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#im just very good at hiding it
ratguy-nico · 6 months
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okey today was a waste. I didn't want to start something new because I have no head for that. So I start working in a scketch from months ago. and get instantly regret with the result, but hey…I tried to do something so dont be harsh on me.
I bring up all the layers so you couldn't see how awful it is. And also because my process is a mess.
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xamaxenta · 18 days
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I rly need to curb my anger better
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there was no place in nature we could meet ; suguru geto
synopsis; it’s never fun to run into an ex. especially when the ex in question is your unfairly handsome high school sweetheart — who also just so happens to be a wanted mass murderer.
word count; 3.3k
contents; suguru geto/reader, gn!reader, geto-typical angst, exes to [redacted], lots of longing, geto is kind of a cunt but also disgustingly charming, reader is understandably upset, biblical imagery (i just think he’s so serpent coded), curse user geto is his own warning tbh
a/n; i wanted this to be a drabble so bad but it ended up just a little too long for me to get away w it so … :’3 yeah. i hate suguru geto (said w affection)
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the moon is out.
in the shadows of the street corner you find yourself in, seated comfortably on the sidewalk, it’s a welcome distraction. something to look at, in the midst of your loneliness; the evanescent glow of the moon, illuminating your solitude.
a solitude soon to be broken. shattered into pieces, battered and bruised beyond recognition, jagged shards littering the asphalt. digging into the soles of your shoes.
”hey.”
for a second, you think you must be dreaming.
the figure obscuring the light of the lamp post in front of you is familiar. too familiar, a little too dear for your liking. as you grasp your shitty cup ramen, seeking the warmth seeping through the polystyrene, all you can do is stare. blinking dumbly, drowsily.
geto looks something like a bad omen.
sharp facial features, even sharper eyes. so dark they almost shift from an amber-tainted cedar into an obsidian black — two abysses, staring into your soul, beckoning you closer. they were always enchanting, but now you think they look almost hypnotizing. not at all in a good way. dark hair frames his face, cascading down his back, longer than you remember it being. and he’s wearing robes.
still has those fucked up bangs, though. of all the things to keep.
the gears of your mind turn, endlessly, untangling the mess of thoughts inside your brain. ensuring you that no, you are not hallucinating, and no, you didn’t fall into a deep slumber somewhere between the moment you exited the convenience store and sat down by one of tokyo’s empty street corners. this is real. a reality you can’t comprehend, can’t even begin to process.
what stands in front of you is a ghost. but ghosts don’t exist, can’t be seen, can’t touch the living.
(so how is he able to haunt you like this?)
what eventually jolts you out of your silent stupor is not the questioning tilt of his head, nor the suffocating sensation of your heart crawling up your throat, but the feeling of soft fur against your leg. the stray cat you met further down the street meows at you, sweetly, trying to get your attention. you think she must be asking for more grilled fish.
so, completely ignoring the apparition in front of you, you turn to reach for the little plastic bag you bought as a midnight snack — digging out a bit of fish for the kitty to enjoy. she seems happy, settling down by your feet. purring softly.
geto watches, eerily silent. 
(maybe he’s upset that you’re ruining his dramatic entrance. you hope so.)
finally, you have no choice but to look at him. a lump forms in the back of your throat, clogging up a little more for every second spent falling into the trap he’s laid out for you, trailing over his moonlit features with your tired gaze.
mouth full of noodles, staring holes into his attire, you narrow your eyes. suddenly disgruntled.
his lips quirk up. ”something the matter?” he asks, and you can’t even begin to describe how much you hate his voice. how devastatingly deep it is, during the late hours of the night, even deeper than it was back in high school. 
slurping up the soggy noodles, you lean back a little, licking some broth off your lips. finally meeting those abyssal eyes. 
”… i was gonna say those robes look like shit on you,” comes an exhale, weary, ”but you actually kinda pull them off. that’s…” 
a beat. you struggle to find the right word. 
”annoying.”
geto’s lips curl up, smoothly, and you find a hint of familiar amusement in the vague crinkle of his eyes. barely visible crows’ feet. then he’s moving — plopping down right beside you, robes fluttering with the breeze.
”well, thank you.” he hums; crossing his legs.
the silence that festers around you is odd. not quite suffocating, nor especially fragile. definitely not comforting. it’s familiar, yet different, and it hurts a bit more than it should. but you choose to look at him, out of the corner of your eye, and he looks right back at you. still smiling that eerie smile.
when your eyes settle on the particular cloth wrapped around his torso, you just barely manage to bite back a taunting chuckle.
”a gojo-kesa, huh?” you grin, and geto doesn’t flinch. he doesn’t miss the meaningful glint in your eyes, either. ”you miss him that much?”
”just a coincidence,” is all he answers. smiling, but you think it looks a little stiff.
your grin widens, for a second, before settling back down. a sad transition. you let it go. 
”whatever you say, geto.”
at that, he visibly reacts. barely noticeable, but it’s there — a twitch of his lithe fingers, an unknown something that flickers through the scope of his iris. when he looks at you, a neutral smile is playing at his lips. 
