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luchitohamilton · 1 year ago

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lewis being interview by margot laffite for canal+ at the qatar gp '23

I act like a kid all the time. I’m not embarrassed about it; I love having fun. So that’s why, you know, I’m always skydiving, surfing or I’m skiing or I’m riding my bike or whatever might be, that’s me being a kid. And that’s something I refuse to ever let go.

transcript below :-)

So Lewis. I don't want today to talk about the World champion, the Formula 1 driver, I would like to talk about Lewis Carl Davidson Hamilton, if you don’t mind. Can you describe the kind of kid you were at home and at school? What kind of kid were you?

[Smiling] Did you ever had a show called Dennis the Menace?

Oh yes of course.

You did?

Of that kind, yeah. Denis la Malice.

I was like Dennis the Menace 2.0. [laughs] I was climbing trees, I was just always riding my bike down the fastest hill. Naturally super competitive in everything that I did and, uhm, my dad helped me concentrate that energy into racing and that’s where stability came.

We know you were a huge fan of Ayrton Senna, but did you watch like every single F1 race, documentaries about F1?

No, when I was a kid I only watched documentaries on Ayrton Senna, read his books. Anything to do with Ayrton I would have it, whether it was a coffee mug or, not that I drink coffee as a kid, but I was watching Gran Prix from like since I was like 4 with my dad on the weekends. Yeah, Sunday sitting with my dad watching races was one of the best times, I remember.

If you could go back in time, where and when would it be?

It would probably be when I was living with my mum, before I was 8, so, yeah.

You are running the world so, how difficult is it to build friendships?

Yeah, it’s definitely not the easiest I would say. My two closest friends are from school, yeah, they are my brothers. Places where I’ve found good friendships are obviously on my job, and then when I’m doing music, when I’m working with musicians, it’s just like a different realm and there I’ve built some incredible relationships also.

What does being a grown up mean to you? Is it like tiresome to be more conscious of the impact you have on things and people, rather than the pleasant innocence of being a child?

When you play a game with some children, maybe your family, nieces and nephews, do you let them win?

No, I try to win! I just [laughs] and they are good, they are getting good, so I have to get my wins while I can. But, my dad never let me win anything when I was a kid. I think is good to learn how to lose anyways, so [laughs]

Are you always on time or sometimes you’re late?

No, I’m always late. The only time I’m ever on time is when I’m getting in the car to race. But like if I’m going for a flight, I’m always late. I don’t know, I like the limit, yeah. [jokingly] I like getting there around the limit, I like the rush.

What are your thoughts and feelings about Max Verstappen? The man he is, the kind of champion.

He’s done an exceptional job. I think the team has done an amazing job. Collectively they truly deserve the success. Max has been faultless this year, he’s not made any mistakes. I only hope that there’s a time when I’ll be able to put up a fight for him.

When you quit F1 would you still want race like Dakar or the 24 Hours of Le Mans?

I currently don't really have any, like, zero, like, feelings to do those things. I love motorbikes, I’ve always loved Moto GP, still love it today. I have 2 super bikes. I think I probably always just gonna take my bikes out. I won’t compete professionally in anything ever again. It takes 10,000 hours to be, you know, a master of something else. I wanna spend that 10,000 hours on being the best dad or something like that, you know, or running my businesses in the best way I can. Where all my energy and focus will go to. For now, I’ll continue to skydive, I’ll continue to surf, those are probably the, riding the bikes, surfing and skydiving, those are the 3 fun things that I’ll make sure I always do.

Merci Beaucoup, Lewis.

Merci.

It was a pleasure as always. Thank you.

#lewis hamilton #f1 #formula 1 #ayrton senna #qatar gp 2023 #pal archivo #amazing interview tbh

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anodyne-violence · 1 year ago

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Voted Larb because his status as the one who took Vort feels interesting to me.

Vort WAS an important target. We can infer this from details in the show and the comics. Vortians designed the Massive itself, along with various other warships -- said warships might not be as powerful as what they gave the irkens, but they still pack a punch. When the planet was taken, the Empire didn't actually terraform it into anything obviously useful, it just became a military prison, my guess is so they could squeeze more research out of the goatmen. In the comics, their brains are harvested seemingly to boost irken IQs. There is a weird respect* there. (((*of course, the Empire's """"respect"""" of other lifeforms requires way more quotations than even I put down, but you get what I mean. A practice like this requires them to at least ACKNOWLEDGE Vortian intelligence, potentially to the point that it's naturally superior to their own. Good luck trying to get them to do that with any other species))). Even though the planet is a "cushy" assignment, I doubt it was as insignificant as Blortch turned out to be in the galactic conquest.

And Larb was given this target by a complete fluke.

From what little we saw of him, he was openly timid in the face of danger by episode 1(I don't remember if he tears up or not when he asks "why did you draw that?", but he was openly distressed). Yet, when we see him next, Vort is on fire and he's napping on that couch. Irkens don't need to sleep. My man is REVELLING. What kind of arc did he have on that planet? Did he start as frail as he seemed, only to awaken a true monster inside him during the conquest? Did he become so arrogant, he thought they couldn't scratch him, even when they had nothing left to lose? Was there ever even any malice in him, like, did he just see it as a job and nothing else so took the couch as a little treat? Am I off the money completely and something else was going on? I don't know. None of us do.

Man. Still not even done with the questions. How did he go about taking the planet from the Empire's then-closest friends? Did he hack into and access their own weaponry? Did he set up conflicts within different regions on the planet to start civil wars that he reaped the rewards of? Did he just use his own weaponry and burnt it all by hand? Was he ever actually as timid as he seemed an episode 1, or was that just a ruse, an attempt on the Tallests' mercy to get an assignment that wasn't terrible? The question here is whether he went from unconfident zero to inverted hero, or if he was always a snake, and honestly, both make for a potentially fascinating character in my opinion.

(There's also fun room to contrast him with Skoodge. Larb was notably short, short enough to be considered for Blortch before even Skoodge, but he was rewarded for a sudden growth spurt. Would he remember his former mistreatment? Or would he revel in the new privileges of being tallish by his society's metrics, spitting on people who used to be like him? Would there be any resentment on Skoodge's end if they ever met again? Aghh.)

Skoodge has been excluded in the name of actually underrated characters. Had the series not been canceled, he was already on schedule to join the main cast on Earth anyway.

Tak was never officially an invader to begin with.

And Tenn’s unfortunately failed in her mission, as far as implications go.

#blah blah blah #iz #irken things

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real-jane · 3 years ago

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A Week to Atone: Day Zero

(hermione x draco)

summary: hermione and draco make an agreement--draco will do what she wants for one week, as penance for his past treatment of her. and after? who knows?

warnings: draco is pining for hermione, divergence from canon, most students come back after the war, hermione and draco share one singular brain cell

a/n: part 1 of 'a week to atone', my 8th-year hogwarts-era series. i'm moving this little series to tumblr because it's such a better format for short-form series! i will also get back to consistently updating it to get us through the full week of draco's penance ;) enjoy! message, comment, or reblog with request to be added to the tag list!

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If the closest he could get was a brush of her fingers against the back of his hand, Draco was going to savor it.

New school year, laced with the anxiety of returning to the castle after it had survived a catastrophic battle… and she had found him, just for a moment, while the crowd filed into the Great Hall. Two knuckles, three max. Her burgundy lips pursed to whisper something, but no chance to do so unheard. Her two barnacles tore her away towards the Gryffindor tables, leaving Draco to wander over to his respective house’s tables and try to find a hospitable seating arrangement, away from his fellow eighth years. It was not to be--instead, the only seat he could find positioned him with his back to his former cohort of friends, where he could hear every word of their insufferable banter.

But he watched her.

Aphrodite was a roadside attraction on the way to beauty, compared to Hermione. At some point in the months since had last seen her, he had begun to think of her with a choking sort of longing, and it was magnified tenfold to be so near to her again.

She must have ordered new robes--he had seen a set just like the ones she wore in the window of Madam Malkins’ shop, and admired the cut of the high collar. It was a new style, one which didn’t require a button-up shirt or tie beneath it with the way it buttoned at the neck; the house colors could be seen in the intricate piping and thread which finished the garment . Most of the other eighth year girls wore the traditional style, allowing them to show off tops which barely passed decency requirements, and skirts worn scandalously short. Which, though fetching, threatened to send the Headmistress into a fit. The golden girl seemed unconcerned by such a charade. And it had him gulping punch by the gallon to see her so poised, so very much her own figure of grace.

Potter leaned over to whisper something which made her laugh, and the Weasel seemed to be striking up the courage to try the same, angling in like he might, and then shaking his head faintly. She hadn’t even looked at Draco since the brief greeting, but he wished she would chance one glance.

Maybe he had imagined it. The faint touch of her skin… maybe it was an accident. Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. This fixation was driving him mad.

It had been… one hundred and twenty-one days. He had been dreaming lately about the press of her forearm against his chest… stopping him from joining the Dark Lord when he had called out to him. What felt hazy and unspecific in his dream-state was crystal clear in his memory of that day that the Great War came to an end. She hadn’t even looked at Draco. Just extended her arm in his path, and faintly shook her head. So, he didn’t go. And when his father had threatened him-- ”Think twice, my boy, or you’re dead to me.” --her hand had found purchase in his jumper and stayed him.

