#OK BUT THE ANGST TOO

[shortcakelils]

[starscream-is-my-wife]

This is part 1 of a continuation for my other post where LL Megatron gets trapped in the G1 universe, I was thinking about how someone would go insane in this cartoon world and thought "what if Megatron had someone else to accompany him" so, I gave Starscream an existential crisis

Edit: pt 2 here

[xixovart]

hazel “is it ok to grieve someone i never met” levesque

[luna-loveboop]

I find it funny that Wild, who has basically a couple years ish of full life experience, comes up with the most insane theories for everything

He assumed that the only other explanation to Four being able to split in Four was. That he was quadruplets who'd been hiding this whole time???

Also apparently he believed that his wolf companion Twilight in botw was a diety (and felt very uhh shocked upon finding out that he was not)

Malon made things worse, telling him about her aliens theory

What's even FUNNIER is that every time Wild expresses any sort of confusion at magic stuff that he's never seen before, everyone else in the chain acts like it's crazy for him to be weirded out by it

Honestly maybe Wild's the only one with his head on straight, rather than everyone else who are just like 'it's magic bro' like no he's right this is weird

I appreciate this because it's very considerate of the fact that he woke up with no memories not too long ago, so he doesn't have much experience to explain the stuff that's 'normal' for the chain. Plus the explanations he comes up with are funny.

:)

.

Art and comic and adorable character by Jojo @linkeduniverse au :D

[beeqisch]

idea by @thief-of-eggs idk if thats what u imagined but ahaha first thing that came to my mind tho (while i was in the middle of drawing this one of my friends said "tim cloning kon" and i died a little bit)

[partfae]

when elrond finally sailed i like to think that he saw celebrían waiting for him on the shore and leapt from the boat, splashing through the waves until he could run to her, unable to bear even another moment apart.

[quirinah]

ummmmmmm guys this dungeons looking a little dark here..........................ummmm..... hello??? guys??

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

angst angst angst. sudden surprise attack on the hotel and follow up in heaven

Charlie: “-Husk! I can’t find- her- where-”

Husk: “I’ve no FUCKING clue!”

Charlie: “She was right here! She was right next to me-! Cherri- ANGEL!”

Husk: “Fuck!”

Charlie: “-are you okay? Vaggie, is she with-”

Husk: “YOU FUCKING MORON I thought that Lute bitch had KILLED YOU!”

Angel Dust: “She was gonna. V girl got in the way.”

Charlie: “Vaggie stopped her? She’s- with you?”

Angel Dust: “She stopped the sword, not her. I didn’t see, I don’t know where she is. It hit her.”

Charlie: “Where-”

Angel Dust: “I don’t know where it hit! There was fucking angel blood all over!”

Charlie: “-where was- where is she?”

Angel Dust: “I DON’T KNOW! FUCK YOU I DON’T KNOW!”

Charlie: “You were there you HAVE to know!”

Husk: “Did she go down?”

Charlie: “NO! No she wouldn’t have-”

Husk: “Baby just say what you saw.”

Charlie: “She’s better than Lute- she’s a better fighter, she already beat her, she’s can’t-” 

Angel Dust: “-she was pissed and bleeding and they both had wings out! The exorcist bitches were swarming everywhere- That’s all I saw! The fuck do you WANT from me?? Other shit was happening too!”

Cherri Bomb: “Chill, we’ll find her. There’s a massive angel spatter just a bit further back, like ten feet from where I found you, maybe-”

Charlie: “Vaggie! VAGGIE PLEASE- please where are you!?”

Husk: “Fuck- You, don’t move. Just stay here-”

Angel Dust: “Not a FUCKING chance.”

Cherri Bomb: “I’ll crutch him over, go help Charlie-”

Charlie: “Why isn’t she here?”

Husk: “Oh… shit that’s so much blood…”

Angel Dust: “The Lute bitch deserves to’ve lost every bit it.”

Charlie: “She’s not here!”

Cherri Bomb: “That’s good. No body is good. They would’ve left it for us to find if they'd- it’s fine if she’s missing. She probably just, wandered off somewhere.”

Husk: “If half of this shit is her blood then she didn’t go fucking far.”

Charlie: “She wouldn’t just leave. S-she’d check on me, on us, she’d make sure I was okay first!”

