for doubt- she believed that he had impregnated someone and left them, only for them to return the favor and deposit the baby on his doorstep.

“Warden Calaba, she’s not mine. Someone- someone stopped by last night, in the full moon, and gave her to me. Surely one of the watch noticed them!” He turned to her in an attempt to defend himself. Calaba snorted and crossed her arms.

“It was a new moon, Mr Ingo. There was no light at all. Perhaps you made your own light- did you track someone down and take their child?”

“I would never! That is- that is a horrible thing to insinuate, Warden Calaba, regardless of your affection or lack thereof for me! There were no footprints outside my door, were there? I couldn’t have gone anywhere!” He spun to face Irida. She was tying a new diaper onto the baby, ignoring the wails in her ears.

“With the amount of snowfall last night, footsteps would’ve disappeared quickly Mr Ingo.” She answered sorrowfully. She was loathe to agree with Warden Calaba and her harsh tongue.

“Do you believe I stole this child?” Ingo demanded of her.

Irida finished wrapping the infant, handing her back to Ingo. Only once she was in his arms, face buried in his chest as she gripped his tunic tightly with chubby fists, did she quiet. WIth her wails ceased the silence prevailed in the room as Ingo stared at Irida, who looked between himself and Calaba. If the warden didn’t like her, her chances of achieving leadership would drop even further.

“No,” Irida finally said, “in all the time you’ve been here, you haven’t come off as that sort of person, regardless of how others have seen you. But the baby-”

“I don’t know where she came from. I awoke to a knock at my door last night and someone gave her to me. They did not introduce themselves, only told me not to lose her, and then they left. I thought it was a dream until she began to cry after soiling herself.” Ingo said firmly. He turned to look at Calaba as he spoke, meeting her impassive gaze firmly. There was a tense moment until she grunted and looked away.

“So a mystery person dropped a baby onto a stranger’s lap.” She muttered.

“I’ll organize a search party,” Irida said, “a couple. If they were around last night then they must be nearby- the snow was falling much too heavy and quickly for them to have gotten far.”

Ingo understood the insinuation- they were, most likely, looking for a corpse.

“Until then… we should find her a home with a wetnurse, and-” Irida went to take the child from Ingo despite having just deposited her back into his arms. He tightened his grip just as Irida’s hands clasped onto her sides. Feeling the other touch the baby began to scream. Irida immediately stepped back, covering her ears, while Ingo turned away and rocked from side to side. She quieted after a few moments, gurgling quietly against his chest once more. Ingo and Irida looked at each other. She reached out to take the baby again. Ingo didn’t tighten his grasp this time, slightly holding her away from him, but as soon as Irida touched her she opened her mouth to scream once more.

Irida stepped back, expression turning to confusion. “She won’t let me take her.” She said.

Calaba scoffed.

“She’s an infant. Give her here, she’ll quiet down if you just hold her a moment.” She demanded.

Ingo reluctantly handed the baby over. Just like with Irida, as soon as Calaba had a hold of her she began to shriek her displeasure. Calaba pulled her close and began to rock her as Ingo had, but as the minutes passed on the shrieking turned to sobs. Like the night before the baby raised her fists, pounding on Calaba’s chest to express her displeasure. One of them must have nailed the older woman well because she let out a surprised breath, her arms’ hold weakening momentarily. Ingo was there in a heartbeat, reaching out to take hold of the girl.

Once she was back in his arms she began to grow quiet, wrapping a hand in his tunic as her sobs turned to crying, turning to whines that quieted into hiccuping breaths as he rocked her. Her teary eyes met his gaze with an unexpected intensity. She held onto his tunic in a way that, were she an adult, Ingo would believe to be some desperation. Don’t let me go, she seemed to be begging, don’t let them take me away!

I won’t, Ingo thought back, I won’t let them take you. I promise.

“Well,” Irida said after a moment, “I believe that she wishes to stay with Ingo.”

“Hmph. She’ll still need a wetnurse unless he’s hiding milk behind that tunic.” Calaba said the words dismissively. “He’ll also need to learn how to change her, and get her clothes, and-”

“Akari.” Ingo said, breaking the sentence.

“Who? We don’t have an Akari in the village. Is that her mother?” Irida asked, approaching. She kept a distance from the baby, preparing to step back in case the screaming started once more. Wrapped in Ingo’s arms the baby met her gaze placidly.

“No. It’s… her. Her name.” Ingo trailed a finger from the girl’s forehead, where small wisps of dark hair were already threatening to fall in her face, down over her nose. She smiled and giggled, wrapping a hand around Ingo’s finger and shaking it. Ingo couldn’t help but think she must feel excited.

“Her name is Akari.”

#Pokemon legends Arceus #PLA #Irida #Ingo #Akari #After encasing myself in dad and found dad media I had an idea #I mean I have my own lol PLA universe which includes my OCs but #I haven't touched it bc reasons but honestly #Fuck it we ball. New series with 0 pressure for me lol #Other things are still a wip but I also needed to practice uploading on AO3 #Some things did not load as they should so there is that issue...#Not a big problem with 3k words but uh.#I don't want to be combing through 20k to fix italics and stuff #Esp on such a small and limited screen #Anyway I'm rambling now. Here's some fic. Have some infant Akari #Arceus is a deadbeat dad (they're upset Akari screamed as soon as they picked her up)#(Arceus is like 'why does she not immediately love me? Time to re-home her')#Haven't decided the exact behavior of Arceus in this one but at the very least they're not as malicious as they are in #Like 99% of my other fics (sorry. I like naughty bad god Arceus)#Uhhhh personal tagging for tracking hmmmm....#OBF series #That'll do pig. That'll do.

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