He didn’t know why he had let her keep him there. When the fighting was done, and much of the great castle ruined, she had disappeared into the throng of students, leaving Draco to be set-upon by several members of the faculty, expressing their concern and hollow encouragements, alike.. He had never spoken two words to Hermione Granger without malice in the whole of their acquaintance, but her arm pressing into his chest had… probably saved his life.

He couldn’t stop watching her raise her goblet to her lips to sip, now that they were in the same room again.

“Which of the two do you think the Mudblood’s shagging?” a low voice behind him murmured. Draco’s blood immediately rose into a protective fervor.

“McLaggen said she’s a boring shag.”

“Who does she think she is in those robes?”

“Bet Potter paid for ‘em.”

“She’s not fooling anyone. Barely has tits to fill robes like that, nevermind an arse of any value--”

“Gods, don’t make me think about her naked!”

“Nauseating, isn’t it?”

“Wish she’d do us all a favor and kill herself--”

The time it took to make Blaise Zabini eat slugs and Theodore Nott’s nose collide with the table blurred, but Draco was on his feet with his wand drawn and panting. Pansy shrieked beside Nott as blood gushed from his face, doing what little she could to stop the bleeding with the sleeve of her nobes.

“What have you done, Draco?” Pansy spat.

He said nothing. Just breathed… and then he felt the prickling of hundreds of sets of eyes settling on the back of his neck.

He ran.

***

And then, because he couldn’t go back to his dormitory--not after attacking two of his housemates, in front of the entire student body--Draco suited up into his training kit in the locker room and jogged laps around the quidditch pitch.

It was only after his knees started to buckle from the exertion that he took a pause, bracing himself to catch his breath against one of the goal posts, and he saw her again.

She was seated in the Slytherin stands, tearing off and eating small pieces of a dinner roll. She didn’t really acknowledge him much when she realized that he had seen her. Just nodded. Against his better judgment, and the crippling pang of panic that shot through him, he approached. He paused at the railing which separated the stands from the field and leaned against it. Back to her.

A breadth of silence passed before she spoke.

“Don’t like being back,” Hermione said softly.

“...hmm.”

“The castle looks like it never happened. Apparently there are engraved stones in the courtyard for… everyone who died… but. I don’t like it. Being here. Feels wrong.”

Draco could not have agreed more. He nodded. Couldn’t articulate his agreement beyond that. Hearing her voice was strange, and even more so when the words she spoke were to him.

“You’re playing this term?”

His head spun to gape at her. “...what?”

Her cheeks reddened. “You’re... running on the pitch. So I had assumed--”

“Seeker,” he managed. “Earned my spot back in summer trials.”

“Ah.”

They looked away from each other quickly.

“I’m shit on a broom,” she admitted so softly he almost missed it.

The memory came unbidden of their first year with Madam Hooch, when Hermione could not make her broom obey her commands, no matter how many times she ordered it to do so. A memory which used to live in his mind as a reminder why Gryffindors were useless… now a warm recollection of seven years ago. He huffed a slight laugh. “I remember.”

“Haven’t improved since first year. Brooms shudder in my wake.”

“The world shudders in your wake,” he said. Oh, if only he could stuff those words right back in his mouth. Her face fell, and she twisted her mouth to keep back whatever emotion he had conjured up. “I--that’s not, um. Not how I meant it.”

She sniffed, but she nodded. “How… um. Sorry.”

“What for?”

“I was going to be intrusive.”

“Um. Go… ahead. Go ahead. With whatever you were going to say.” Draco jammed his hands in his pockets and readied himself for whatever payback he had coming.

“How have things… been, for you? Since the battle and everything.”

“Uh--well--”

“Sorry, I don’t even know why I asked--”

“You’re the first to ask, honestly.”

Her eyes found his then, and she looked… hurt. She frowned. “The first?”

“Yes.”

“Nobody asks you how you are?”

“Granger,” Draco sighed. “Do I look like I have any relationship that survived the war? Any at all?”

“You… don’t seem to be on good terms with Blaise or Theo.”

Draco blanched. “You didn’t hear what they said?” he said quickly. She shook her head and Draco carded a hand over his face in relief. “No. I don’t ally myself with purists anymore.” Not a one. Not even his mother, though she wrote him twice a week begging for some kind of conversation to occur.

Hermione gestured to the bench beside her and waited for him to elaborate.

He took the invitation readily, hauling himself up between the bars, but he sat as far from her as he could while still remaining polite. “I probably reek,” he said, more to himself than anything. She didn’t confirm or deny that fact.

Draco looked down at his hands. Like his father, he had long fingers, but he was much stronger than Lucius Malfoy had ever been. The man looked down on sport. It was the one thing that belonged only to Draco, and it showed--especially after a summer of training and fighting to earn his place back on the Slytherin team. It had probably helped his case that the other members of his former posse were disallowed by the Headmistress from rejoining the team. In any case, it was… because of her that he was even there.

“You ruined my life, Granger.” Draco sighed, leaning back against the bench one step higher from theirs. Hermione’s posture was fixed, and she kept her eyes on him, but she was confused and biting back some kind of unbidden emotion. Still, she nodded for him to go on.

“If it weren’t for you, I would have gone to him. I would have. I wasn’t… strong enough to say No to him. I… guess I want to know why you did it.”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. Hermione turned her head towards the whole of the quidditch pitch, but her eyes searched as if they were replaying the memory over again.

“There has to be a reason--”

“There isn’t. You were just suddenly… there. Next to me, and I saw you start moving, and independent of my will, my arm raised up to stop you.”

“Hmm.”

“It’s just…” She stopped. “You should have had a choice.”

Draco scoffed. “I’ve been horrid to you. Worse--”

“Yes, well. Even little bullies make mistakes.”

“Granger…”

“Did you want to join him?”

“No! I don’t know--”

“Because I distinctly remember you telling Crabbe not to kill Harry in the Room of Requirement! If anything that proves--”

“That doesn’t prove anything! The Dark Lord gave an order, and I wasn’t about to go against him--he had my mother.”

Hermione stood and plonked herself down on the bench right next to him, in his space, and stuck her finger in his face. “We all did what we had to do!”

“You didn’t have to save me.”

“Yes I did.”

“No, you could’ve let me walk across that courtyard--”

“What would I have gotten out of that?”

He grasped her wrist to try to force her out of his personal space, but he couldn’t help but hold fast to her skin at the first opportunity to touch her. “You? I’ve been a loathsome, vile, evil little cockroach, remember?”

“I got my revenge back then. Letting you go back to Voldemort would’ve been excessive!”

Draco winced to hear that name again, hard enough that it frightened this strange companion of his into action. She gripped his shoulder with her free hand. “Sorry, I didn’t think--"

“Stop apologizing to me, for Merlin’s sake!” Then, his hands were on her cheeks, and his pupils flicking back and forth between hers. “Stop,” he said softly. “Please. I can’t bear it.”

She pursed her lips to go on, as she always did, and for the second time that day, Draco took action before his brain could catch up. She hummed in surprise against his mouth, but she was so soft. Pliant, and devastating. He kissed her, and he kissed her. He let all good sense dry up in his mind, and he said what he had been holding onto for one hundred and twenty-one days: thank you.

“What are you doing?” she murmured, and he realized he was pressing his forehead to hers.

He shivered involuntarily to hear her voice, but he didn’t open his eyes. “Managing expectations.”

“Sorry, you’re what?” Amusement colored her tone.

“I have been dreaming about what you did for months now, and trying to muster the courage to write to you, something. And you’re just here. Apologizing to me. I won’t have it.” Draco let himself curl forward, as his body wanted to do, and he pressed his face into the shoulder of her exquisite robes. I’ll only allow myself to dream one minute more, he thought. But her arms came up around his shoulders.

“What is happening?” Hermione whispered.

“Don’t know.”

“Malfoy, look at me--” She urged him to do so by taking his cheeks in hand as he had done hers. Her eyes were shining. “Are you alright? Truly?”

He rose up and sat tall, but her hands stayed affixed to his face. Her thumb even traced his jaw. “I… you’re touching me.”

A slight smile tugged at her lips. “Mhm.”

“People don’t do that. To me.”

“I’m getting that.” She let her hands fall to his shoulders. “May I be intrusive once more?”

“You could knock me over with a quill feather at this point, but go on, if you must.”

“You… you need friends.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. You got in a fight at breakfast with your two best friends--”

“Former. And I was justified.” Draco stood, stepping away from her grasp. He leaned against the railing on his elbows. He scratched his cheek. His lips were tingling. “They were slagging off someone.”

“Who would warrant a belly full of slugs and a broken nose?”

Draco glanced at her pointedly. Immediately her cheeks flushed pink, and her fingers raised to her lips.

“I’m glad you didn’t hear them. I doubt they’ll try anything with you directly--cowards, the lot of them. I might have to sleep in the broom shed, but…” he trailed off. “I don’t need friends.”

