#maybe this finally exorcised my constant need to draw these two. maybe i can finally be normal now | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gurguliare · 5 years

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... It is, uh, rare and out-of-character for me to say this, but I do disagree pretty much across the board with everyone’s criticisms of this episode as an adaptation---or rather, I get where the backlash is coming from, I think the story in the manga is excellent and lots of minor and major grace notes got lost here, but I also think splitting it across two episodes (or 4 and 5 across three episodes) would have been unworkable. The ramp up-resolution ratio needed to be what it was to communicate the strangest thing about the Mogami arc, which is its double-jointed climax: it’s not interminable (as with world domination), but every time you’re sure the end is close, it opens up a new frontier. Like most nightmares it finally breaks, rather than cresting down to a recognizable finish. Mob has his big moment of reclaimed identity, and then... he has to keep going! And through much of it he moves as kind of a disdainful sleepwalker, there’s this perfunctory 1-2-3 tempo to his process even while he questions himself about what he’s doing, who he’s saving, and why, which absolutely feels mechanical and dancelike in its compression. A timesaving move, but one which also happens to capture the constant disjunct between his reasoning and the lagging, overblown emotional reality that it takes all his energy just to participate in. IN THIS WORLD, EVERYTHING I SEE IS AN EVIL SPIRIT. I HAVE TO EXORCISE THEM ALL. Mob can’t stop destroying himself + his preconceived ideas, but his internal narrative is starting to catch up to the fact that that’s not always negative. Sometimes you just have a ton of baggage to shoot lasers at (and a ton of temporary selves to let fall apart.)

Things I missed:

Minori with the box cutter

the explicit “what do you want?” / “power” exchange

“it’s not fair!” Mob wail re: the cruelty of the world, some depth from his reactions there in general, although to be clear I think the anime version is internally consistent and interesting in terms of shifted emphasis, and I’m glad to have both

how brutal “Mogami and Asagiri-san taught me that people can change” is: some of this is communicated, I like in general how they draw Mob’s face in the last scene because it’s appropriately fisheyed, flat, and opaque, but I think the music kind of smooths over the neutral, double-edged starkness of Mob’s chosen takeaway. Like, yup! People can change! People are changing all the time! From some perspectives it’s an incredibly bleak thing to stake your developing moral worldview + optimism on, in good old Pratchett fashion. Of course it’s also lovely, it’s just... you know, in a story that’s very much about the bigness and unmanageable complexity of the everyday, and what you have to learn to keep up with it, “people change” is such a fucking... kicker to the hope that you’re ever going to get on top of shit. You’re not! You have to keep running alongside the giant crusher wheel!

Other notes:

I actually did not like Minori blushing, which is unusual for me since I love “blushing while crying” as a piece of awkward bodily realism that tends not to jive with the scripted atmosphere of many fictional breakdowns. But I thought that for most of the episode (and with Minori’s apology!) they did such a good job of keeping her ugly, banal mannerisms consistent, it was a shame to then bust out something that looks, even superficially, like a transformation.

However they made up for it with her fucking hospital bed flouncing in the post-credits scene, I loved that SO MUCH. GOD. MINORI.

In general I’m ambivalent-to-positive on the toned-down violence and the cat’s survival; yes, I think the scene loses a bit in terms of directness of storytelling, but I also think there’s a corresponding gain in terms of... the closeness of Mob’s nightmare and actual realities, the very thin margin of normal social support that separates him from this boring, insignificant hellscape. I don’t know that it makes as much of a difference to Minori’s portrayal as I’ve seen people claim, and I also don’t see that it makes Mob’s forgiveness less pointed, since Mob, while dumb, has enough of a clue to distinguish between ringleader and lead. (Plus it helps highlight the distinction between Minori and, say, Teru, as like, an existential threat from the world of normal shitty influencers vs psychics who at heart are all children who want to brawl. Not that Minori isn’t also a child who wants to ... do others injury, with her own two hands if she’s feeling spooked enough. But. The weird thing about losing Minori and the boxcutter is I would say it makes her less sympathetic, or at least, less aligned with other sympathetic child characters who we see do terrible things out of a mixture of fearful impulse and habit. It’s definitely a change, but not one that breaks the logic.)