”ah. i take it we’re not on first name basis anymore, then?” he asks, casually, hiding a tinge of something mildly displeased.
a shrug. you pick at what’s left of your ramen with your chopsticks, a little too nauseous to enjoy it. ”call me what you want. i just don’t see suguru when i look at you, y’know?” leaning forward, you begin to pet the kitty by your feet. ”he was sweeter.”
geto smiles. almost a grin, but not quite there. a chuckle spills out from his lips, and something about it irritates you. ”was he?”
”yeah,” you nod. without hesitation. a summer-stained memory blooms behind your eyelids, but you try not to look at it. all you catch is a glimpse of cherry blossoms. ”you just seem bitter.” 
the grin that finds its way onto your lips is self-deprecating. a shadow falls over your face.
”guess we’re in the same boat, huh?”
a hum buzzes in his throat. he casts a meaningful glance towards your hand, scratching behind the cat’s ear. ”oh, i don’t know about that.” his smile grows with the drawl. ”.. you seem just as sweet as always.”
to your grave annoyance, you can’t control the way your face changes at his words. a twitch of your lips gives away your discontentment, and something sour settles on the tip of your tongue.
(your blood begins to boil, beneath your skin.)
geto sighs, suddenly, filling the tense silence between you — a little theatrical. ”ah, but that’s a shame.” he turns to you, soft pout playing at his lips. ”i was hoping i could hear you call me suguru again…”
”— i was hoping you’d come back.”
a beat.
somewhere outside your vision, a crow takes flight into the night sky. swallowed by darkness, melting into that sea of black. no longer perceivable, by you or the world.
”but you never did,” the polystyrene of the plastic cup crinkles beneath your fingers. your eyes look dull. ”so what the fuck do you want, exactly?”
”i heard.” geto rests his jaw on the heel of his palm, gazing at you with those piercing eyes. like he’s trying to see inside your brain. ”… about your decision.”
”ah,” a grin splits across the curve of your lips, showing off the white of your teeth. ”of course. that’s what this is about, huh?”
with groggy movements, you throw away your nearly-empty cup of noodles, haphazardly aiming towards a trash can across the street. it bounces off the steel cover, landing on the ground with a soft thud. leftover broth spilling out across the pavement. geto doesn’t bother to hide his amusement, lips twitching upwards before he sends a curse to eat it from the asphalt.
you furrow your brows in embarrassed annoyance.
a moment passes, and something in you knows that he’s waiting. it’s like you can practically sense it, like it’s etched into your bones. the same way you always knew exactly when he would begin to get impatient during your nightly convenience store runs back in high school — after you had spent about ten solid minutes struggling to decide what kind of chips you wanted. 
”what can i say?” you lean back, palms against rough concrete, breathing in the midnight air. ”you inspired me.”
geto tilts his head. smiling. always, always smiling. he smiled at you the day before he massacred that village, too. ”oh?”
with a deep breath, cool air courses through your body. burning your lungs. ”i realized being a sorcerer is completely fucking meaningless,” you exhale through your nose. ”and that trying to change that fact is even more meaningless.” 
a wicked, rueful grin rests on your lips. ”so i left.”
geto doesn’t say anything. you continue, voice dripping with venom.
”i’m a civilian now,” you purr, mocking, a sardonic coo on your tongue. ”does that bother you? feel like killing me?”
his smile looks a little off, now. tilted in a direction you don’t want to recognize. you don’t care to examine it further, don’t care to figure out if it might look just a little bit sad, because that’d only hurt more.
so you look away.
a click of his tongue. then he speaks, with that honeyed voice, raspy and husky. almost a groan. ”well, i can’t say i approve.”
he’s looking at you. sharp eyes digging into your skin, dissecting you, a million words he expects you to grasp from that look alone.
”you’re better than them,” he states, matter-of-factly, and you try not to squirm when his eyes trail over your features. ”worlds better.” his voice sounds almost motherly, a twisted concern that makes you cower a little. like he’s scolding you. a crease between his brows.
”i don’t like the thought of you surrounded by these animals.”
a huff pushes past your lips, but it sounds shakier than you’d like it to. you hope he just chalks it up to the chill of the air. then again, when has he ever made anything easy for you?
”what, you got a problem with cats now?” you reach for the little furball licking grilled fish off the concrete, picking it up. cradling it close. ”gonna go on a cat-killing spree?”
an amused exhale. geto narrows his eyes. ”funny,” he hums, but his eyes say you know what i mean.
it takes you a moment to regain control over your breathing. there’s still something tense in your shoulders, and your heart still feels a little like it might jump out of your throat and crawl into his lap. the stray cat slips from your grasp, moving towards geto, curiously sniffing at his robes. he looks at it with no ill intent, and it puts you at ease.
”well, i appreciate the concern, buddy,” you pat his back, trying not to flinch at the contact. trying to appear relaxed. ”but frankly, i don’t give a shit. i actually like my job, unlike literally every single sorcerer on planet earth.”
geto stills.
”.. buddy?” he echoes, ignoring every other bitter word you just graced him with. for some reason, he actually seems visibly bothered. ”i’m buddy now?”
you click your tongue. muttering, tiredly. a little exasperated. ”.. what else would you be?”
and then he smiles, again. only this time, it looks oddly genuine. the same as you remember, framed by cherry blossoms and the fizzle of youth.
his movements are smooth. like he’s completely unguarded, like this situation doesn’t bother him in the slightest. elegant, in the way he leans back, palms on the concrete to support his weight. keeping eye contact with you, all the while.
when he speaks, his voice has a sweet tinge to it. nostalgic, maybe. wistful. if you hear a touch of longing, you choose to ignore it.