Angel Dust: “Maybe ain't dead. Maybe she got took.”

Charlie: “…what..?”

Husk: “Took?”

Angel Dust: “Taken back. Like, UP.”

Cherri Bomb: “Angie, heaven kills people, they don’t grab ‘em like toys in a claw game-”

Angel Dust: “Well what ELSE were they here for, huh!?”   

Cherri Bomb: “But they-... they were…”

Angel Dust: “Not tearing into the hotel, not purging the city. Not killing ME, afterwards, once she took the bait and she took the fucking hit for me. I was a sittin' duck with no weapons and they let me run.”

Husk: “Why? They don’t fucking want her, they fucking put her down here, why-”

Cherri Bomb: “-look at Charlie.”

Husk: “The fuck does that mean-”

Cherri Bomb: “Look at the fucking PRINCESS OF HELL you stupid assfuck!”

Charlie: “….”

Charlie: “… they left her ribbon.”

Charlie: “…her spear…”

Charlie: “…and.”

Husk: “Oh fuck no.”

Angel Dust: “Is that- an EYE!?”

Charlie: “Her eye.”

Cherri Bomb: “-shit. SHIT.”

Angel Dust: “But she already only had the one! If they used, if it’s- for real- does that, is she-?”

Charlie: “…”

Charlie: “If they took her then she’s alive. She’ll be okay. She’ll be okay…”

Charlie: “…Husk. Find Alastor and Niffty. Carmilla, Rosie, the Vees- all the Overlords. Bring them here-"

Charlie: "-no. To the clocktower. Heaven’s embassy. Have them meet me there.”

Husk: “How the fuck? You don’t just order Overlords around-”

Charlie: “Tell them if they don’t come I’ll ram my burning pitchfork through their chests and twist their ribs open until enough of their guts spill out for me to grab and drag them there with.”

Husk: “They’ll call your bluff-”

Cherri Bomb: “She’s not bluffing.”

Husk: “Of COURSE she’s fucking bluffing-”

Cherri Bomb: “Warn the Overlords about how heaven took her girl but left her girl's eye and see what THEY think.”

Husk: “… clocktower. When?”

Charlie: “One hour or however long fighting my dad for the throne of hell takes.”

Husk: “Done.”

Angel Dust: “Whoa whoa, what’s with the sudden coup of the kingdom energy!? Fight ya dad? Couldn’t ya just ask his help-”

Charlie: “He’s been bound- he CAN’T attack heaven even if he wanted to. Neither can anyone else here while he’s king.”

Cherri Bomb: “That’s shit.”

Angel Dust: “Well then just ask to be hell king!”

Charlie: “And risk asking for the binding too?”

Angel Dust: “YOU didn’t make the deal-”

Charlie: “If he gives it up willingly and I accept, isn’t that a deal? That’s me, agreeing to what he had- But not if I make it mine. If I use force and rip it from him…”

Angel Dust: “By fighting? For REAL? He’s your fucking family!”

Charlie: “AND SHE ISN’T?”

Angel Dust: “So what- Ya gonna just surprise jump your dad and beat his ass!?”

Charlie: “Yes.”

Cherri Bomb: “No way it’s that easy. You’ll need help-”

Charlie: “I’ve got Vaggie’s spear. That’s enough.”

Angel Dust: “The hell it is!”

Charlie: “He wasn’t born of hell and I am. Even ignoring the Sins, it’s always wanted me more than him anyway.”

Cherri Bomb: “Wh- it’s wanted you? IT?”

Angel Dust: “For fucks sake sure fine hell’s alive who gives a shit-"

Angel Dust: "Think about what VAGGIE would fucking want! Cause it sure wouldn’t be fucking THIS!”

Charlie: “I can’t ask her what she wants until I have her back.”

Angel Dust: “Bitch if you get hurt or killed she’ll never fucking forgive herself!”

Charlie: “I don’t care.”

Angel Dust: “But- but heaven’s not gonna fight fair- ya try this an’ they’ll use her as hostage-”

Cherri Bomb: “It’s a point. What if they put a sword to her throat?”

Charlie: “I’ll rip theirs out first.”

Angel Dust: “… ya… ya won’t…”

Charlie: “Watch the hotel. Don’t move any furniture. She’ll need everything exactly where she remembers it, when she gets home.”