“Do you want them?”

He rolled his eyes. “Semantics.” Her fingers curled into his elbow and she was there, again, in his space.

“It’s okay if you do, I mean… I’d do it.” Her face was turned up towards his, and she was pleading, and for what he didn’t fully understand.

“I don’t need your pity, Granger. You have two mates that I’m sworn to loathe, and being seen with me would ruin any notoriety you’ve gained from your heroics. It would ruin us both.” But he covered her hand with his, anyway. “Besides… I have seven years of monstrosity to make up to you.”

She shook her head. “Make it up to me in deed, then. One week of doing what I ask of you.”

“A week?”

“One day for every year.”

“And… after this proposed week?”

“We’re friends.” She turned her hand beneath his so she could squeeze it. Her gaze kept falling on his lips, and Draco felt a bolt of pride shoot through him to know that she was just as affected as him. He let himself do what he had done in haste before. She pressed up on her toes to return affection, which was blooming like a rose in the desert--from nothing, for nothing, but somehow they both seemed mesmerised by it.

“I don’t kiss my friends,” he whispered against her lips.

“Not sure how we got here,” she admitted. “I didn’t come here to kiss you. Doesn't mean I don't enjoy it, but...”

“Why did you?”

“You… you were the only person in that hall who looked how I feel. Everyone else seems content to just leave the war behind them, and I just… wanted to see. If I wasn’t the only one still living through it.”

Draco brushed a lock of hair off her temple where it had fallen out of her messy bun. “Surely Potter isn’t unscathed.”

“He’s so zen, it’s infuriating. If he isn’t, he’s not telling me.”

“And the Weasel?”

“Don’t do that.”

“What?”

“The nicknames.”

Draco sighed. “What about Ronald Weasley, then?”

“He’s just Ron. I don’t think it will all really hit him until Christmas, when… the party is significantly smaller. But. For now, he’s same old Ron.”

“Weren’t you two… a sure thing?” He hated himself for intimating that he had observed such a preference in the past, but there wasn’t much room for masking anything with her pressed against him.

“I don’t kiss my friends,” she mimicked, wrinkling up her nose at him. “But no. We weren’t. He thinks I’m brooding.”

“Are you?”

“Yes, but I don’t like being accused of it.”

“Granger… what happens if I say no to your little proposal. Is this spell broken?”

She shook her head, and removed herself from his personal space, though he still held fast to her hand. “I’ll leave you alone.”

He yanked her back to him. “Please don’t.”

“Then… say yes.”

Draco narrowed his eyes at her. “One week.”

“Seven days. You do what I say.”

“And…”

“And we both feel better about this.” She gestured between them. “Once the week is up, it’s your choice. We can go our separate ways. If you want.”

“What… what sort of torture do you have in mind?”

“Well…” And then, she bit her lip, studying him through narrowed eyes. “Tomorrow, you have to volunteer to be my partner in Potions. I happen to know that you’re very good, and I need to get an O on my final exams this year if I want to get an internship at St. Mungo’s after graduation”

“Using me? Already?” Draco pretended to be aghast but his heart surged. “But this arrangement, if agreed upon, only lasts for a week. I’d still be your partner the whole term.”

She looked at him from beneath her eyelashes. “Is that a yes?”

“What else do you have in mind?”

“No more hints! Is that a yes or a no?”

“Oh, what the hell. I have no dignity left. Sure, Granger. I’ll be your errand-boy for a week, as my penance, for seven years of unbridled bullying, and general ugliness.”

Hermione took hold of the front of his jersey in her fist and hauled him along the first row of the stands, until they were concealed beneath the large green and black tapestries, which protected the staircase to the upper levels from the elements.

“Where are you taking me?” he chuckled, despite the insistent feeling that he was doing something very wrong by being near to her. Hermione hiked herself up on the railing so they were nearly eye-to-eye.

“Do you want to kiss me again?” she asked breathlessly.

“Is this your first day’s order?”

Hermione shook her head. “No. Tomorrow is day one. Today, I’m just me, and you’re just you.”

“You’ve never been ‘just’ anything,” he replied, but he stood between her knees and looped his arms around her waist to stabilize her. “I like these robes. By the by.”

“I look so silly--nobody else likes them! Ginny said I look like a swot.”

“I’m inclined to disagree with the Weasley’s on principle. You look elegant.” He raised an eyebrow. “And I hope you don’t forget it.”

She sank her fingers into his hair and pulled him forward. Her mouth--those sweet burgundy lips that he had hoped were trying to whisper to him--it was perfect and gentle. He hadn’t kissed anyone in such a long time. Thrice in one day wasn’t his highest record, but he was content to strive for a new personal best if this witch continued to insist on it. She kissed him like tongues were a secondary matter, and like memorizing every part of his lips was all she had ever lived for. She kissed like she had no thought of ever stopping. He knew they shouldn’t, that it was madness that they were, especially now, but Gods… maybe nothing else mattered while they were. Time could pause, and history turn a blind eye, and two people could just kiss like they had all the time in the world.

“Hermione?” Harry Potter’s distant voice called from somewhere on the opposite side of the pitch, likely near the Gryffindor stands. Draco ripped his lips away from hers, but Hermione chased him. She gave him three languid kisses. Then, she hopped off the railing.

“See you at supper,” she murmured. Draco stole another kiss for the road, which made her laugh and bat him away. As she disappeared down the staircase and ran across the pitch, he could hear her speaking to her oldest friend. He squatted down, rubbed his hands over his face, and breathed out. Hard.

Seven days, huh? What’s the worst she could do to him?

Part 2

tag list: @adecila

#draco x hermione #dramione #draco malfoy #hermione granger #draco and hermione #dramione fanfiction #a week to atone by realjane #a week to atone #draco malfoy and hermione granger #draco malfoy x hermione granger

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katsukikitten · 5 years ago

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Heated 3

A/N just remember yall asked for part three 😂😂

It has been a long time since you've used your quirk to it's full potential, high school even.

This wasnt from a lack of challenge, no if anything holding back day after day was a challenge in of itself.

But, as all things do with time, it became easier and easier.

Soon you had forgotten what the feeling of your quirk really was. Of the rage that flowed through your body so easily has quickly turned into cold apathy.

No longer were you passionate or emotionally invested in any of the missions you took part of.

Or the outings.

Which lead to your recent break up with a ruby red haired hero.

You two had dated for the better half of your highschool year but something always felt off between the two of you.

And the more that Aizawa taught your to reign in your emotions the more prevalent the distance between you and Kirishima became.

You ended things, especially when you figured out why the two started dating.

Convenience, heart break over another. You stare at your ever present heart monitor that every hero agency demands you wear for "just in case you do go berserk".

It doesnt matter that your heart rate barely soars over 90 during missions or training.

And it doesn't matter that you hadn't gone berserk in almost a decade.

You sigh out, bored even as you wait for the bank robber to come your way as you hide in the shadows. He comes in breathless bounds, rounding the corner as he flees from the cops. He rounds to corner bumping into your chest, falling right onto his ass, bag of money starting to blow in the wind.

"Hello there." You smile as he stares up at you with widened eyes. After a quick stretch of silence you grab for him with one hand while the other goes for the cuffs.

You giggle as you clamp the antiquirk cuffs onto his wrists passing him over easily to the cops.

A scream rings out before the radio in your ear hisses.

*' Berserk we need you in the west end. There has been reports of an appearance of the League.'*

"Anyone else on scene?" You ask, several large explosions shake the earth beneath your feet practically answering your question.

*"Currently Ground Zero."*

Your heart rate increases by ten at even the sound of his name.

*"Anger is fear turned inward."* Aizawa's words echo in your head as your feet pound against pavement.

The scene is a tough sight to take in as Bkaugou fights back against three people.

Toga, who slices the air with a manic grin, twice who surprisingly has yet to split and Dabi who's blue hot flame licks on sunkissed skin.

For the first time in a long time your heart rate spikes enough for your bracelet to beep. You have half a mind to crush it before lunging into battle.

"Hello there." You scream out as part of your on going experiment Dabi gives you a side way smile before answering.

"General Kenobi." He faces you only for a fist to slam harshly into his face. Slamming him hard enough into the wall that a cloud of dust begins to blind everyone in the party.

"Oi oi!" Bakugou's voice grates your nerves but you blow hot air out of your nose, bringing you hand backward with enough force to clear the air.

When Bakugou catches sight of your strong frame he is stunned stupid.

That is until a six inch blade plunges into his side as a moan of glee rings out in his ear.

"Ooooohhh." Toga smiles with flushed cheeks as Bakugou brings a powered fist into her face. He lands on two feet, hand instinctively flying to his wound. He looks at his splayed fingers to spy an already alarming amount of blood. He growls as he goes into the attack. Every now and again his eyes flickering towards you.

Who, no surprise, is holding you own quite well. You move too quickly for Dabi, who is more used to ranged or surprised attacks. Not all out close combat and not to the intensity that his opponent swings so quickly and with such force that his flames are snuffed out. You press further as agitation grows quickly on his chest.

