i keep getting this thought in my head of bakugou, for the majority of his life, just having this view and understanding of like. my body gets the job done. i take care of it so i can do what i need to do. scars, wounds, imperfections don't matter, as long as i can keep going.
like almost no fucks for what it looks like in an aesthetic sense. he works out, he eats right because then he can do his job right. it's got nothing to do with trying to appeal to anyone.
and then you come along. and for the very first time—he's leaning a little closer to the mirror in the morning, brushing a finger over the scar on his face. when he gets dressed for the day, his eyes can't seem to rip away from the marred skin of his torso: at his hip, at his shoulder, right in the middle of his chest.
is that...something that would scare you? that you'd find....ugly? would you prefer him without them?
i wouldn't say it makes him terribly physically insecure, but. he is hesitating for just a second the first time he takes his shirt off around you. if you look at him head-on for too long, he's ducking his head and turning it, so that way only the pretty side is visible.
536 notes
·
View notes
most of us have heard of the red car game. you’re on a road trip, you’re bored, you start looking for red cars to do something.
and then they’re everywhere. you notice them nearly every few minutes.
there aren’t suddenly more red cars now, of course. you were seeing them already, but you weren’t noticing. you weren’t looking.
I am noticing things.
there is a plant I notice everywhere now, a small bushy plant in suburbs, along streets, by shops on the highways. dwarf umbrella bush is what the internet tells me when I look for it’s name. I did this because I wanted to know why,
every time I ever saw it, every place,
it was always dying.
always the leaves turning yellow, the branches small and scraggly. inside out - nitrogen deficiency. their soil drained.
I am noticing how many of these landscaping plants are yellowing, how small and sickly they look in just a few years. I am noticing how often the grass outside the house is replaced when it once again turns brown and dry, how the type never changes and the cycle starts again. I am noticing how the unmowed, unkempt spaces on lakesides and roadsides look more alive than this. how the preserve I grew up next to was miles of “messy” unmanicured nature and the ground was covered in leaves instead of grass and there was life.
I am noticing the birds that come by the lake. there was a flash of blue wings and red chest - eastern bluebird, male, relatively common. I had never seen one before. there is a family of ducks that appear every spring; i cannot say if it’s successive generations or different ducks, but I can always look forward to ducklings. there are little brown birds with white heads whose names I do not know - are they some kind of piper? why don’t I already know?
why is it so hard to learn about my native plants (accurately, that is)? why are so many gardening sites littered with people who think a plants value is based on how pretty or useful it is to them, who think a tree shedding leaves is “messy”?
why is knowing about the world we live in so… odd? why is it a hobby and not vital knowledge? I learned about polar equations. I taught myself about mycorrhizal networks and species of insects.
(did you know there are shiny green bees? a special species of wasp pollinating figs? that white flowers bloom at night for moths? do you know? have you looked?)
I cannot look at a lawn and see life anymore. it is a wasteland, devoid of life, dying slowly itself. everywhere is grass, grass, doused in water that runs over into storm drains, soaked in fertilizer and pesticides and a hundred other poisons and sending one clear message:
this is a place of death. life is not welcome here.
I do not think I could live in a city. too loud, yes, too busy, yes, too many people, yes, but the plants would bother me. a tree allotted only a convenient square, surrounded by dead stone and metal.
a forest cleared for this, for burning asphalt streets and racing cars and shops whose bathrooms are “for paying customers only”.
this is a place of death. life is not welcome here.
and now I am noticing.
1K notes
·
View notes
what i love about mikage is that we are constantly being told that he is an aloof genius who nobody can understand because his mind is simply so much more advanced than everyone else’s, but we also never see him do or say anything actually intelligent, and all we really do see him do is desperately long for affection and companionship and do everything in his power to strive to preserve the genuine human connection he seeks.
with miki we are actually given a reason to believe that he is a child prodigy: he’s good at piano, he’s good at math, he’s knowledgeable about eggs. i’m not saying that’s in any way definitive proof of his “genius” (anthy is also good at piano, utena is also good at math, and knowing the basics of what an egg is isn’t really anything to write home about either) but like. we can believe that he’s smart for a child.
akio positions himself as something of an astronomer, but we are also provided enough evidence into his astronomical insight to realize, before he even admits that he doesn’t really care about stars, that he’s not very knowledgeable about astronomy. and that makes sense for his character too, because why would he care about having knowledge that he cannot use to exploit and dominate others?
but mikage is neither shown to be intelligent nor unintelligent, we are merely told that he is such a genius that it isolates him from his peers, more like a robot than a human. and so it doesn’t actually matter whether or not that’s true, because all that matters is that he’s special in this way, and that conditional power he is afforded through his status as genius is what matters to his role within the narrative.
the figure of the genius is not an exceptional figure in and of itself, but only due to how such a title is positioned in relation to others, and the referent (the ontologically meaningless designation of “intelligence”) is actually beside the point. and what’s more, to be afforded that “specialness” is actually harmful, because it insists on isolating you from your peers for completely arbitrary reasons.
genius is not a pre-discursive, discrete quality, but merely another notion used as a tool to isolate, groom, and exploit people from a very young age within a hegemonic capitalist paradigm that values production over the human cost of the labor necessary to produce it, and/or the patriarchal paradigm that values an idealized fantasy of power over the violence necessary to maintain that system.
not that i’m excusing killing one hundred boys or whatever, but is it any wonder he saw no other way to move forward than to burn the entire edifice down?