”i seem to recall you calling me baby quite a lot,” he hums, and you stiffen. gritting your teeth. eyes darkening, but he continues. ”what else was there? angel, i think… it was sweet.”
then he’s leaning forward. scratching the cat under its chin, gently. ”ironic, though.”
an inhale. then, an exhale. they’re a little shaky, a little meek, but at least they make the lump in your throat feel less like it’s blocking your windpipe. air fills your lungs, but it tastes like nothing at all. 
something like sorrow simmers in your eyes. or maybe more like fatigue. god, you really want to cry.
(you wonder if he gets some sickening satisfaction out of seeing you like this, out of breaking you. maybe it just makes him feel rotten. you don’t know what you’d prefer.)
”suguru,” you murmur, at last. voice dripping with exhaustion. defeated, the sigh that flows from your lips. ”why did you come here?”
”join me.”
the words spill out into the open air, slicing the silence in half. heavy. a request, not a question. against your better judgement, you turn your head to meet his gaze.
”we could use you,” he says, and there’s hope in those keen eyes. he maintains his distance, but for some reason you still feel like prey being sized up by a predator. like he’s weighing your value.
a chuckle slips from your lips, but there’s no humour to it. ”use me…” you echo, a tired murmur under your breath. ”you're just straight up admitting it, huh? kinda refreshing.”
”that’s not what i meant.”
he inches closer. slowly, as if trying not to scare you. reaching out, to brush through your bangs, his fingertips ghosting over your skin. tangling them between your locks, inserting himself into your space. testing the waters. 
you don’t look at him, completely still. barely breathing. like a wounded animal.
”i want you there,” he says, and it comes out almost as a whisper. ”with us.”
unable to resist the temptation, you indulge in a single brief glance his way. his eyes look warm, and his lips look soft as they part.
”with me.” 
there’s a devotion to his voice when he continues, one he’s always had. one you thought you’d always be able to trust. ”i’ll create a world where you can be happy,” he vows. ”i swear it.”
a moment passes.
(you swallow thickly. it takes everything you have not to burst into tears. when you remember how he brushed you off, back then, it gets a little easier. when you remember all the skipped meals.)
”.. like you give a damn.”
geto smiles. you loathe how soft it looks, how similar it is to the one suguru always had. when you used to eat your ramen too quickly and started choking on it, and he brought a palm to your upper back, patting it gently. he’d chuckle, and tell you to slow down, and the softness of his smile would almost be enough to distract you from the amusement in his eyes. 
”my love.”
you flinch. breath drawing back at the base of your throat, heart screeching to a halt, and some part of you emerges; the shy, sweet kid you used to be. hanging on to his every world. like he was your sun, your guiding light. back when that purr of my love had you blushing furiously, not choking back a string of curses.
it’s sudden, and you can’t react the way you want to. you want to kill him for calling you that. for thinking he has any right to call you his, anymore.
but that sweet, naive, innocent little kid still exists. even if you want to pretend otherwise. it’s there, somewhere, that part of you — peeking out from behind the curtain. and it stops you from saying anything that might hurt him.
(it’s so hard to hate him when he calls you that.)
if geto notices your inner turmoil — he must — then he doesn’t mention it. you don’t say anything, but you hope the amused, harsh exhale you partake in is signal enough for him to cut it off. now.
yet he continues. there’s love in his voice when he speaks, barely contained. if he’s trying not to hurt you he’s doing an awful job.
”… i never stopped thinking of you,” he whispers, so low you almost miss it. ”not once. i left for you, not just for myself.”
and, despite every part of your being resisting it, a sweetness settles on your tongue. so sweet it’s sickening; the thought that maybe he’s telling the truth, maybe he really has been thinking of you. maybe you’re more to him than just a means to meet an end, or a memory yet to be buried.
geto looks at the moon. bathed in moonlight, he looks a little like a god. like something reverent. his voice is honeyed. low, like a secret.
”this world doesn't deserve you.”
silence.
a subtle anger trickles through your veins, a kind of fury, subdued, carefully tucked away. sparking to life inside the depths of your eyes when you look at him. bitter, given everything. but your voice still comes out sounding something like a plea.
”and you think you do?”
another smile. this time, it looks a little sad. remorseful, maybe. ”… let me prove myself.”
his touch burns. the pads of his fingers against your cold skin, cupping your cheek. slithering down to grasp your hand. and you’re pliant, unable to react. just sitting with that aching hollow feeling in your chest.
”i wasn’t worthy, back then,” he hums, bringing your hand to his lips. ”but now…”
a kiss to your knuckle. featherlight. reverent. you try not to shiver, but when he says your name, dragging each syllable out, like they belong on his tongue —
a chill runs down your spine.
when he speaks, you feel his warm breath on your skin. it’s dizzying. ”i’m not the same suguru you once knew,” he admits, a forlorn look in his eyes. and devotion, frighteningly sincere. ”unlike him — i’ll never let you go.”
what a twisted desire. he wants to take you with him, drag you down to hell. the suguru you knew wouldn’t put you through that. but maybe you’re even more twisted, for wishing he had; for wishing he had taken you with him, ten years ago, instead of leaving without a single goodbye.
geto’s voice is soft. coaxing, like he's handling a frightened mouse. join me, he whispers, and you think of eve. when you look at his mouth you think you see serpents’ teeth behind his lips.