What you don't know is that you may or may not be falling into a trap as twice splits half run towards him while the other half run towards your fight.

Bakugou cannot warn you about the possibility either. Too preoccupied by Toga, three Twice and the screaming of his side.

He lands again but this time on unsteady feet spitting blood onto the street.

Toga licks up the length of her knife with lust filled eyes, quickly turning into the hot heads mirror image.

Twice multiples at an alarming rate, meaning to overwhelm the quickly tiring Bakugou.

"I wouldn't follow after Berserk if I were you." He spits again, flashing malice through bloodied teeth, "She's liable to hit you twice as hard using my stolen face."

He watches himself sneer before he turns on his heel heading into the fight clouded by smoke and dust.

"Fuck." Bakugou hisses as he let's explosions ring out freely from his palms as Twice splits and splits and fucking splits. All the while Bakugou begins to sway, the blood being urged out of him with every sharp movement he takes.

You connect another deadly blow into his burnt jaw sending him flying as two Twice jump you out of nowhere. You slam your back agaisnt the closest wall to shake them, one falls bloodied while the other wrangles to wrap his arms around your throat.

"Y/LN, Stand down before your temper rises too high." You freeze in your steps, his voice doing the opposite as your wrist double beeps.

It's hard to believe that your heart rate has reached 130 for the first time in *years*

With that more power floods your veins as you reach behind you, grabbing onto the nape of Twice's neck sending him flying into Bakugou.

"Fucking take care of that would you?" Your voice comes out tight, more twice split as you stalk towards Dabi.

He would be the best to bring in considering out of the three present he has the most sound mind.

A scary thought to have.

"Your heart rate is too high and the agency is going to come and ruin all of our fucking fun. Stand down!" Its a yell, almost like an order that has you seeing a maddening shade of red. You turn like a bull called rushing towards him fist reared only to stop inches from his stupidly smug face.

Fuck this guy and fuck how he made your heart soar and sink at the same time.

Fuck how you could feel his gaze without looking.

And most importantly fuck how you could never, ever get over him.

You pant in his face, thinking of head butting him when you notice something his off.

His eyes, they were missing something.

Some sort of underlying emotion was absent. As you rage a war within yourself if this could be Toga or the true Bakugou Dabi jumps onto your back.

Twice piles onto your arms and legs, multiplying with each lost body twice over.

All the while a smug ass smirk hangs off of those damn lips.

Your heart rate soars as you struggle to keep your temper in check. Should you lose your cool there would be no one here to stop you from leveling the city.

Dabi presses his lips to your ear as he cranes your head upward by pulling your hair.

"Why not let that temper out?" It is a cruel bark of a laugh. You knock your head into his ripping your own hair as one of his teeth sinks and sticks into your scalp from the blow. He spits blood at Bakugou's feet.

"Its in *your* best interest that I don't." You hiss, struggling with yourself and the weight of the ever growing pile of men. Your breath hitches, your wrist beeps too loudly and sensory over load is coming in hot.

Coaxing your rage out from the corner, your bite your lip until you taste pennies.

"She's too scared too is all." Bakugou sneers down at you, palm held out as you buck only for your head to be slammed down.

"You have a better chance of getting *him* to lose his temper than me." You incline towards the blonde before you. Half wondering if it is really him.

His eyes haunt your memories and they haunt you now.

"Oh but we aren't here for him. No we are here for *you*." Dabi purrs.

"What?" You bite out, starting to lose the fight.

And not with the fight with the amass of men pressing you into shards of broken tile.

"You're lucky enough to have been chosen." An insidious smile on his lips as he speaks, his breath hot on your ear "Maybe even lucky enough to be a Nomu or better yet reborn."

With that the thread snaps and blinding rage floods your vision, clouding it with nothing but the thought to destroy.

To have these men before you bleed until they gasp out their last breaths.

The bracelet beeps at high volume only to be crushed by a Twice.

You thrash as someone screams "NOW!" A sharp point sinks into your neck before a burning liquid rushes your veins.

Your eyes flutter, your heart slows and your body even goes slack, whatever sedative they were using on you was most likely lethal.

Your body relaxes with an exhaled breath as darkness ebbs like the ocean. Slowly washing away reality and replacing it with pitch black.

××××××

You wake with a start hand clutched to your chest as you jump to your feet. Rage still flooding hot in your body as you split your bed in two.

"Easy there." His voice comes out smooth and your door opens. You turn to see Dabi enter the room. Your heart floods with a mixture hurt...of love as you stare after him. Toga, your best friend, follows in behind him, her ash blonde hair gives you a splitting headache as scarlet flashes in your head. You begin to shake, breath coming out too quickly as Dabi soothes his hands over your skin.

"Hey.. " It comes out feather soft, "It's just the medicine. You got into a nasty fight with that asshole Ground Zero."

Blood pounds in your ears from the sound of his name and all that you remember last is him looking down at you, palm held out. Your fist goes clean through the cinder block wall, you shake all over. Body over stimulated and over worked.

Dabi and Toga exchange a worried glance.

"Did...did he hurt you?" You turn towards your lover now with worry welling in your eyes. Blue burns into your skin as you look him over, fingers softly pressing here and there for wounds. You spy the bruises on his jaw easily. Again your body shakes, vibrates even as you lose yourself in your temper, something you had not allowed yourself to do in quite some time.

"I'll fucking kill him." Your voice comes out dark, dark enough that it thrums with enough power for the light bulb over head to shatter.

Blue flame illuminates the small room emphazinfing a dizzying smile before his blue eyes flicker to your friend Toga with approval.

#bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bnha x reader #bnha heated #bnha kacchan #bnha bakugou katsuki #bnha bakugo #bnha bakugo katsuki #bnha bakugou #bnha imagine #bnha angst

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clxvdd · 4 years ago

Text

Panic Room (INCOMPLETE)

Summary: Pro Hero Glitch has been hit with an unknown quirk which makes her worst nightmares become a reality.

Characters/Pairings: Bakugou Katsuki (Ground Zero) x Reader, Izuku Midoriya (Deku), Kirishima Eijirou (Red Riot)

Warnings: language, mental illness, some violence, adult situations

Word Count: 2.3k

fem!Reader

this is an INCOMPLETE DRAFT!! i’ve had this sitting in my drafts for a long time and i just wanted to post it for people to see. it might be updated further in the future but this is intended to be ONE PART.

Quirk: the reader, Pro Hero Glitch, has a quirk dubbed “static” which allows her to project images of herself or other objects into an area, as well as “glitch” (similar to teleportation between small distances), and distort the look of objects or persons to others.

Stark white walls and lights turned a dingy yellow. Flickering chaotically, with no real rhyme or purpose. A single exit– a tall door off to one side of the room with only a thin slit for exchange. There was no furniture, no evidence that someone had existed here except for the faded bloody scratches on the walls. She sat, unmoving, an emotionless expression on her features that were once full of life. Criss-cross applesauce with her arms locked behind her back. Such an innocent and joyful position, but practiced nonetheless. This was how authorities had forced her to sit in her early years, and now, in a sick twist of fate, it is how she will spend the rest. Silent. Unwavering. Stuck inside her own body. Only one thought has run through her head during her entire stay.

“How did this happen?”

The task at hand should’ve been simple. Two villains, busying themselves with an unoriginal crime, were meant to be taken in. Of course, stealing in any form is considered a punishable offense, but in no way did she think it was a scary or tough mission to be assigned to. In fact, most villains who were caught stealing came from harsh backgrounds and rarely hurt anyone. They just wanted the money. They were desperate.

(Y/N) was never one to judge. Hell, even her own life could kick her ass sometimes, so she would understand someone getting desperate enough if they had it in them.

But something about this particular case was off.

Often she could feel the desperation, the insecurity, the shame, in the air as thick as molasses. She could go into a mission and be able to relate to her enemy. Often her enemies were spiritually closer to her than even her own friends. After all, this line of work taught her that the line between heroism and villainism is a lot thinner and more transparent than people would think.

Yes, often she could be empathetic with her opposition.

Though, as she stepped into the enclosed, heavily guarded, extremely exclusive holding area of millions of currency, she felt nothing but malice. It was cold, yet searing, and it made her heart ache with an emotion that closest resembled fear.

Alongside her, the top two heroes fed into the front of the building. There was no other outside entrances or exits, aside from the minimalistic, blackened windows around the sides of the room. Three large metal doors awaited them with a suspenseful glint. They would need to split up.

Ground Zero took the initiative first, seemingly oblivious to the murderous intent in the air, and rushed towards the middle door with a raised fist. The pin on his wrist was pulled and a loud explosion sounded without a hesitation. When the smoke cleared there was sizeable hole in the door and the pro hero was no longer visible.

“Everything alright in there, Ground Zero?” Was sounded through the speaker in her ear, following the voice directly beside her. (Y/N) and her peer recieved only a grunt in response, and decided to follow in his wake.

Pro Hero Deku starts to the door closest to him to work it open, (Y/N) falling into motion not long after, using her quirk to project herself through the barrier. It was relatively dark and dreary, although there was a faint, pale blue lightsource a good distance from her. This room’s appearance was quite jarring to the extravagant exterior of the bank.