But yeah, the point of Mogami arc is and it isn’t “Mob is made of such extraordinary stuff that it takes all this abuse to break him”: there’s an element of that, Mob is a special person, but it’s also supposed to be about how plausible all this continues to feel to him even after he “wakes up,” and how hard he has to work to convert Mogami’s lessons into something usable, rather than just discarding them out of hand. It’s not that I think any of that doesn’t work in the manga, but I like the even more tightly narrowed scope here. Both are at least functional, and given other constraints on time I can’t think what I would have sacrificed to get more back-and-forth in the confrontation scene with the bullies. Maybe SOME particle physics could have been cut.

I surprisingly wasn’t in love with the ???% starscape. My favorite thing about ???% in Mogami arc is how it’s simultaneously the showstopper but also a lot more incidental than it is in other arcs where it appears/looms in characters’ minds, so I was a bit “shrug” on visual attentions paid, even though I like the more sublime/cosmic! take on everyone’s favorite eldritch horror.

seriously could we not get a second longer and the slightest glowup on the flower

100% COURAGE NOT ENOUGH OF A SPARKLY, OVEREXPOSED EYESORE. THOSE WERE LIKE. DARK-PALETTE SPARKLES, WHAT THE HELL

... and that’s about it, honestly, I loved, loved, loved most of the other specific choices, from Reigen and Dimple’s animation outside to the spirits racing the long rays of Mob’s power. “I still have to save that awful Asagiri-san”: music to my ears!! Can fiction even have enough contemptuous dutybound rescues. I love................... anime. And Mob.

#mp100 #mp100 spoilers #... also i've gone from depressed at the thought of s2 reconciling me to claw arc to actually sort of excited #a claw arc paced such that i can fit it inside my frail attention span? what the hell?

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succinct-assbutt · 6 years

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Pacify (Part II)

Summary: It’s only few days into his stay when Y/N and T’challa continue to grow closer, and Sam’s curiosity starts to grow. Warnings: None

Part ONE

@xxdarkdarlingxx , @toastedside , @dangittodd , @yolo9 , @lalasparkles

~*~*~

The next couple of days are a lot easier for the whole team. Tony takes it upon himself to announce the brief hiatus following the last mission, and everyone spends it appropriately, regenerating and regrouping in the best ways they know how. Clint takes to Archery; Natasha will never admit it but she’s a spa-day kind of girl, and Sam and Steve spend the day together because apparently even a blow as heavy as the one you took won’t tear them apart.

For you it’s training. It’s almost instinct, the appeal to stretch and exorcise your frustration through some sort of exertion because it’s the best way you know how to feel. The past couple of days have been rough. For everyone. Phantom faces and sullen slouches roaming the halls and barely anyone’s spoken up until this morning at breakfast.

Steam wafts onto your face as the coffee-maker fills your mug, the tenderness of morning a comfort this early. A burst of tawny slight silts into the building through the windows, strong enough to make you narrow your eyes. Sam stirs sugar into his own cup.

“I was thinking some combat training and then maybe weights? Or we could just go to the gym today?”

“No, I think the combat training will do. Maybe some laps.”

“Does it still help?”

The coffee-pot finally yields and you slide your cup out from under the spout. He casts his eyes up at you. It’s too early to think of anything other than getting some caffeine in your system and an excitement stirs in you just from the tickle the steam leaves on your face as you move to sit across from him.

Wilson is persistent. For as long as you’ve known him. He reaches across the table and taps the rim of your coffee with his spoon.

“Come on,”

“Sam,” You admonish without an upward glance. “You’re on thin ice..”

“You know I was hoping you, out of everyone, would…recover soon? I’m not pressuring you.” He sighs. “I just think the team could use your spark at a time like this.”

“So that’s why I should pick myself up? For everyone else’s benefit?”

“For the sake of the team. Plus you’re no fun when you sulk. I miss the constant annoyingness.” When he finally looks up at you there’s a mischief in his gaze and you stifle a smirk (but fail) as you stir your sugar, a husky voice at the door drawing you from your haze.

“IS there any more coffee left?”

You look up.

T’challa’s eyes are narrowed from the blaring light, as little of a morning person as you are from the way he grimaces at the brightness.

“Oh,” You pipe up. “I had the last one. Sorry. I can put another pot on if you want…?”

“It’s fine. And morning.”

“Your highness.”

“Kitty cat.”

You don’t notice Tony entering the room until he claps T’challa on the shoulder, your eyes drifting to where he and Rogers scud into the kitchen. Natasha follows closely behind with her fingers combing through the ringlets in her hair.

T’challa finds you at the sink, and he nudges you with his elbow, lips curling into a warm and knowing smile.