(you're almost sure he notices it. and you're almost sure his smile widens, lips curling up, as if preparing to open his maw and swallow you whole.)
a sickening sense of resignation roots itself somewhere in your gut. 
you pull your hand away, and he lets you. the loss of warmth hits you like a freight train, but you aren’t sure you could think clearly with his skin on yours. when you part your lips to speak, only air comes out, just barely forming a sentence. like there are no more words to say. like the world stopped spinning around you both a lifetime ago.
”i don't love you.”
for just a second, his smile falters. 
”no?” he hums, and you wish it didn’t hurt so bad to see him hurt. his eyes carry a kind of patience, something gentle. ”it’s fine… these things take time.”
a bitter chuckle. ”like you’d know anything about waiting,” you spit, and it comes out sounding venomous. a phantom ache sprouts in the spot where his lips touched your skin.
geto closes his eyes.
”you don't need to love me,” he says, finally. kind. you hate that he still sounds so kind. so understanding, like nothing you do could be wrong in his eyes. ”as long as you're beside me, that's enough.” 
he turns to look at you, and his smile looks very real, for a moment. impossibly fond. ”i have two daughters. i’ve told them about you,” he smiles. ”my family… you’d like them. i know they’d like you.”
dark clouds cover the moon, suddenly, and a shadow falls across you both. illuminated only by the streetlight. in the distance, you hear a car whooshing by.
”don’t stay at the bottom,” he beckons, and your name slips from his lips again. soft, his tongue bending around the vowels. coaxing. stirring your heartstrings like a puppeteer.
then he’s standing up, dusting off his robes, large hands smoothing down the fabric. turning around, towering over you; obscuring everything else. all you see is him, under the glow of the lamp post. a halo of artificial light.
”come. let me show you the world we can create.”
he gives you a sweet smile, two abysses gazing at you. the promise of something twisted, new, forbidden. you think of red skin and yellow flesh; the bite of sin.
and for a second, you see it. the world. a world where laughter comes from the bottom of your gut, and the trees are always ripe for picking, red apples hanging from the branches like glowing rubies. a world where sweetened fruit never give way to rot.
paradise.
geto stretches a hand out towards you. fingers unfurling, one by one, like a blooming camellia. close, right there in front of you, so close that you’re tempted to take his hand in yours, let him carry you away. burn everything else to the ground. 
(you think of the serpent. you think of god.
only one of them banished eve.)
”so,” he smiles. ”what do you say?”
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imaybe5tupid · 12 days
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Traveling alone is quite dangerous for a girl.
(my toshiro overcompensating trans man hc)
bonus 1
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bonus 2 ft. toshiyuki (middle brother) grown up a little but still a menace
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#toshiro nakamoto#shuro dungeon meshi#my comics#i feel like when he announced himself everyone in the household was really excited his dad especially#1) now there’s an heir 2) cause he finally thought his kid was starting to be interesting and for a short time it was kind of novel#he thought it was so cool and edgy to have a son like that but then that quickly wore off#since toshiro didn’t start becoming like him or stop being a boring person to him#and lowkey the little inheritance competition where toshiros peers are like. a bratty 14yo and an 8yo.#is his way to walk it back that he should be the heir#even though he already got acknowledged and everything#meanwhile hien trying to be a woke affirming queen and just feeding his insecurities unintentionally “you’re a man aren’t you”#their friendship changes and they try to slot each other more into their gendered expectations and drift apart#toshiro compulsively works out and trains and carries himself and acts in certain ways#to be masculine in this very conventional way to affirm himself as a man and as the heir of a samurai family#and as a counterpoint to his wastrel layabout father#he becomes the kind of stealth trans guy who lives in constant state of fear and stress. to the point his little brothers have no idea#-> creates that distance emotionally from them#dungeon meshi#i think his relationship with his dad is absolutely horrendous hes a scummy guy through and through#but i personally enjoy bad relationships in fiction where there was something good to lose in the first place#and despite everything he does still care like in the first comic hes genuinely trying to be mindful#in his own condescending thoughtless way which like confirms all of toshiros worst fears about how his father sees him#like he really got assigned the retainers who are 1) 2 teenage girls one who wants to escape the other whos lowkey scared of him#3) his ex childhood best friend who things are weird with currently 4) random woman whos never even met him ONCE before#5) his smothering nanny/teacher ALL OF WHOM dont really respect him as a leader at all or have a professional rapport with him even😭#in his dads pov he was like okay ill assign women retainers so he won’t hide from them (wrong). also ones who wont intimidate him (wrong)#damn im smart! meanwhile toshiro having a breakdown over it
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mephoj · 4 days
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late night chat