Cherri Bomb: “Got it.

Angel Dust: “Charlie… What’re you doin’?”

Charlie: “Raising hell.”

-HEAVEN- - the beach-

Lute: “Your plan has gone to shit.”

Lilith: (reading) “Has it.”

Lute: “You said this would muzzle her, we’d have her under control.”

Lilith: (flips page) “And isn’t she?”

Lute: “NO. Your whore bitch daughter is-"

Lute: "-hhHHHRK!”

Lilith: “Her.”

Lilith: “Name.”

Lute: “…cchHhARLiE…mORnINgsssTAR..”

Lilith: (releases lute)

Lilith: “Go on.”

Lute: “….she’s burning her way up here.”

Lilith: “Like mother, I suppose.”

Lute: “She has an army.”

Lilith: “Of course she does. We singers love an audience.”

Lute: “She’s shrieking blasphemy and waging war on Heaven!”

Lilith: (back to reading) “Isn’t that what you wanted.”

Lute: “What I wanted?”

Lilith: “Blood and death and pain and suffering....”

Lute: “Down in HELL, damn you! Where it BELONGS!”

Lilith: “And yet you brought my daughter’s partner up here half dead and fully blind.”

Lute: “As she deserves.”

Lilith: “Your brought hell past the pearly gates first, Lute. You invited it here. Heaven has bloodstains now because of you.”

Lute: “It was YOUR plan- YOU said to go get her! How else did you think we were bringing her!?”

Lilith: “Exactly like this.”

Lute: “…..”

Lute: “You… vile, two-faced snake… you wanted this. The defiance of Hell, war at Heaven’s door-”

Lilith: “I couldn’t care less.”

Lute: “LIES!”

Lilith: “We made a deal, little exorcist. Control. My daughter is acting exactly according to your own doing, the hell she is unleashing is your work as much as hers, yours to fight and triumph over while decimating hell to your heart’s content.”

Lute: "I-"

Lilith: “You can be a hero. You can show everyone you were right all along. A chance to empty hell. Adam’s dream come true.... And how proud he would be, if he were still here to see it.”

Lute: “…”

Lilith: "Unless… the soldiers of Heaven might not be up to that…?”

Lute: “...Your demon spawn won’t fall like her traitor father did. She will be- stop squirming, filth-! She’ll be thrown.”

Lilith: “A child often outshines their parents.”

Lute: “Or is burnt to ash. As their parents should have been.”

Lilith: “Too late for that.”

Lute: “We’ll see.”

Lilith: (flips page)

Lilith: “…Lute.”

Lute: “What, Lilith.”

Lilith: “Are you so afraid of losing that you need to drag a broken woman around as a shield?”

Lute: “A shield? No. An example.”

Lilith: “She already is that. As much as she can be, with so little left of her.”

Lute: “Pathetic, isn’t she? And an example for hell this time.”

Lilith: “They’ve seen worse than this each morning.”

Lute: “Oh but I’m far better than they are. I’m no mere sinner- I think I’ll show your daughter a little act of heavenly mercy.”

Lilith: “Is that what you call it when you kill.”

Lute: “This time death really is a mercy, don’t you think? I SAID STOP SQUIRMING!”

Lilith: “Your example doesn’t seem to agree.”

Lute: “Her mistake.”

Lilith: “Yours as well. Your own happily little mistake. Failing to kill her worked out well for you in the end, didn’t it?"

Lute: "I made it work."

Lilith: "You should thank her.”

Lute: “Thank the filth for what?”

Lilith: “For sparing your life. Proving the stronger fighter. Living long enough for this to happen. Loving and being loved enough to inspire a war between heaven and hell."

Lilith: (flips page) "Take your pick.”

Lute: “….I’ll see you after I’m done wiping out your people, Lilith, treacherous Queen of hell- and I’ll tell your daughter who’s idea this all was while I’m at it.”

Lilith: “Give her my love as well.”

Lute: “I’ll carve it on this filth’s chest for her to read while she wails over the corpse!”

Lilith: “If you like. Goodbye, little exorcist.”

Lute: “Bye bitch.”

Lilith: “…”

Lilith: “… and may they finally be as merciful to you, as you have been with them.”