“Get any sleep last night?” he asks, not bothering to lift his gaze to you as he works his way around the coffee machine. You try not to watch him but it’s useless; your eyes are drawn to his hands. Calloused, quick, and it’s only then that you notice the little scar running from the inside of his palm up onto his wrist. Another curiosity born.

Cut to a few days back, you thought you know all there was to the Black Panther, but since he got here you keep finding yourself stumbling upon new truths, different dimensions of a personality you never imagined you’d ever have the chance to explore. He’s so different. A lot friendlier than you imagined and twice as charming. He sifts through the coffee beans with his hands and your eyes drift back up to his face.

The light cuts across his face just where his cheekbones stop, shadowing the lower half. The kitchen buzzes with chatter now that everyone’s awake—something sizzling on the stove, bowls being passed around the table.

And it’s comforting. The harmony of voices hidden in melancholy as the day unfolds, the luxury of Sam and the Captain’s good-natured bickering wafting over the room. A sign of healing. When the thought registers in your mind you find yourself easing up, letting the gentle warmth of summer careen over you as you lean back against the counter.

The coffee machine rattles beside you. T’challa changes the filter and flicks the switch on and the grinding returns, finally taking the time to avert his attention to you.

He tips his head to the side. “Not a morning person?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“I’d say so. I can tell by how desperately you’re clinging to your coffee.”

You almost laugh at that, biting your lip and looking somewhere that isn’t the knowing brown eyes boring into you. T’challa lets out a quiet chuckle. The coffee pot gurgles to a halt and you watch him pour a generous amount into his mug, lifting it to his lips.

The two of you don’t join the rest at the table. There’s no room, anyway, so you don’t mind hopping up onto the counter, legs dangling like a doll on a shelf while the Wakandan King stands to your left. He crosses one arm over his chest and grips his cup with the other, and the two of you bask in the warmth seeping in through the windows.

“Are you going out with them?”

“Hm? Oh, no—Wilson and I have some plans, already.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah, I think we’ll just stick to the initial plan. You? You know New York well enough to move around without a chaperone, your highness?” Your lips curve on their own accord and you lift your coffee, the steam coursing over your skin as you hold it at your mouth for a bit. “Gonna spend the day playing with balls of yarn, or…?”

“Wow.”

“I’m sorry, I had to.”

T’challa cracks a smile at your quip, a look that says ‘fine, you win this one’ because even he can’t help but chuckle, and you feel a pride swell inside you.

Everyone finishes their breakfast within the next couple of minutes. Sam stands from his seat and dumps his bowl into the sink, then saunters over to where you and T’challa down your second helpings of coffee (no such thing, you argue, as an exceeded limit).

“What are you guys talking about?”

“His Highness here is just telling me about his home and debunking all the lies I’ve been fed by the system—guess what? Turns out they’re not a third-world country in need of foreign aid.” Sam’s known you long enough to catch onto your sarcasm way before the punch line, and he plays along, eyes growing wide.

“Gasp.” He feigns, glancing at you.

You let out a breath of a laugh and sip your coffee. It’s cold and gritty and a lot less comforting as the first cup but tolerable enough for you to down it in three glugs.

“You know if you ever came by,” T’challa begins. “I could give you a tour of my sister’s lab. She’s a bit picky about who goes in there, but maybe she’ll make an exception for one of the Avengers.”

You glance up at Sam. “Apparently Tony’s her favorite.”

“I’ll try not to be offended by that.” Wilson quips, but it’s short-lived as he sobers up. “Listen, I’m gonna go warm up—meet you in ten?” He arches an expectant brow.

“Yeah, sure.” With an assured yes, Sam nods and then turns on his heel, the thud of his boot steadily fading from earshot.

It’s not an uncomfortable silence you’re left in. More like a suspense. You can feel the end credits of the moment and of your morning begin to roll as the day and its responsibilities beckon you, but it doesn’t fully register. At first. Then you hear a heavy inhale and a clap of hands, and you look to T’challa straightening out.

“Well.” His fingers loop through the belt hoops on his jeans as he looks at you. “Duty calls.” He says.

Sighing, you nod and slip off the counter. The ground is cold beneath your bare feet. When you dump your cup among the rest of the sullied dishes

“Unfortunately.” Your eyes flicker back to the King before you. “We can finish this conversation over lunch. Are you going out?”

“Sam and The captain wanted my company on a trip to the auto shop, actually. Rogers’ bike and all.”