77 notes
·
View notes
So I adore time loops and I think Sampo would be very fun in a time loop AU. Because despite having so many onscreen interactions with so many characters, he almost always seems to hold people at a certain careful distance, so it's fun to imagine what or who he's willing to use a time loop for, how far he's willing to go, how much he actually does care.
At the end of the Masquerade Duet companion quest, Sparkle mentions a catastrophe soon to befall Jarilo-VI. And some players have interpreted this as a past event (the catastrophe being the story quests we took part in there), but other players have speculated this as an upcoming disaster that Sampo is trying to mitigate.
And so, Gepard finds Sampo in Belobog, right after he was supposed to return from Penacony...or whatever it was called, Gepard had almost been too relieved to remember the name after Natasha assured him that Sampo was fine and not missing or dead, just on a trip since the planet was finally open for travel.
He had assumed this was some kind of vacation, or some shady business endeavor (valid), but when he sees him, Sampo looks. Exhausted.
His usual smirk is there, but there's something horribly off about it that Gepard can't put into words. His voice doesn't have the usual bounce in it. His gait slightly off. There are bags under his eyes, his hair is just the slightest bit out of place. Sampo looks exhausted.
His feet move without him really thinking, he goes up to Sampo to say...something. Maybe just ask him if he's ok. But he can't leave this alone and not do anything, because Gepard can feel it, something is wrong.
And that feeling sticks with him, like the persistent cold, like frostbite, all day. Gepard can't seem to shake it. There is a collective unease seeping through Belobog, sinking deep, tangling around their bones. And the only one who seems to be reacting truly different to it is Sampo.
Gepard tries to tail the guy a few times, anything he can do to learn about what's going on and ease this devouring dread, but Sampo seems to know where he's hiding and calls him out every single time.
He dodges every question (normal), slips out of every grab and grasp (normal), barely even looks at Gepard (decidedly NOT normal).
And maybe it's the darkness that seems to hover over them. The way the air feels like it is pressing down and smothering the breath out of his lungs. But Gepard's patience finally snaps, much sooner than he ever would have thought it would, and he finally grabs Sampo by the collar, hauls him up and forces his back against the brick wall of the alleyway. Because maybe Sampo makes his living double crossing and stabbing backs and he wouldn't understand this, but Gepard has a family, he has people he wants to protect, and so he needs to know what the fuck is going on.
And he knows he's crossed a line the moment he says it. He knows it's not true. Gepard has seen the way Sampo and Caelus sneak around in the Fragmentum or meander down the alleys, snickering with their arms slung around each other. He's seen the way Sampo lets Hook climb up his back onto his shoulders while he takes the moles on little adventures. He's seen the way he and Serval rib each other like it was natural, easy, and the way he goes out of his way for Natasha like he wouldn't any other client, had even trusted her with the knowledge that he was leaving off-planet.
Sampo has people he wants to protect, too, and Gepard shouldn't have accused him otherwise.
But before he can even apologize, Sampo does something stranger still.
Instead of telling him off, or taking a swing at him- both things Gepard would admit he deserved- Sampo just. Lifts one hand, lays it over Gepard's fists still balled in his jacket. Like he's keeping him there. Even through his gloves, his hand is warm.
And Sampo doesn't even really look at him, he leaves his head hung low as he quietly tells Gepard to just go home. Stay in with his family. Don't come out. Please. Please.
But eventually, the catastrophe strikes.
And Gepard can't. He can't stay safe inside his home while this is happening. He can't ignore this. He tells Serval and Lynx to stay in. Don't come out. And he dons his armor and marches out to protect as many people as he can.
When it's all said and done, all Gepard can see is rubble piled around him and a blackened sky. He can hear fire crackling. He can hear a voice he recognizes as Serval's wailing and screaming his name, and he knows she's not going to find him in time. She shouldn't even be out here.
A bloodied face swims into view, bright green eyes looking hollowed and haunted, posture weary and defeated. Gepard reaches out a shaking arm, trying to grab at Sampo's pantleg, trying to make any sound other than gurgling the blood filling his throat, because he knows it for certain now, he knew, Sampo knew.
"Not this time either, huh...?" The sigh he heaves isn't theatrical, for once. Somewhere, rubble groans and loudly collapses. Sampo doesn't even startle or turn to look at it. "I'll figure it out soon, I promise. There has to be a way to pull you through this alive. There has to be."
Something materializes in his hand, something red. Gepard's vision dims at the edges as he watches Sampo hold the mask over his face, as it seemingly attaches itself directly to his skin.
"See you on the next go around, Captain."
78 notes
·
View notes