Lilith: (smiles)

Lilith: (goes back to adding a new chapter to The Story of Hell)

[mintypsii]

guys i love them i promise i just have the urge to put them through the grinder sometimes

umm on the bright side here's the alternate good ending version lol!!!!!

[zu-is-here]

More dark kcrm (just two of them heh) for the birthday fruit @orange-dreamzer <3

[kitamars]

enmi gintoki…………… orz

[pkmn-lillie]

inspired by this post

so. Tim gets hit by some kind of spell that transports his consciousness to an alternate timeline, where he is the son of Ra's Al Ghul and older brother of Talia.

his consciousness goes back to his original reality in moments, but due to time bullshit he did spend about a decade in that universe.

Talia got like, super attached to her older brother, Tamir. when he dies on his 18th birthday, during some assassin coming of age death match or something, she was convinced that he was still alive somewhere or somewhen. (I know Tim is (probably) great with infosec, but its a decade! and he came to love her like a little sister, too, so he was a little less tight lipped about his whole circumstances.)

i'm skipping to the fun part, where Tiny Talia is chilling in Tim's apartment when he gets back from some situation, 2 months post-spell. Tim's response is "this might as well happen to me. are you sticking around, or—"

Tim, walking around gotham with Tiny Talia (Tamirah?) one hand in hers, other hand with a drink

Dick: (looking at the very obvious Young Talia Al Ghul) whatcha got there?

Tim: a smoothie.

Tamirah: who is this?

Tim: That's Dick Grayson. we like him.

Tamirah: okay 🩷 yay 🩷

[twinsyy]

Why they think of you to help them sleep (Furina)

(4.5 archon quest spoilers)

warnings: angsty, kind of comfort at the end?

a/n: short cause i dont actually know her very well. i wanna go through the story quests again of characters im most interested in writing about to figure how to write them. that’ll take a while tho so i am basing it off what i remember from archon quests, events, and story quests i did a while ago

She needs to, because it hurts too much otherwise.

Everyday was another scene number. The endless play that is her life. A show that can never end, or Fontaine and its people are doomed to the flood. As she remains to cry on her throne. As the prophecy reigns terror onto the land.

So instead, she endures the weight of this responsibility in her lonesome. To be able to cry because of keeping everyone alive is a gift. Instead of crying because she succumbed to her weaknesses and letting them die.

The only solace she has is when she is finally allowed to be alone.

When it is just her in her room. The eyes are finally off of her, and the curtains come to a close. She curls up in her bed.

She shuts her eyes tight. Her brows knitted in concentration. Just so that she can conjure an image of you in her head. The creator.

She imagines you are in bed with her. That she is in your warm embrace. She falls asleep to the thought of you shushing her gently. Telling her she will be okay. How good she is doing. And how it will be over soon.

Only then does the tension in her body relax. Snuggling deeper into her pillow as if it was actually you. She is blissful enough to momentarily forget she has another performance due the next day.

She does this for a couple hundred years. Even after she was able to live normally after the death of Focalors.

She cannot sleep without thinking about the creator anymore. It is a necessity.

You are the gentle light that glows in the suffocating darkness that has trapped her. Even after she is free, your light will always allow her eyes to gently fall into a peaceful sleep.

[evelynpr]

Might be a hot take as a bkdk and tgck truther here, but I find izuocha endlessly fascinating, beautiful, but also tearfully tragic.

I see their love for each other as something representative of their innocence and naivety when they only knew so little about who they were, and what was to come.

I think the main barrier of their relationship is that its rooted in how they see each other very idealistically, specifically that they're attached to the image of their Best Heroic Selves, and not the deeply selfish, destructive, freaky, and egotistical parts of them. To each other, they need to keep fulfilling that image or else that same person they looked up to would almost die in front of them, and that would be too cruel. Although that hero is still there, that same person they looked up to is not the same now because of...well...everything.

Izuku had barely even talked to girls when he first met her. She was Izuku's first ever real friend (Sorry Kats, everyone and him knows he was terrible), so he saved her in that entrance exam even if it was so dangerous. She gave a new meaning to his derogatory nickname just by being a friend that believed in him. After that, she saved him several more times (Blackwhip and Megaphone are the biggest samples iirc). It makes perfect sense that she is Deku's hero.