Something was wrong.

The walls were cracked the further she trudged. The darkness was consuming. The hallway was getting thinner. No matter how far she walked, the light at the end of the tunnel seemed unreachable, like she was going nowhere. Unmoving.

Panicking, (Y/N) puts a finger to her ear in an effort to contact her friends. But instead of the metal earpiece that she had buried in her ear minutes prior, her finger met with her damp cartilage. Was she sweating? She could’ve sworn she had it still in her ear.

With her focus directed towards her now missing earpiece, she hadn’t realized that there was a presence at the end of the hallway until it was far too late. Her feet stumbled over another pair as she crashed into a cold, hard blockage. Quickly shoving herself away, she gazed up at her target.

Her heart dropped to her toes. Eyes wide and breathing ragged, (Y/N) felt her legs give way, her knees coming in contact with the cracked and crumbling ground beneath her.

Pro hero Ground Zero stood before her.

No. Not Ground Zero. This was definitely not Bakugou. He was off. Upset. He had a steady stream of tears escaping his eyes and large rings around them, almost as if he hadn’t slept in days. He looked like he hadn’t eaten any time recently, either, with the sillhouette of his ribs showing through his shirtless figure and dull, sunken in cheeks.

But that wasn’t even the worst part. No, not by a long shot.

“Glitch! Is everything alright?!” She heard a staticky voice through the reciever in her ear. And suddenly she could breathe again. The atmosphere was lighter, the hallway had expanded, and that nagging blue light at the end of it was nowhere to be seen. It was almost as if she had dreamed the whole thing up. But she knew it was real, she felt it herself.

She didn’t give Deku a response, instead opting to turn back down the hallway and meet him as he ran towards her, Ground Zero in tow. Bakugou would never admit it, but in truth, he had been just as worried for his fellow hero as that idiot Deku. Seeing her uninjured finally returned some peace to his heart.

Faking a smile, Glitch raised her heavy head and laughed halfheartedly, “There was, uh, no one there..”

“Don’t you know how to fucking answer a simple question, dumbass?”

“Oh please, like you ever answer anything we ask you,” she jested. He would never say it but (Y/N) knew that was his weird and unconventional way to show his concern.

“Tch,”

“I need a long bath when I get home,” the girl sighed and mumbled under her breath. It was supposed to come off as an innocent internal monologue being voiced aloud for only herself, but as Ground Zero nodded in agreement from the opposite side of Deku, she knew he understood it was meant for him as well.

After the two top heroes handed over their captured villains and discussed with proper authorites (and some cameramen) the three of them set off to their respective residencies. They parted ways and that was the last they had spoken to each other that night. Another successful mission.

Except when (Y/N) had arrived home to the bath already filled, bubbles and all, it would not be the last time she would speak with another hero that night. A tense body was submerged in the tub before her, a groan escaping it’s lips as it scrubbed itself.

“Hurry up and get in.”

“Alright, alright, I’m going,”

She was already stripping as she strutted towards the tub, sinking herself in after she removed the last article of clothing. The heat of the water and the man surrounding her was exactly what she needed after the night she had. And despite his hard-headed nature, Bakugou could be considerate as well. She silently thanked him with a gentle massage of her fingers through his hair and over his scalp– his favorite gesture of appreciation to recieve.

(Y/N) hadn’t meant to overstep. She just wanted simple glass of water from the refrigerator in her kitchen downstairs. For some reason, the night wasn’t treating her as well as usual and she found herself tossing and turning, before giving up on sleep entirely. If she wasn’t going to sleep then she might as well try to wake herself up a bit to do something productive. That was the plan anyway– just a simple glass of water.

What she hadn’t planned was finding herself in Kirishima’s kitchen, grasping a burning hot mug of what she thought was floor cleaner (the sanitary, lemony smell gave her a pretty good clue), listening to an earful from the man himself.

She blinked harshly, hissing and dropping the mug when the pain finally reached the nerves in her hand. It clattered to the ground, shattering on impact, and spanning the distance between the two heroes.

“What exactly is going on– why are you in my kitchen?”

(Y/N) couldn’t even respond, for even if she did know the answer, she was too shaken up to acknowledge it. She knew neither how she got here or why she did what she did, but it scared her, far worse than any fight she had ever thrown herself into.

“C-can you call Bakugou for me,” the girl whispered in a small voice, following gently with “please?”

In the next few weeks, the girl, and her friends, had chalked the incident up to sleep deprivation and stress from her overworking herself. In truth, it wasn’t that far off from what had actually happened, but it was still enough to put her out of commission for some time. There were enough heroes in the city to hold it down without her, especially in the condition she was in. Though, the downside of this was that her overall ratings as a pro hero would drop dramatically and other heroes would capitalize on the opportunity.

But as more time went on, the more that night seemed just like a small fluke in the grand scheme of things. She felt fine, and there hadn’t been anything else notable enough to fret over. They were worried about nothing.

Glitch had taken to sparring twice a week with Ground Zero, in place of her usual week of patrol, to blow off some steam. She figured that to get her out of her rut, she needed to prove herself purposeful and busy herself with something productive that she also enjoyed. And what better for that than sparring with her secret lover?

Bakugou saw how well she was performing in their sparring sessions. He saw how well she had refined her quirk and how much she improved. Hell, she even learned a few new aspects of her quirk that she had never even revealed to herself before.

She was thriving.

So he decided that it was time for her to get back to work.

(Y/N) was excited about going back to work, although just as weary. After all, she had decided to become a pro hero to help people, and to do that she had to make sure she was able to help herself first. But apparently excitement wasn’t enough to get back into the swing of things.

It felt like she was a newbie again. There were amazing pros everywhere, and villains to match. There were so many people constantly taking up their roles effortlessly, and she felt as if she didn’t really fit in anywhere. She would be sent on a mission, only to find most of it be done by another. She did her best to rescue hostages or recover missing items, or even scout for information, but somehow someone was always one step ahead.

Was being a hero always this frantic?

It was getting to her immensely. Even with her improved quirk control and physical strength, she couldn’t keep up. It was all too much.

And she started to resent those who stole her job out from under her. Her rankings were dropping and her visibility was plummeting. She went from being the number three hero to somewhere far in the double digits, and the gap was only widening.

Katsuki would tell her “it’s okay,” and “you have to work yourself back up to it,” but after some time, things were only getting worse.

Maybe she shouldn’t have taken time off. Maybe what happened to her was a fluke. Maybe if she wasn’t so weak, she wouldn’t have been spooked so easily. Maybe her life wouldn’t be spiraling out of control if she had just let it go.

And with her thoughts consuming her she found herself sprawled across the concrete floor of the warehouse building, struggling to regulate her breathing. Her heart felt heavy and the ache in her lungs was too strong to ignore. Tears fell in streams down her face to her chin, where they plummeted to the ground.

She panicked. She tried to scream, but nothing would come out, and her blurry gaze flitted around to orient herself. To focus on anything that could help her. But all she could see was darkness.

A hand rested itself on her shoulder as she flinched. They spoke a few words, ones that she couldn’t bring herself to comprehend, and another hand came under her knees to drag her up and into their embrace.

She almost thought it was her boyfriend. After all, he was the only one she allowed to hold her like this, but the chest she had been pressed into was bare and jagged. For a moment, it hadn’t registered in her mind exactly who this was, but that moment was enough for her to explode into another fit of panic.

She threw herself down and swiped a leg under the perpetrator, knocking him down onto his back before getting a solid glimpse at who she was actually fighting. Her boyfriend’s best friend stared her with wide eyes as she froze, breathing heavily.

“Kiri?” she paused and immediately jumped away from him, “I’m so sorry! I thought you were someone else!”

And as much as he reassured her and he promised it would be a secret he kept for as long as he was capable, she knew that she was in too deep. He didn’t trust her like he used to. She knew that.

And so he ended up telling Bakugou anyway.

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iatheia · 6 years ago

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Der Tod comparison

I don’t want to count how many times I’ve seen Elisabeth at this point, over the years, and last three months specifically. Several dozens. And one thing that never keeps stopping amazing me is just how different most of them are from each other, not even just in terms of the score, but also the character interpretation.

Well, not all characters. Real historical characters are somewhat more confined to the canon. Poor FJ almost never has any room to grow in any way that doesn’t involve facial hair - he is the most static one of them all between the different performances. Dear old Sophie ranges on the scale from “less evil” to “more evil”. Rudolf could have more or less agency in his actions, more or less aware of the manipulation happening behind the scenes, more or less willing to go along with it. Lucheni could be more or less sane, more or less of a puppetmaster of this musical, more or less malicious in his treatment of the rest of the cast. Our titular character, Sisi, can be more or less childish, more or less of an active participant of her own misery, more or less welcoming of the affections that are bestowed upon her.

There are definitely more than a few standout performances among them, both individually and cast-wide, performances that forced me to pay attention to them, to make a double-take, to appreciate the complexities of the characters time and time again. But I never go into a production not knowing who these characters are, what is supposed to make them tick.