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#meeple.png#inanimate insanity#inanimate insanity invitational#ii oj#ii mephone4#ii mephoj#not inherently shippy but it is based on the weird gay little version of iii in my head#anyway i think they should've had some kind of summer romance in iii that changes their view on their lives forever#and leaves them haunted by eachother in a way that neither will want to address but it sticks with them#oj is Stuck in his shitty hotel job and kind of caged himself into that the more he insists its Just the way it is and hes fine with it#while mephone has simply gotten used to running away and hiding as much as he can#neither are good coping mechanisms but the kind of experience and perspective they have could be exactly what they need to hear#oj needs to Fucking Quit while mephone needs to let himself find community and let others know him#so he doesn't feel like he Has to run or he Has to do it alone#oj has connections albeit some messier than others#and hes a bit of a bitch but definitely more liked than mephone#and mephone has the If It Sucks Hit The Bricks mentality and the bluntness to get that through to oj#oj also has the perspective of being a s1 vet which means he has a very different view on mephone than others might#and that could do some good in getting through to mephone how his host behavior can negatively affect the contestants involved#mephone views oj as more equal to him as theyre business partners. hes very friendly to him (even if one sided.) he might just listen#sorry if this rant is redundant btw im not reading back any of this HAHA
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daily-hanamura · 8 months
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13eyond13 · 4 months
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love it when a character that's hard to read intuitively for you has like a dedicated fandom interpreter who can just glance at their blank face in a panel and then give you a 3k word essay on their innermost thoughts & desires & fears and neatly tie it back into the themes & whatnot as if it's the most obvious thing in the world
#im talking about griffith btw#guts i feel i get intuitively - maybe because i have some personality traits in common with him#and we get more about his life concretely told to us in canon. so he is a bit easier to pin down as a character and feel attached to for me#but whenever i was reading the manga i just kept wanting more insight about griffith's actions and feelings#like ok yeah its fun to have mysterious antagonists and suspense /tension etc but its also fun to feel like you deeply understand them too#and i felt like that was a bit missing from him for me in canon#so reading about him in analysis and fics is the most fun for me rn#he always felt kinda half unreal to me- which maybe was the point of him - but i wanted a bit more about his childhood or something?#and wished we had more stuff explicitly from his pov in the story to read or explanation about his transformation or wtv#and now he's so much more closed off to me even than he was in the golden age. i keep waiting for him to explain stuff and he does not#ANYWAYS all this rambling to say some people out there are very good at interpreting him and making his like. insecurities#more obvious to me bc i didnt really get that side of him from canon intuitively well#also im really enjoying reading the first few berserk fics ive read#there may not be a ton of them out there but there is def writing talent in the fandom#i'll share some recs once i'm done sifting through most of what's out there to read#also (not to tie everything back to death note but it IS my home fandom after all)#i feel griffith is obvs the more light-like character here and L maybe a bit guts-like? but unlike berserk in death note#light is the one you get to know best and L is the mysterious / unreal one you don't get a lot of concrete insight into#and in the DN fandom I can read the more mysterious character intuitively but had to warm up to the less mysterious one instead#and the mystery of L makes sense to me and doesnt bug me as much due to like - he HAS to hide a lot about himself or else he will die lol#so some similarities there but also some opposite feels as well#berserk spoilers#p
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compacflt · 1 year
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Rumors from Pearl Harbor.
When Admiral Kazansky first comes to Pearl, he brings with him about half of his previous staff, all exceptionally-hardworking people hand-picked over years—advisors, flag aides, secretaries, ranks all over the board. But his new hires, upon getting acquainted with the old guard, are shocked to discover that his previous staff still hardly knows him at all.
“He keeps to himself, mostly,” Lieutenant Commander Hartford explains over a pint. “I made the mistake of asking him once what he did for fun. You know, like, hobbies and stuff. He blinked at me for a second, and then said, ‘I read.’ That’s it! I read! My advice to you newcomers would be, don’t ask him questions about his personal life, because it tends to be pretty boring.”
“It sounds to me like he’s a walking, talking Wikipedia page,” says Captain Calvert, who worked for the previous two Pacific Fleet Commanders and thinks she knows how to deal with them by now. “We owe it to ourselves to figure him out. It’ll make our lives easier, anyway. So, let’s put our heads together: what do we know about him?”
What they know are his habits, which they’ll come to learn intimately over the next few years, and which are admittedly pretty boring. Admiral Kazansky is one of the first to show up to work in the morning and one of the last to leave in the evening. He often answers e-mails past 2300 hours, but never later than midnight. Jokes never catch him off-guard; he rarely smiles, and when he does, it has an ulterior motive. When he’s not working, he’s scheming and making plans to go back home to San Diego, and his requests for leave are always granted, because he works like a pack mule from home anyway. He signs off every e-mail with “Sincerely,”…
“Is he sincere, though?” asks Chief Warrant Officer Kent halfway through Admiral Kazansky’s first year. (Admiral Kazansky is surely unaware that his staff now spends the second Friday of every month chit-chatting about him over drinks in downtown Honolulu.) “I can’t ever tell. And he lives in Hawaii. San Diego’s nice, I know, but what’s so different about the beaches there that he can’t get here?”
“I genuinely don’t think he’s human,” confesses Commander Stoddard. “People warned me about that when I came here, and I laughed it off, but… he keeps his desk biologically sterile. Not one fingerprint, but I’ve never seen anyone wipe it down. I’ve looked through his drawers. Don’t judge me, I got curious. Everything squared away, like he’s goddamn Einstein or something. Have any of you ever seen him in his civvies?” No one has. “God damn it, where does he shop for groceries? No one’s seen him at a grocery store? Does he even own a pair of jeans? Does he wear his uniform to bed, too?”