Ochako hardly knew what it meant to be a hero when she first got into UA. Just by reaching out to some kid tripping, she made a new friend who would then save her in that exam, then save him again in return. This boy then became someone who was always working so hard to save everyone in trouble, and she realized she wanted to be just like him too. "I want to save people"

But...Deku changes. The weight of One for All is on his shoulders and he needs someone to carry this burden with him. He continues to want to save other people at the expense of himself, still not letting his true selfishness and ego ever show- and it only grows more and more unbearable.

Then...Ochako fell in love with Himiko. Truly, relentlessly, selfishly and devotedly in love with a girl who then dies giving her blood to her- the greatest expression of love Himiko could ever give.

Not that they can't love each other because of this happening (and...so many other things oh god), I'm honestly not sure how to explain it- But them ending up together after losing that innocence and naivety? After Ochako will forever grieve the girl who showed her love in its most beautiful and ugly form? After Izuku changed so fundamentally as a person that the butterflies of a nice girl talking to you doesn't exist anymore? After that simple image of being a hero and being in love has completely changed for them both?

Even so, I believe they still love each other. There is no label I know of that can properly describe them though. They are each other's image of being a hero when it comes to saving people. Aside from Shoto, no one else can grasp the grief of the person you tried to save dying in your hands. They would no doubt try to cope with these losses together, and just try to get better together...but so much has changed. They've changed. The world changed. What are they now? Who are they now?

"What happened...to us?"

[thetomorrowshow]

love is such a drag

Chapter one: Scar's first encounter with the angel (and Grian gets to eat ice cream)

welcome to my scariana griande drag college au. this will be quite the ride from start to finish.

~

Scar spots her from across the bar.

It would be hard not to notice her, honestly. Despite the dim, almost cloudy lighting of the room, she glows, as if a heavenly spotlight is set right on her to make it clear that she just descended from heaven.

Scar sneaks glances at her over the fun green umbrella in his drink. She's sitting by herself—an absolute crime, if you ask Scar—, swishing around the little black straw in her drink. Her dark blond hair falls in gorgeous ringlets down around her shoulders, outlining her face the way a pure golden frame would surround only the most beautiful of paintings.

Her nose is small, turned up just a little bit in a peak, the bridge delicate and sparkling with a small amount of angel dust that must be left over from the aforementioned descent. Her eyes are almost comically doe-like, large and accentuated with soft pink eye shadow and long eyelashes. Scar can't quite tell what color her eyes are from this distance (brown, maybe? Black?), but he knows that whatever color they are, they are absolutely perfect.

Her lips are pink to match her eye shadow, glittery, small and pursed, as if her drink isn't near good enough to pass those delicately soft lips.

Scar hasn't even met the woman, but he wants to kiss those lips. He wants some of that angel dust to find its way onto his own lips.

Her cheeks are rosy and full, and her round chin rests on her palm as she casts a bored look around the bar.

Scar downs the last bit of his drink for courage.

He sticks the umbrella in his shirt pocket for good luck.

Then he picks up his cane and saunters over, frantically sorting through every pick-up line in his repertoire—though none of them seem to match the beauty of God's creation before him.

She looks up at him as he approaches, peering at him from under those long lashes, and now he can tell—

Her eyes are grey, but not grey like clouds, or the sea, or the bartop that her arm rests on. Her eyes are grey like the comforter on his mom's bed, like the bricks around the fireplace back in his grandpa's old house, like the silver colored pencil he'd taken all his notes in for a semester to try and prove to Cub that it worked just as well as a normal pencil (it hadn't).

Her eyes are grey like the backdrop of Scar's dreams, the firmament that rests between consciousness and all else.

And then, of course, he's right there.

And she's waiting.

There isn't a single smooth pick-up line in his brain, which is offensive if Scar does say so himself, because he always has words. He could wax poetic about a frying pan for an hour just to annoy someone, but now that his skills are put to the test he can't hold on to his wits long enough to use them.

Goodness gracious, but she's beautiful.

She's wearing something pink and small, a cut-off that reveals a slender torso and adorable bellybutton, the sleeves long and flowy but off the shoulders. Her skirt is a lighter shade of pink, cutting off just above her knees, and it looks like just the kind of skirt that she could spin in and it would twirl along perfectly with her, the kind that sort of looks like a cupcake wrapper.