With Der Tod, all of it flies out of the window. Every time I find myself asking, “well, who are you supposed to be this time?” And after all, you are dealing with a personification of death here as a main character, how could anyone agree how that should be portrayed? Almost every actor does take this role into a different direction, sometimes intentionally, sometimes not.

I’ve been itching to do a comparison between them for quite a while. This is not an exhaustive list. I still haven’t seen a few casts, few others to my disappointment I legitimately have nothing to say, because they are bland, unoriginal and inconsistent (and it is to my great regret that the only live performance I’ve seen has to fall into this category). This comparison is also largely reliant on the initial impressions of whatever recording I’ve seen these actors in first. In some cases, the portrayal can and does evolve, especially if they’ve been at a role for a while. Sometimes the things that catch the eye may not necessarily be what they were going for, so these are just my impressions of them. So, without further ado.

Uwe Kroger - The closest to being a concept, an idea of death, not a physical being, but omnipresent, touching every aspect of people's lives.

Ichiro Maki - Definitely heavily inspired by Uwe, but much more stilted, emotionless, not terribly suited for the romantic portrayal Takarazuka is aiming for. People die sooner or later, death doesn't particularly care about how you feel about it.

Asaji Saki - Very vocally challenged, this Tod. Some apparently like her voice, but it is definitely not for the weak of heart. But this is the most romantic portrayal of the character out of everyone. Der Tod who has just experienced the love for the first time before coming to terms with it in the middle of second act. Quite precious.

Shizuki Asato - the biggest Der Tod who ever todded, outtodding absolutely everyone in terms of the gravitas and the singing ability. Even more otherworldly than Ichiro's performance from two years ago, although with a much greater success. There isn't a shred of emotion, she is just, well, death, who will always get what is due to it.

Hanano Sumire - beautiful, powerful, and surprisingly... malicious. I don't think I felt that much malice from any other version. For the first time involvement of this character with the general populace and the revolutionaries made sense to me. This is not a death in an abstract sense, this is a spirit of crumbling empire, perfectly content to toy with those who will bring its destruction. She is in no hurry, and is just as happy with the chase itself.

Szabo Szilveszter - a fancy aristocrat. Despite somewhat alien looks (and sparkles worthy of any Takarazienne), a very humanistic portrayal of the character. Very passionate, but quite snarky.

Yuichiro Yamaguchi - he is a monument. Very powerful voice that is worthy of an opera singer that would be able to kill absolutely everyone, and a lot of physical presence, but absolutely no dynamical portrayal. He would stand there. Then he would walk. Then he would stand again. A few times he would attempt to rock his heart out during while there was absolutely zero singing, but only barely. Poor Rudolf had to turn under his own arm - there wasn't even an attempt to jerk him around. It was legitimately heart-wrenching.

Ayaki Nao - a beautiful and enchanting seductress who wanted nothing more than to be wanted by others. Everyone. Within a ten mile radius. Regardless of age, gender, sexual preference. Most do. She is willing to take the time to persuade the ones that do not to make them see that falling into her embrace is the right and proper thing to do. The seduction is the goal in itself, and the moment her conquest finally give in is something to be savored. Most feminine out of all the other Tods, even by Takarazuka standards.

Mate Kamaras - everything about this Tod is the toxic masculinity personified. Dragging others according to his whims, assaulting them physically. Very rough around the edges.

Christoph Goetten - we shall not talk about him. Him being shirtless singing Wenn Ich Tanzen Will horrified me beyond belief (admittedly, it was during a rehearsal? But they still felt compelled to include it on video. Those bastards.)

Mizu Natsuki - definitely can see the influence from Mate Kamaras. Very masculine Der Tod, or rather, he is a boy who doesn't understand what the word "no" means and refuses to learn.

Sena Jun - a very lonely Tod. She is seemingly moving from scene to scene asking anyone who would be willing to listen if they want to be her friend. With Tiny Rudolf it's not a promise, it's a plea, a cry for help.

Mark Seibert - very smooth. Take the Moon, shrink it down to the size of a billiard ball, that's how smooth we are taking about. Underneath it all, it's just a very (very) polished version of Mate until you achieve all that smoothness.

Kim Junsu - a self absorbed fop who accidentally wandered into the underworld, and declared himself the king of it. The angels decided to go along with it just for a laugh, everyone else are just confused.

Park Hyo Shin - No other Tod is as into their Elisabeth as this one is, and he doesn't quite know what to do about all this thirst. I want to see a full version of his portrayal to see if he does figure it out in the end, but so far, alas.

Asumi Rio - a Tod that doesn't doubt his own irresistibility, not for a second. Somewhat self-absorbed. She already knows the end result. She knows that she is wanted, even if her prey is too coy to say it, or they will sooner or later.

Asaka Manato - something of a mix of a doting parent and someone who didn't sign up for any of it, I suppose?

Yoshio Inoue - most ephemeral. The only Tod that made me convinced that he wasn't really there, that he doesn't exist. That he is all just a figment of Elisabeth's and Rudolf's imaginations. A shared fantasy, or rather, madness.

Shirota Yu - Alien, otherworldly, completely devoid devoid of any human values. He tries to imitate human behavior for his amusement, it turns into a caricature of humanity almost immediately. Instills terror with his mere presence. Natural at mind control. I need to write about this version in more details later on, but this is certainly the most original take on the character in a decade.

Continued in Part 2

#elisabeth das musical #der tod #elisabeth

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darkstache-iplier · 7 years ago

Text

Bing one, Egos zero

Pairing: Banti (BingxAnti)

Warnings: a bit of nsfw language

------

“ANTI?!”

The room filled with laugh, one side to the other, making Bing want to dig down a hole on the ground and die right there.

“Shut up” he huffed out, crossing his arms and sliding down the chair. Even Dark was smirking at him.

“I ca-hahahaha-I can’t believe… hgahahaha” Edward laughed out loud, holding his stomach as he leaned forward. Next to him, Edgar slammed his hand onto the table, laughing so loud it made Bing wince.

“Oh t-the dre-dre-dream” Google chuckled, eyes malicious as he stared at Bing. The ego groaned loudly and sunk even further down the chair, pulling his cap over his face, arms crossed high over his chest.

“Cool Jim wants to date Demon! That is a no no from the Jims!” One of the Jim twins said, while the other nodded, the two the only ones still serious about the conversation. After a few more comments and laughs, Bing had enough. He stood up, orange from head to toe, and grumbled something that was censored before he walked away from the table.

He had only reached the door when someone grabbed his hand and pulled him towards them. Wilford then quickly held his shoulders and squeezed Bing against his side.

“Alright, alright everyone!” he called, and when the rest continued to laugh, his smirk became a frown and he raised his gun, shooting up and making all egos shut up and look at him. He smirked again. “Alrighty righty” he said, and turned to Bing, who groaned and pushed him away.

“I don’t want your teasing, dude! I thought that at least you would be on my side!” he whined, and Wilford laughed before nodding.

“And I am! Listen here, sunny” he said and pulled Bing close again, waving his gun in front of him. “You are… a little grain of synthetic sand on Anti’s huge, HUGE pickup truck. Okay? We all know that. Or if you want another analogy, Anti is a whole mountain of clear sand to your little tiny b-”

“I get it!” Bing said loudly and pushed him away again, groaning and throwing his cap on the ground. “*censored*… What am I even thinking? A guy like Anti would never even give a second glance at me…”

“He wo-wo-wouldn’t give a single one-one-one” Google chuckled, grin filled with malice, and Bing whined, sitting on the closest chair and sighing. Wilford raised an eyebrow to Google and the robot shut up.

“Don’t say it like that. I am one hundred percent sure Anti fucks every single being with two legs and a hole” Bim mumbled, looking down at his hands, and Bing’s head snapped up, eyes wide as the TV host looked up at him as well, cheeks a bit pink. “N-not that I would know anyway, but still”

“Didn’t he have a go with Dark a few many years ago?” Edgar asked, looking at the rest before Dark growled and slammed his hands on the table, standing up.

“It doesn’t matter! What matters is that he will never give you a second glance, and even if he did, he is our enemy and you shouldn’t go around him!” Dark said, firmly, before he fixed his suit and sat down, calmly.

Wilford raised an eyebrow but then looked back at Bing, who was staring at the ground, upset.

None of them knew anything nice to say, so they all stayed quiet, staring at Bing. Then, the meeting door opened and they looked up, including Bing, to see the King of Squirrels appearing through the glass door.

“I… am the King of Squirrels” he said, and noticed Bing’s sad face, making him frown. Quickly, he retrieved a bouquet of flowers from under his cape and rushed to Bing, handing it to him, making the ego go orange again. “The squirrels send a gift to their sad friend. You should tell your loved one about your feelings. The squirrels say so” he said, and placed a peanutbutter kiss to Bing’s forehead before rushing outside again.

All the egos were wide eyed, confused and quiet, but the words and the bouquet in his hand made Bing’s head light up with an idea.

“You guys are all *censored*. Bye *censored*” he said, grinning, and stood up, squeezing the bouquet as he rushed outside towards his room.

“Ten dollars he won’t come back” Edgar said, and Bim looked up.