“Ah.” For some reason there’s a sudden dip in your mood as you raise your brows, stifling any disappointment that will show on your face.

“But lunch sounds fantastic…”

“Not really. It’s just Wilson and I trying to whip up recipes we find online—if you’re into that…”

“Like I said: fantastic.”

A giggle bubbles from you and you shake your head.

“I’ll try and make it, alright?” He tips his head to the side.

You nod wordlessly, Sam’s voice wafting into the room from where he waits downstairs. It’s your cue, and a subtle smile twists onto your lips as you see yourself out, hurrying up to change.

~*~*~

Beads of sweat trickle down the sides of your face as rapid breaths rip through you.

From across the room Sam sways side to side as he pushes himself onto his feet, hunched over with labored pants slipping from him. He lifts his head to look at you, and you can make out the challenge behind them: the anticipation. You straighten out and take your stance, then it’s full force again: he throws a punch and you duck down to dodge it. You aim for his waist, ready to topple him over, but he’s twice as fast as you are. Either that or you’re just too predictable.

The wind is knocked out of you as he shoves you onto your back, arm barred against your throat. The air is thick with both of your labored breaths and this close it’s even harder to breathe, the weight of the man above you almost suffocating.

He can’t help the smug smirk that stretches across his face. “Not fast enough.

“No fair.” You whine, shoving him away. Wilson moves enough for you to scramble to your feet, ready to strike, but the way he stretches and positions his hands on his waist in response tells you he’s done for today.

You scowl. The sky outside is beginning to grey, warning of a storm and thunder rumbles overhead. Summer showers. The sweat dribbling down your skin says just how much you could use some rain, you think as the two of you exit the training room.

“You’re not on form.” Sam says as you traipse down the hallway, dabbing a towel to his sodden face.

You trail behind him into the kitchen where he grabs each of you an apple, sweaty palms almost betraying you when he tosses it into your hands.

Your gaze bounces between the fruit and Wilson. He hops up onto the counter.

“There’s something on your mind.”

“What?”

“You know what I’m talking about.” He states. Tells you. There’s suddenly a lump in your chest and you can’t place the reason why “So. Are you gonna tell me or do I have to say it?”

“Quit the riddles: what are you talking about?” It’s a surprise your voice doesn’t waver when you force the words out.

“That Kitty’s got his claws in you. It’s pretty obvious.”

“Are we really gonna play this game? People this grown, talking like we’re back in highschool?” Your eyebrows lift in subtle shock but Sam only shrugs, taking a bite out of his apple. It crunches between his teeth, audible even from across the room.

“I’m just trying to help him assimilate into the team.” You argue.

“You’re trying to charm him.”

“Is that so bad? He’s a new and powerful ally we could use in the future. I’m trying to keep on good grounds. It’s not that deep.”

“Your training says otherwise.”

“Piss off.”

“I’m just saying.” Sam leans back onto his palms, shoulders jutting up as he smiles. “It’s a first. Somebody’s growing a little too comfortable around someone we barely even know.”

“That’s the aim, isn’t it? Getting to know him?” A warmth slithers along your neck and you can’t quite take it anymore, fingers bawling around the apple in your hand.

He doesn’t say anything to that, brown eyes lingering and knowing and you huff, exasperated and done with the conversation as you turn to go shower. He says something to you but you’re too far to catch any of it. It doesn’t matter. Good-natured teasing you try not to read into.

Only this time something nicks at your resolve.

And even in the shower it’s there. The hot water rinses away the sweat and the tension but it isn’t scorching enough to dissolve the stubborn thought lingering at the back of your mind. Sam’s words last all throughout the time under the water: charm. It’s not something you can turn off, you reason. In your line of work you’d been accustomed to the fallacy of charisma and friendliness just to get what you want, and that’s what irks you.

How little you’ve actually you changed.

Maybe you’re just less good a hiding it now. Maybe there’s a truth to Wilson’ words, you think, and the next thing you know you’re stuck wondering if T’challa himself has caught on…? Never the fool, he’s quick to learn whatever you put in front of him, and you figure his knowledge of your past is enough to hint at the truth:

Maybe you have been pretending. Just not exactly how Sam thinks.

~*~*~

Message me if you want to be added to the tag list. I hope you enjoyed; if so, likes, reblogs and follows make my day (trying to hit 2k by the end of the month which might be a bit ambitious but whatever lol). I’ll try and post more within these following days seeing as the heat is up and I want to get as much T’challa fic out for y’all as I can.

As always, have a great day!

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