Scar's always wanted to wear that kind of skirt.

How long has he been staring at her?

"Hi," he manages, readjusting his sweaty grip on his cane. "Um. Come here often?"

She rolls her eyes.

It's breathtaking.

"Sorry, worst line in the book and all that," Scar excuses himself. "Can I order you another drink, then?"

She glances at the half-full drink she's been slowly working her way through. "I'm good, thanks," she says, and Scar nearly swoons.

The angel talked to him!

And her voice! Fluttery, but something deeper underneath! Textured like a symphonic piece of music, as soft as the faux fur carpets in the back of department stores!

She's perfect.

"I'll just cut straight to the point," Scar says, trying valiantly to not feel light-headed. "You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. May I take you out on a date?"

She blinks.

"You don't even know me," she says, leaning back down to take a dainty little sip out of the straw.

"No, but I want to," Scar reasons. "Can I get you anything? Some chips? A little umbrella?"

"The umbrellas come with the cocktails," she scoffs. She flicks her hair over her shoulder and Scar definitely doesn't almost fall over. "I'm not in the mood for a cocktail."

Scar leans forward. "You can ask for an umbrella with any drink," he whispers, winking conspiratorially. "I always do."

"What is it you really want?" she says, sounding almost tired, and Scar puts his hand to his heart.

"I just want to take you out on a date, I swear, nothing else," he says. "Scout's honor."

"Scout's honor?"

"Troupe 2906," Scar says, lying through his teeth. He was never a scout. Well, he did Cub Scouts, but he never made it to Boy Scouts. And he definitely didn't have a troupe. "Once a scout, always a scout."

Almost reluctantly, she giggles (a sound like windchimes softly jangling), then pulls her phone out of the tiny white purse at her side. "All right, fine. What's your name?"

"Scar," he tells her, pulling out his own phone. He unlocks it with a quick swipe, then pulls up a new contact card and trades his phone for the angel's.

"Your phone looks like it got ran over," she observes, picking at the tape on the side.

"If you pull that tape off, it goes dead."

She stops picking at it.

Scar types in his number slowly with one finger, leaning against the bar as casually as he can manage. He's been standing for a minute too long, but he doesn't want to make her uncomfortable by sitting down.

When he's finished, he passes the phone back to her, receiving his own in return.

"I'll text you," he promises.

She laughs again, nods. "Okay."

The way she dismisses him—

The conversation is clearly over, based on the way she turns back to her drink, her lips once again pursed but this time turned up at the corners.

Scar hurries out as fast as his body will allow him, which isn't very fast even on the best days.

Once he's outside, out of view of her, he checks his phone.

The contact is there, ten exquisite digits.

And her name.

Ariana.

-

"Cub, do you mind if I have someone over? I need to opine."

Cub looks up from his laptop, then flinches away when Scar turns on the lights.

"Scar, do you know what time it is?" he gripes, putting a pillow over his face.

"It's not even midnight, mister, so don't pretend like this is late. You're always up at all hours of the morning, anyway."

"Why can't you opine to me?" Cub sighs.

"You don't opine back! I need someone who will wallow on the floor with me."

Scar can practically hear Cub raise an eyebrow. "Ren?"

Scar grins. "Ren. He basically isn't even a guest, since he lives right above us. And it would only be for an hour at most!"

"Fine, fine," grumbles Cub, sitting up and setting his pillow to the side. "Call him. But I have a quiz tomorrow, so this better be quick."

Ren's over within five minutes, a two-liter of diet pepsi in one hand and a bag of candy in the other.

"Leftover Christmas candy, my dude," Ren says, tossing it on the floor. "You said you need to opine?"

Scar carefully lowers himself to sit on the floor, then flops down onto his back, his arms splayed out dramatically.

"Why are we doing this in my room?" groans Cub.

"I've seen an angel," Scar declares, and his heart flutters just the slightest bit.

"Ugh."

"Ooh!" Ren says, sitting cross-legged on the floor. "Tell me more."

"I was at the bar in Aquetown, right?" Scar starts, adjusting his arms to look more dramatic, one thrown over his forehead. "The good one. The quiet one."

"Right," nods Ren. "I know it well."

"And there she was," Scar says reverently. "The angel."