“Ten thousand he will come back, fucked”

The rest of the egos stayed quiet.

Edgar removed his bet.

------

It took him two full days to make the gift perfect, but when he was done, he smiled proudly to himself and left the household towards the Jacksepticeye’s egos house. Bing knocked on the door, moving from one side to the other, nervous, his present behind his back where he held it.

When the door opened, he squealed, jumping backwards and relaxing when he saw the giant butler Sam staring down at him with its one eye.

“Oh h-hi Sam! I was… wondering if Anti is around?” he asked, relaxing and trying to sound cool. Sam made a sound and moved away from the door. Bing slowly got inside and waited until the eyeball took him to Anti.

They went up a staircase and turned left, and soon enough they stopped at a room with a black door.

Sam made another sound then, and left, leaving Bing alone with the door.

“You can do it, you can do it” he whispered and took a deep breath before knocking.

He waited, shaking, gift behind his back, and soon, the door opened.

“What?!” Anti growled as he walked out, his hair a mess, wearing nothing more than a pair of boxers that hang way too low on his hips. His eyes scanned Bing up and down as he turned more and more orange, before a smirk curled up on Anti’s sleepy face. “Oh hello there, Bing. What’ya want?”

“I-I uhn I… well uhm… uhm… ah… I…” Bing tried, but his voice seemed locked away as his eyes stared at the whole man Anti was.

There was so little room for imagination. Bing was breathless.

Anti chuckled and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his stomach and raising an eyebrow, smirk never falling.

“Well?”

Bing gasped and swallowed thickly, a drop of sweat on his forehead as he quickly pulled the present from behind his back.

In his hands, a huge bouquet of black roses, symbol of death, with a nice, big and sharp knife between them.

“F-fo-for you!” he squealed out, closing his eyes and moving his hands forwards.

His eyes remained closed, hands shaking, but nothing moved.

Then, he let his eyes open just a bit, to see Anti looking at the bouquet, his eyes wide, cheeks slightly green.

He had a confused expression on his face, but Bing felt his confidence burst up when he reached out, touching the flowers and then the knife gently with the top of his fingers.

The knife was so sharp that as soon as it touched Anti’s skin, it made a cut. Bing winced, but Anti didn’t seem to mind, sliding his finger all the way down, making the beautiful knife with his blood.

He looked up, and his eyes caught Bing’s, who blushed orange again but didn’t look away.

With a growl, Anti grabbed the bouquet and closed the door on Bing’s face, making his eyes widen and then tear up.

He went home crying and wheezing, hugging himself and ignoring the rest of the egos as he walked past them.

-----

Two days later, and Bing hadn’t really moved much. Asides from going out of his room for a few meals during the night, he hadn’t been able to do much else.

And while some of the egos wanted to help, he would rather not look at their ‘I knew it’ faces.

So that was why he ignored the knocking on his door.

“Go away” he mumbled, nuzzling on his pillow, miserable. He was a miserable man. Ridiculous and a dreamer. Why would he ever think Anti would like such a stupid gift from a stupid person? Of course he wouldn’t. Bing sighed.

What a waste.

“Go away!” he whined louder as someone knocked again. Great. He huffed and looked towards it, starting to sit up when his room wall started to glitch. His eyes widened and he moved back, all the way to the headboard, as someone walked through the wall, into his room.

Anti stepped off the glitching wall and looked at Bing, making him blush again.

“A-Anti, what are you… doing here?” he asked, voice getting softer and quieter. He looked away, upset, but quickly enough his face was snapped to the side again by a hand on his chin. His eyes widened and he stared at Anti, scared. “An-Anti?”

Anti didn’t answer verbally. He growled and removed his hand from Bing’s chin before dropping a box over his lap.

The AI looked down at it and slowly picked it up, opening the box and gasping at what was inside.

It was a new pair of orange sunglasses, that matched his outfit and skin tone.

“Anti th-” he tried, but as soon as he looked up, Anti’s lips pressed against his and he gasped, eyes closing and hands letting go from the gift to hold the demon’s face.

Anti quickly bit down Bing’s bottom lip with his sharp teeth, making the AI moan, before licking inside his mouth and the oily substance that came out Bing’s lip where he had bitten it.

Then, he pulled back, smirking and leaving Bing panting on the bed.

“Come over any time”

Bing blinked as Anti glitched away, leaving him alone.

His hand moved up to his lips and a smile cracked on his face.

Bing one, Egos zero.

-----

tags: @darkwarf @vicmonn

#my fanfic #darkwarf #bingiplier #antisepticeye #banti #bingxanti #crack ship #cuteness #very cute #much fluff #markiplier egos #jacksepticeye egos

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elsewhereuniversity · 8 years ago

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Easily Bewildered

Bewildered; the first time someone used the word, I nearly laughed aloud. There was a group of varied students sitting across the lawn, grouped together in the shade of a tree, all decked out in weird jewelry and with circles around their eyes, hurried pen ink on their wrists. I was at a picnic bench, sitting with my friends from lab, working on some report or something. There was a lull in the conversation, and the hushed voices, filled with awe, scattered across the grass of the lawn towards us. I was looking absentmindedly at my phone, and when I heard the strange phrase, I burst out laughing. Their voices were so quiet, almost afraid, and like so much else at this school, I didn’t take it into account. I instantly lumped them in with the other students, overly superstitious and quiet, clinging to their iron and their salt like this was some episode of Supernatural. The first time I heard bewildered, I laughed.

The second time, it was coming from the mouth of my Hall Advisor, in the longest informational lecture I’d gotten that year. I was sitting on a couch in the overly cramped common room, squished in-between two of my closest friends from bio lab, and we were already bored and over dramatically rolling our eyes at one another before it even began. They were talking firmly, as if they believed in everything they were saying, reminding us very sternly of the “advice” from the beginning of the year. Every year. It was about the third or fourth time I’d heard this lecture, despite not having been here that many years. Sometimes, I wondered if the weirdness would ever end, and just leave me to do my labs and lose my mind in peace. “Don’t go out late at night, if you have to, make sure you stay on the path.” Well, duh. I looked to my right, and met the eyes of my lab partner, who was just perishing of boredom. I could tell she wanted to be on her phone, but we’d managed to be polite this far, so maybe we could make it to the end of the meeting. Our HA would appreciate it. “Don’t go near the woods. We’ve had way more kids get bewildered this year, it’s not normal and you all really need to step it up.” I snickered. The friend to my left said something under eir breath, and my other friend suppressed a laugh, and we tried, really hard. Our HA didn’t appreciate it. They stared us down for a moment, while some other students clutched their iron necklaces or slipped hands into pockets, making fists around what was probably salt, if I knew this floor well enough. I elbowed my lab partner in the side, and she shut up, em quickly following suit. Shockingly, we managed the rest of the meeting, finally slipping out and snickering, finally sharing all of the snide comments that had built up the whole time. Other students walked out glumly, faces pale, shoulders slumped.

When I heard it the third time, I was in a bathroom. It was late - or early, whichever one you ascribe to - just before dawn, like 5am. I’d lost track of time, the days slipping by into weeks, and it had become a choice between sleep and finishing a paper on time, and I couldn’t afford another late grade. Groaning and dragging my feet, I unstuck myself from my desk and walked toward the bathroom, the light from the predawn sun assaulting my eyes and my soul. Couldn’t I just sleep for another few hours? I pushed past the door, where someone had helpfully pasted an “all genders, all identities, all species” sticky note over the previous sign, wanting to piss and wash my face before my next class. It took me far too long to notice the student curled up in the biggest stall. Really, far too long, because they were accompanied by two friends, who were talking out loud. I had officially been up too long. Although, they were having a worse time of it, from what I could hear. Sounded like they were having a really bad trip, if the whispered words were any indication; quiet and slow, like you’d use to talk to a wild animal. I wasn’t about to stop and help: I didn’t know them, I didn’t have time, and I wasn’t going to be helpful anyways, on exactly zero hours of sleep. I did wish them well, quietly, more thought than anything said out loud. Whatever they’d done, in the middle of the semester, they probably didn’t deserve a meltdown in the middle of the night in a bathroom.