“He probably goes grocery shopping on the whole other side of the island to avoid all the enlisted kids,” laughs Captain Calvert. “Come to think of it…you know how he always eats lunch in the office? It’s always a salad. And always the same kind of salad. This guy survives on one cup of coffee and one spinach salad a day. Maybe he really isn’t human.”
They build out their wealth of knowledge and come to learn that Admiral Kazansky is defined by his extremes, by what he always does and what he never does. Admiral Kazansky gets his uniforms dry-cleaned every week, though he never spills anything on them. No one has ever seen Admiral Kazansky stumble over his words while giving a speech, or trip over a sidewalk curb, or push a “pull” door. He is always polite and never friendly. Sometimes he is cold, and sometimes he is cruel in his patience with you when you’ve fucked up, like a cat toying with a hemorrhaging mouse. But he never raises his voice. He is always immaculately put-together, well-groomed, constructed every day like a product on an assembly line. Nothing is ever out of place. Allegedly his umbrella once turned inside-out during a rainstorm; he disdainfully shook it once, as a hunter might pump a loaded shotgun, and it flipped itself right-side-in again. The laws of physics do not seem to apply to him. Nor do the natural embarrassments that come with being human. Admiral Kazansky is never flustered, never harried, and never falls apart.
“I found this old picture of him shaking hands with another pilot on the Internet,” says Chief Warrant Officer Kent in Admiral Kazansky’s second year. “Smiling like the Cheshire Cat. Never seen him smile like that in all my years working with him. And he had frosted tips, too. Like Guy Fieri on a diet and steroids. It was the eighties, sure, but it’s like he knew how to have fun, once upon a time. Wonder what happened to him.”
“I feel lonely for him sometimes,” says Commander Stoddard. “Strict guy like that, no family, no friends, no wife, nothing to live for but the Navy? He’s like a workhorse with blinders on. Nowhere to go but forward. That’s a lonely existence.”
“Not if you’re a robot,” says Lieutenant Commander Hartford. “I swear, sometimes he breathes and it makes me jump, ‘cause I forgot he was alive!” —What else doesn’t Admiral Kazansky do?
That’s when they realize that none of them, not the old guard nor the new, has ever, not once, ever seen or heard Admiral Kazansky sneeze.
And they all finally give up the game and quit arguing and agree that, no, he really isn’t human after all. He must be some cyborg from the future sent to whip the Pacific Fleet into shape, and you can’t ask for too much humanity from someone who’s doing a pretty damn good job of it.
The rumors start soon after that. Jokes that could get them all tossed out of the Navy, but probably won’t. Jokes that accidentally spread like wildfire.
Yes, Admiral Kazansky could be a cyborg, but he also could be a Mormon fundamentalist, or a Scientologist, or a really weird Catholic. Maybe he goes home to San Diego so often because in his spare time he’s really a mule ferrying cocaine across the Mexi-Cali border. That’s what he does for fun. He eats spinach salads because he’s a reincarnation of Popeye the Sailor Man, and he needs all the super-strength he can get to deal with the Navy’s modern-day bullshit.
“I don’t know if that story makes sense,” laughs Captain Calvert on the phone with her husband in Washington, “but it makes more sense than the real Admiral Kazansky does!”
So the rumors get spread around.
“I don’t know if you know this,” Maverick comments, watching Ice make their bed from the relative comfort of the bedroom doorway, “or if I should tell you this, because you might crack down on it, which would be a shame, ‘cause it’s funny. But every time you send a mass e-mail to the Pacific Fleet commissioned officer corps, you become the main topic of conversation between all of us officers for a solid day and a half.”
“Oh?” says Ice with a smile, struggling to fit the last corner of the fitted sheet to the mattress. He sighs, tugs on the strings of his old ratty-ass hooded sweatshirt, and looks at Maverick balefully through his glasses. “Help me out over here, would you? —What are people saying? All good things, I hope.”
“Not really,” Maverick says, stuffing a pillow into a pillowcase as he stares out the window into the San Diego sunshine. “Some pretty crazy shit, actually. Hard as hell for me to keep a straight face. I heard this one—you know, people are saying you eat nothing but salads?”
“Oh,” laughs Ice, hospital-cornering the free sheet. “Yeah, that one’s kind of true. I bring salads in to the office sometimes.”
“You hate salads.”
“I know, it’s torture! Move over.” He bumps Maverick out of the way to tuck in the last corner. “But, I figure, if a man torments himself with spinach-and-arugula salads three times a week, you ought to respect his commitment. It’s all an act. You get to a certain Defense Department paygrade, it all starts being storytelling and stagecraft.”
“Or trickery and deception, depending on how you look at it.”
“Sure. But you could say that about everything. —Besides, I’d rather the Navy discuss my salads than discuss… well, this.” He gestures to Maverick, then down to the bed. They start tugging the comforter over it together. “How much slack you got over there?”
“‘Bout a foot.”
Ice pulls his side down a couple more inches to match, then flips the top up. “Is that it? That’s all people are saying about me?”
Maverick grins and bends down to pick up a pillow. “They’re also saying that you’re the reincarnation of Popeye the Sailor Man. I yam what I yam and that’s all what I yam, and all that. Think fast.”