"What was her name? What happened? What did she—"

"Her name is Ariana," Scar breathes, the name as sweet on his lips as he knows her kiss would be. "She's perfect."

"Did you get her number?" Cub asks boredly.

Scar scoffs. "Of course I got her number! We're going on a date."

"Oooo!" Ren teases, slapping his shoulder. "My man has a date with a pretty girl!"

"She isn't just a girl," Scar says dreamily. "She's an angel. You should've seen her, Ren! If God himself turned up and told me that there had been a mistake, that she was supposed to be in heaven, I wouldn't have even blinked! She—"

"Yeah, she's a beautiful angel, we get it," interrupts Cub. "Can you do this in the living room?"

"What color are her eyes?" Ren asks.

"Grey . . . I've never met anyone with grey eyes. Not like those."

"What did she say? Is she into you?" Ren shakes his head. "What am I saying? Of course she's into you! Who wouldn't be?"

Scar. . . .

Scar hadn't even thought about that.

He'd just been so preoccupied with getting a date with such a perfect woman, he hadn't even thought about whether or not she might want one with him.

What if she secretly hates him?

What if she just told him yes to get him to go away?

"No, it's okay," Ren says quickly, patting his arm. "Don't cry! She's totally into you, dude! Don't even worry about it!"

"What if she isn't?" Scar asks, the hand thrown over his head moving to tug at his hair. "What if I was bothering her? What if she gave me a fake number?"

"No, dude, it's not—"

"Scar," Cub says, kneeling down on the floor beside him, "look at me."

There are already tears welling up in Scar's eyes when he looks up, straight into Cub's dark, unyielding eyes.

"Any woman would be lucky to have you," he says seriously. "If she was lying, that's her loss. Got it?"

Reluctantly, Scar nods, wiping away a tear with the heel of his palm.

Cub claps him on the shoulder. "Now get out of my room."

-

"Mumbo! Mumbo, you're never gonna guess—"

"In here!" Mumbo calls from their shared bedroom.

Grian shuts the front door and locks the deadbolt, then dashes down the short hall—past Pearl's empty bedroom—until he arrives at his own room. He shuts and locks that door behind himself as well, then leans against it, hands splayed on the old poorly-painted wood.

"Mumbo," he breathes. "Mumbo, it happened."

Mumbo is lying on his stomach on the floor, sleep shirt riding just a bit up his back from clear readjustments of position. He pushes his laptop a bit away, shuts whatever textbook he'd been studying, and rubs his eyes.

"You look cute," Mumbo says when he's done rubbing his eyes, blinking blearily at Grian. "Is that a new skirt?"

Grian stands up straight for a moment, twirls it back and forth. "Yeah, it's one of my new favorites, I think. Do you like it?"

"Looks great," says Mumbo. "Good show tonight?"

"It was fine, but that doesn't matter!" Grian falls back against the door again, letting himself slide all the way to the floor. "Mumbo, it finally happened. A man asked me out."

"No way!" Mumbo cheers, sitting up. "Like, legitimately? He thought—"

"He thought I was a girl and he asked me out!" Grian says. "This is the best day of my life. Nothing can top this."

"After—wait, after the performance? Or before? Because you think he'd know, after the performance, that it was drag, but maybe—"

"Oh, no, no, no," Grian waves him off. "This was at a different bar. I stopped by that one in Aquetown—you know, the dead one?—just on my way back, to try and get a decent drink before heading home. And he just came over to me—Mumbo, he called me the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen."

"Dude!" Mumbo waves his arms around like Kermit the Frog. "I think—I think we need to celebrate! Break out the ice cream, dude, because it's time to throw a party!"

Grian just breathes slowly, chest lifting and falling dramatically. He feels just like a girl in the movies after kissing her date goodbye, only better. More giddy, if that’s possible.

It's getting late, though. He should probably slip out of his heels, take out his hair extensions, wipe off his make-up, take off his boobs, change into pajamas. . . .

Or he could go eat ice cream in their tiny kitchen with Mumbo and animatedly recount every moment of the night.

Which is how Grian finds himself eating ice cream in their tiny kitchen with Mumbo, animatedly recounting every moment of the night.

"He has a cane," Grian remembers suddenly, halfway through telling Mumbo exactly what he'd said for the third time. "It was one of those old-fashioned ones. With the golden handle?"