Ice doesn’t think fast, and the pillow hits him square in the face, and he laughs again as he catches it in his arms. “Shit, that’s good,” he says; “I was just about to call Slider, think I’ll tell him that one. That’ll make him laugh. Popeye Iceman.” He tosses the pillow onto the made-up bed and pulls out his cell phone, but—then he frowns, grimaces, mutters “Ah, no,” and turns away to sneeze.
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lucreziaborgiagf · 27 days
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i don’t talk about bridgerton on here but just to clarify. i will not be having ANY eloise hate on this account. i will bite.
#eloise bridgerton they could never make me hate you!!#addressing the normal talking points one by one to get them sorted:#- ​no i don’t care that eloise called pen some names after the discovery. she was devastated and furious.#she can apologise in the future but in the moment of course she said it#- ​yes pen did write about eloise as a way to save her but that doesn’t mean it hasn’t possibly ruined eloise’s life#- similarly: eloise isn’t (just) angry that she was written about. daphne also went through whistledown and it very much terrified her#so have many other women including marina#- eloise is betrayed because she told pen everything and is realising pen told her nothing#(and she’s probably thinking about any secrets she might have said to her best friend that could now be used against the ton and her family)#- as claudio said: being regency gossip girl isnt a moral girlboss thing its deeply harmful tbh#- ​pen did have reasons to become whistledown! that doesn’t mean that she’s innocent or right!#- eloise isnt now friends with cressida to spite pen lmao she’s alone and scared and cressida was the last person who offered her friendship#she has no idea how to manage society by herself#(and she needs someone to improve the reputation of her and her family)#- im also convinced she has other ulterior motives for befriending cressida. like she’s keeping an eye on her or smth#- eloise didn’t just ignore anything pen said and that’s why she only just figured it out. pen deliberately didn’t speak like lw to hide it#the moment she did eloise was like huh that’s weird she doesn’t normally talk like that. and THATS when she figured it out#- eloise just found out her best friend has betrayed her and been hiding this massive secret#but she hasn’t told anyone. not even her own family. im not hearing out any accusations of HER of being disloyal#- also pen clearly wasn’t that upset at writing about eloise bc the moment eloise and colin upset her she went straight back to it lmao#side note but no i don’t think the queen is going to name her the ‘emerald’ or anything because she’s suddenly in the spotlight#eloise is tbh the only debutante she actually consistently recognised (for good or bad)#a new dress is not going to be interesting for charlotte to change her whole tradition#tl;dr i love eloise and i will die on this hill#eloise bridgerton#bridgerton
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moeblob · 5 months
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I met people I knew only online for the first time irl last night and I'm still extremely exhausted cause I am not a social person so here. Take an OC.
Katale (Kitty) is wonderful and I love her and she's a criminal and that's fine. She likes to look cute and so whenever I see a really cute outfit in public with a specific vibe, I'm like "Kitty would love that". So here. Please. Please know that I saw this very pretty woman jogging with her hair pulled back, running shorts, and the CUTEST top with a little scarf from the same fabric tied and wow. It was. So wonderful, please have a wonderful day @ the lady I saw jogging yesterday.
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Ooooo thank you for explaining the cult 🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽
Would you be able to go in depth about how and why warlocks are hated or the general history or state of your world?
Hope you're having a good time zone 😊
🫶🏽
not really because i haven't really thought about it! and this isn't really my own worldbuilding, this is the general consensus from high fantasy media in general:
Warlocks in general have a reputation for being evil, practicing dark magic, and making pacts with "bad" forces - like demons! they're thought to be servants of evil & are not to be trusted. their magic is usually chaotic and wild, unlike wizardry and witchcraft with are more careful and controlled - and their magic is learned, whereas warlocks get their magic from a powerful entity via some form of payment (ex: their soul)
really, warlocks can be good or bad or somewhere in between like any magic user. but due to the nature/source of their powers, they're seen as evil. the rarity of them only adds to this, since many do indeed get corrupted by their patron - or they sought out their pact for less than savory reasons
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emry-stars-art · 10 months
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@anon-lemon with this ask and the resulting one shot: I also think freshwater merDrew is pretty hehe, the fish I based him off of is a peacock bass (maybe specifically royal peacock bass? With the more blue fin idk) but more dramatic. Like so:
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(This is him in perfect nice lighting under shallow water probably but shh he’s beautiful)
Reference pictures I used under the cut
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I love mixing and matching references. Idc what I heard growing up, life CAN be a buffet and I CAN a pick my favorite parts to mash together sometimes 😌
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themyscirah · 10 months
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This is how this went right?
Parallax!Hal: I miss being a hero... wish I had my ring back
Kyle: oh well you can have mine then! That way you can have a second chance : )
Parallax!Hal: YES!!! A SECOND CHANCE TO PLAY GOD AND RESHAPE THE WORLD AS I WILL IT MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA
Kyle, now ringless: .................huh. im gonna be honest here I really didn't see that coming
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randomminty · 2 years
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Ive only got sv in the brain right now
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oozeandgoo-art · 6 months
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had an odd dream that i was reading a comic book. sketched a couple of the pages i could remember.