"Okay, so he's, like, the rich heir of a mansion," Mumbo nods. "You could do a lot worse. Unless he was old—was he old?"

Grian shrugs. "I don't think so. He looked pretty young—he had a scar across his cheek, actually, kind of like—like this—"

He traces along his own cheek, starting from his jawbone, curving up a bit almost to his nose.

Mumbo frowns. "A scar? I think—"

The front door of the apartment opens, and in trudges Pearl, kicking off her muddy boots.

"Pearl!" Grian says excitedly, holding out his scraped-up plastic bowl, a couple of bites of melting ice cream still left. "We're having ice cream to celebrate!"

Pearl drops her blue backpack on the floor of the living room (right beside the front door, the dead carpet there dividing it from the tiled entrance space that leads into the kitchen). She looks first to Grian, then Mumbo, then the carton of vanilla ice cream on the kitchen counter.

"Sounds like a party!" she says, sticking her hands in her hoodie pockets. "You both look nice!"

"Oh! Um, thanks!" Mumbo says, while Grian does a little spin, his skirt lifting in the air (not that Pearl can see, standing on the other side of the counter as she is).

"A man asked me out," Grian tells her. "While he thought I was a woman!"

"Well, of course he did! You make a very pretty girl, Grian."

"Yeah, but you have to say that. You're my sister. He called me the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen."

"Awww," Pearl coos. She comes around the counter, pulls a chipped bowl out of the dishwasher (used to dry dishes, not wash them) along with a spoon, which she uses to load some ice cream into the bowl before sticking a spoonful in her mouth.

"What was his name?" she asks around the ice cream, words muffled.

Grian frowns. "I don't remember. He didn't write it in the contact. That isn't important, though—he asked me out!"

"Are you going to go?"

Grian freezes.

Is he going to. . . ?

"Oh no," he says, dread pooling in the pit of his stomach. "I—I didn't even think about that."

"Think about what?" Mumbo asks, scraping his spoon along the side of his bowl.

"I don't want to go on a date," Grian says. Oh, this is dreadful! "I just liked the attention! What do I do, Mumbo? I gave him my number and everything!"

Pearl scoffs. "You gave him your number? You're basically required to go on a date with him. If you give a man your real number, it means you're interested."

"Did you tell him you'd go on a date with him?"

Grian cringes. ". . . Maybe?"

"Grian!"

"I can't help it!" Grian defends. "I love flirting, you know that!"

Mumbo covers his face, bowl abandoned on the counter.

"Grian," Pearl bemoans.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. . . ."

"Well, we'd better hope he's a creep!" Mumbo says loudly, face still buried in his hands. "Because then you don't have to feel bad about ditching the date!"

"Was he nice?" asks Pearl.

Grian shrugs helplessly. "I guess? He tried to give me a drink umbrella."

"Oh. So, very drunk."

"No, I think he just wanted me to have one."

"Goodness, Grian. You've got yourself in a bit of a situation," Mumbo says, finally emerging from his hands. He looks into his bowl, frowns at the lack of ice cream.

"Maybe he'll forget about it?" Grian suggests, but his heart isn't really in it.

He doesn't have much hope. Not with the way the man had talked to him. No, he's probably just set himself up for a month of progressively creepier and more disgusting texts until he blocks the man and files a 'do not contact' directive with the school.

Assuming this man is a student.

What if he's, like, an old man? 

Like, thirty?

Okay. This is too much.

Hopefully, he just doesn't text. Then Grian won't have to worry about it. Which won't happen, but he can dream.

"We can talk more about it tomorrow, all right?" Mumbo says, tossing his bowl in the sink. "It's getting late. And G, you should probably put your, er, appendages away."

"My bosom?" Grian says, raising an eyebrow.

"His tittie-tatties?" Pearl suggests.

"My breastily breasting boobs?"

"His badonka donk—"

"Please just get them off the counter."

[windydrawallday]

KEEP TALKING TO ME

"It doesn't have to be like this / All we need to do is make sure / We keep talking."

@goobygnarp thank you for the inspiration 💚

PS i will leave too the pic without the dialogue bubbles layer: tbh this piece could look even better if worked on a vertical canvas but AGH time...