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#i might adapt this into an actual story because i am SO SO SO mad that it isn't a thing i can go back to reading#oc#im definitely keeping the concept of save-bot i fucking love save-bot he's just doing his best. i love a robot who wants to help people#im not equipped to be writing about underground rebellions with any sense of real tact though#besides its in a superhero universe/story so you know it would just be so sucks lol#sketch#god the colors were so interesting. the teal parts were all very precisely crosshatched and the fire was this gorgeous brush pen looking#colored inks that just seemed like they were MOVING#and i mean some of that was because i was dreaming but god even in my halfhearted copy you can see some of the movement#it was a bad scene but a really really REALLY fun dream. i love when a book can *get* to me so i was really enjoying it#put it aside so i could take a break and woke up. instant fury at the universe for not having it be a real book instead#ill reblog with details if anyone's curious. i can explain this scene but i dont feel like it#the green people are in a secret basement though. hiding from the government. blue jacket guy is a speedster robot named save-bot who does#rescue stuff with every fire department so fire suppression technology is not very good because save-bot "can just save you''#however they're badly over their legal occupancy and the secret basement has One (1) exit so everyone is like really fucked here.#includinig save-bot who is going to do his job until he dies because he is an ai without any sense of self preservation and he cares#which i didn't even CATCH until i woke up and started tryin to frantically note everything down#and then i was like wait. the glitter on that last page before i realized i needed a glass of water to keep reading... what WAS that...#(it was tears suspended in midair because save-bot goes so fast and also knows he's so fucked LOL)#seriously i'm so mad someone else didn't make this.
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doctorwhoisadhd · 24 days
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hmm thinking about the idea of love songs. i think the idea of what a love song is that we have in our culture is inherently a little bit flawed because we have the idea that any song written about romantic feelings is a love song and im thinking thats not exactly true because there is a difference between "romance" and "love". what i'm saying is not that love is a broader category and applies to things that are not romantic in nature. this is in fact true, but it's not what makes the important distinction here. the true distinction between "romance" and "love" is that romance is a societally defined type of interest in another person, whereas love is, essentially, a promise that you make when you build a relationship.
as such, what i call "love" here might be better defined as "care", as that implies more time and effort, but that's a different suitcase to unpack and largely unimportant to my point here, which is more about the societal conventions of what we call love songs. the point is, relationships can be built with other people, yes, but also animals, places, organizations, ideas, so on and so on, whereas romance requires another person, hence the difference between the ideas of "romance" and "love".
with that in mind, there are two types of songs we in western, english speaking, society call "love songs":
1) songs that are about a person's romantic interest in someone that is either definitively known to be unrequited (existing monogamous relationship, sexuality that doesn't align, etc) or simply not requited (aka romantic interest being unknown); and
2) songs about an existing relationship (keeping in mind my points about relationships not just being with people, but also places, things, etcetera) as is.
(some examples of the latter category: mountaintop by relient k, which defines the relationship in question as non-romantic; or i miss my mum by cavetown, which is - as the title implies - a song about the singer missing their mother.)
now, the thing that makes distinguishing these two difficult is the fact that songs about an existing relationship CAN be about wanting certain aspects of that relationship to change. in these cases, determining that a song is one or the other will hinge either on a) authorial intent or b) whether the song is more about what the singer wants (thereby implying #1) or the lack thereof in that relationship (which would imply #2).
to get back to the subject at hand: the term "love song", as we think of it, is an umbrella term that include both of these two categories, and i think that perhaps it is reductive to do so. with that in mind, i think perhaps it would be more appropriate for "love song" to mean only the latter, whereas the former is a category of its own. WHICH is not to say that the two can't overlap — just that if a song is about a person with whom the singer has no relationship, it cannot be considered a love song due to the fact that it is a song about infatuation, not love.
(another interesting wrinkle this provides is the fact that a song might start out in the first category and, as the writer develops a relationship with a person, might move into the second category as they write more.)
#anyway. just some of my thoughts on this as an aromantic songwriter#ari opinion hour#this goes a good deal to reconcile my constant writing of love songs with the fact that none of them are romantic#which im fine with as long as im keeping them to myself but it DOES feel dishonest when i hide that theyre love songs.#however this did also go some way to convince me that maybe care songs is an alternative that i SHOULD use because it is more applicable to#me than the concept of love which MOST people do not have the same perspective on as i do and having different definitions of the same word#is an important barrier to consider in communication#i will admit i do think im clinging to my care songs being love songs due to my relationship with an organization to which love is very#important as i dont want to go back on my promises to that organization as it IS very important to me#anyway. can you tell ive been reading house of leaves by the fact that this appeared fully fledged in my head in fully academic language#but for real like thinking about it now and even my old love songs like most would probably think to see them that they would go in the#first category and they just. DO NOT. at least not the ones that were written after i was like Yeah im aro again#its interesting the ones i wrote in the brief period where i thought i WASNT aro in like mid hs those i WOULD put in the first category#even though like i do NOT think i was right about it being romantic#but the ones after i was like Yea im aro again are like. Thats definitely the latter#part of it is i did find a voice that was like genuinely Mine and wasnt just writing sort of generic love songs#love songs in the typical usage i mean so they were really more infatuation songs#but like i was still with the last person irl who i wrote these about divorced from like... my aroness because of how much i liked him#and i would still put those in the second category#so part of it is awareness as well#so. yeah. its interesting#i probably should just suck it up and start calling them care songs. even if people dont know what i mean to say that
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