The next time I heard it, someone was sprinting past me across the lawn, shrieking. My night had been going pretty well up until now: a good party on the weekend, free booze, new friends, a good time had by all. I’d really been hoping to run into a really cute second year I’d shared classes with, and as fate would have it, they were at the party. Neither of us had been completely sober, but my phone had a new number on it, and maybe a stroke of luck was coming my way after the less than fantastic grade on my last paper. These pleasant thoughts were what that student shattered, some thin and scared first-year with mud-spattered boots and pants, running yelling past me, trying very hard to get me to join them in their mad dash. I, instead, stopped still in the grass, shocked and offended. The weirdness at this university had never really inconvenienced me before, perhaps bothered me a little or made me have to wait here and there, but this was something else. I had been happily drowsing in good memories, warm feelings, and now I was wet and cold and upset. They’d startled me real good, and I was really feeling malice towards the kid, rather glad I didn’t catch their face. I didn't mind the kids who thought it was necessary to carry iron or put salt freaking everywhere, they didn't bother me a whole lot, but right now I think I would’ve had some choice words for anyone who followed that kind of life. Grumbling, glaring off after them in the direction they’d gone, I slogged forward, now filled with less happy thoughts. A shiver came over my limbs, cold, wet, unhappy, and downright miserable, honestly. What the fuck did that phrase even mean, anyways? Was it some kind of joke, shared among their weird little cliques? Make a drug these idiots were taking. Yeah, some, stupid designer drug that made kids go “wild,” something way above my level of caring and far out of my comfort zone. I knew other chemistry kids who would brew in the labs, quietly, during their time there, or using their access after hours. Stupid, really, and probably exactly what led to students running screaming across the lawn in the middle of the night. Really. The shivers got worse, and I realized that the jeans I was wearing were soaked through. I was still slogging through the grass, but I’d somehow managed to hit a muddy, wet, puddle, probably a couple inches deep and definitely wet enough to make me uncomfortable. I picked up my feet, groaning aloud, trying to check how badly my shoes were faring; they weren’t rated for this kind of treatment, being only closed-toe enough to count in lab. Eerily enough, I couldn’t see my feet very well, thanks to the fog. I jerked my head up. The fog?! I tried to look around, my heart starting to pick up on the adrenaline that was beginning to eliminate all thoughts of a buzz leftover from a party that now felt very, very far away. The idea of alcohol left my limbs, and they trembled, shaking in the fists that my hands made when I realized I couldn’t see the buildings anymore. The dorms were hidden behind a wash of thick fog, invisible but for the slightest warm glow. The fog was wet, too, which explained how I was shivering so quickly and so badly, as the stuff clung to my limbs and little droplets of it found their way onto my eyelashes. I turned my head this way and that, fear starting to infect my movements, trying more and more desperately to find some sort of landmark to convince me I hadn’t wandered off course. Instead, the lilting cry of a strange, wailing sound slipped past me. For the second time that night, I froze. Barely daring to breathe, I prayed it would fuck off, closing my eyes tightly and my fists tighter. Unfortunately for me, instead of doing just that, it sounded clearer the next time, echoing past the first, closer to me and much more like something a band student might carry around; the sound slipping around my shoulders and into my ears and striking my heart with a jolt.

It sounded something like a horn.

I swallowed hard and began to walk at that thought, trying to brush the wayward idea out of my mind like so much myth. I couldn’t believe that the stories had caught me, too, in their spindly fingers, and I refused to run, walking stubbornly through wet grass that was somehow now up to my knees, my shoulders set more out of fear than determination, but I was hoping no one could tell. Including myself. I was growing only more and more nervous as the sound went from distinct cries to a single, long, almost unending ululation that was all around me. Behind, too, calling out against my back like someone was hitting me, an almost physical force that came with each blast of the supposed horn, pushing me forward faster and faster, still not running. Time stretched on impossibly in front of me, much like this lawn, and I slowly came to understand that wherever I was walking, it was in the wrong direction. I should’ve come across the dorms by now, I knew, logically, walking this fast, even if there was tall, wet, twisting grass grabbing at my knees. No matter how much it slowed me down, the lights had not been that far away before the fog rolled in, and I was certain that my pissed-off muddling had been clouded by alcohol, twisting my idea of time further out of shape.

“Excuse me,” and I wish I would have shrieked aloud when the voice whispered into my ears, slight and quiet, like scales on smooth stones, like the lizards that ran when you came up to them basking in the sunlight. It was accompanied by a hand on my right shoulder, and for the third time that night I froze still instead; shocked, silent, stock still. “Pardon me,” the voice was like the whisper of some half-transparent cloth over old leather, sliding around my and cloaking my shoulders in dread, filling my head with fear, “but you don’t seem to know the rules.” The hand went from perching to grasping, firm fingers set into my collarbone and the heel of it far too close to my neck for any sort of comfort. This was accompanied by a motion, a pulling, a twist, and like an adult would turn a child around, one whom they were going to just gently inform of the rules, of the correction, of the way things are supposed to be:

“This is where you run.”

—–

“Another one, huh?” The HA commented, sighing, sitting on a low stone wall outside of their dorm. They were drinking something yellow and fruity out of a glass bottle, a straw with red stripes and a bit of a dent at the end. Their compatriot nodded, the iron screws that they had personally fashioned into earrings jingling as they did, half-hidden by their hair, spun into golden curls around their whole head. They’d look just perfect with a flower crown adorning their brow, but it was lacking, too cold in the year for that, now. “This one’s pretty bad. They’re a … They were a STEM major, I think. I know those can sometimes… but this one didn’t do anything to Them.” The HA grimaced, sighing again, shoulders heavy. Xy could see the students’ parents moving some things out of the dorm in boxes, assisted by some faculty from the Admissions office. Xyer hand found its way to xyer forehead, cradling xyer face, because xy knew what they were saying. “Mental breakdown caused by stress,” and all that. It was the easiest explanation for parents, who could barely make it here, four wrong turns later, eyes full of tears yet to be shed and purses clutched to chests, or car keys in fists. Xy knew the drill, xy had done it before, and xy could barely handle seeing it again now. “I tried to warn them, I did, but…” The other, curls twisting softly over their shoulder, placed their hand on xyer back, their touch soft. “I know. You did your best. We all know how hard you try to protect your dormies.” Their words were honest, their eyes full of compassion, little silver stars penned in gently next to their glittering eyeliner. “But some people are just…” they trail off, watching boxes move from building to car. They’re of all sizes, cobbled together from whatever staff could get, and filled haphazardly with everything from the student’s room. One is barely closed, the corner of a handmade quilt poking out from beneath a flap, moving gently up and down as the parent takes every step.

“Easily bewildered.”

[x]

#shinkei-shinto #stories #ooooooh #the wild hunt #submission

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bonniejstarks · 5 years ago

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SEPHORA SALE: LAST-MINUTE SUGGESTIONS – Beautygeeks

Hands up if you’ve already taken advantage of Sephora’s holiday bonus sale… and are planning to hit the site at least one more time before your discount goes bye-bye tonight.

I don’t know about you, but no matter what I’ve bought, I always think of something I should have ordered after the sale is over. If that happens to you too, then maybe a little a little video from a recent Sephora holiday-stuff preview, and a few recommendations might help?

Thanks for watching!Visit Website

charlotte tilbury

Now obviously the Sephora website has loads more than the items they showed at the preview. For one thing, Charlotte Tilbury is at Sephora; this is a great time to buy anything from her holiday collection.

Can’t get the new Charlotte Tilbury Charlotte Darling eye shadow palette out of my head, and it’s NOT available at Sephora.

Thanks for watching!Visit Website

I’m still eyeing the Starry Eyes to Hypnotize ($95 CAD and $75 USD at sephora.com) eyeshadow palette, and the new Instant Look in a Face Palette ($95 CAD and $75 USD at sephora.com), but she just dropped a gorgeous new six-shade Charlotte Darling ($72 CAD and $57 USD at charlottetilbury.com) eyeshadow palette that calls to me just as loudly although it’s not available at Sephora, and thus no bonus discount applies. #decisionsdecisions (It seems so much more reasonably priced in American dollars – sheesh.)

Actually here: I have a little vid of Charlotte Tilbury holiday collection, too.

murad

Murade Replenishing Multi-Acid Peel – so, so, good. Saw results fast!

Murad Replenishing Multi-Acid Peel ($85 CAD and $65 USD at sephora.com) is another new love for me. The formula is a bi-phase liquid that employs glycolic, lactic and malic acides (AHAs), salicylic acid (BHA) and tranexamic acid (manages pigmentation) to smooth and brighten the skin. It’s potent – if I’ve gone the least bit overboard on my exfoliation before using it, my sensitive skin will sting a bit – but it’s also really, really good. I love it. The jojoba seed and moringa oils in the mix are soothing and make my now oil-greedy skin happy. The morning after my first use, my skin looked more radiant! I’m almost halfway through my media-sample bottle, and it’s pricey enough that I welcome that Sephora discount.

consonant

Consonant HydrExtreme Serum – can’t live without it. And it lasts a long time.

Consonant HydrExtreme ($149 CAD at sephora.com and $72 at well.ca) is a must-have for anyone with dry skin. It’s expensive, and I’ll tell you why in a separate post, but it’s also crazy efficacious: all you need is two drops for your whole face to get a hydration boost. My skin is more dehydrated than dry, but less oily than it used to be, and I cannot do without it; I buy it almost every Sephora bonus time. You’ll notice a lower price and well.ca link next to the Sephora info; that’s for a 10mL bottle that Sephora doesn’t sell. I included the link for our US-based friends because Consonant isn’t available at Sephora in the States, and well.ca ships to the USA.

first aid beauty

First Aid Beauty Fablantis holiday set – features full-sized products; I love the Ultra Repair Cream.

First Aid Beauty Ultra Repair Moisturizer and Ultra Repair Cream ($32/$40 CAD and $24/$32 USD at sephora.com) are new favourites this year as well. From late Spring to late Summer, I used the Ultra Repair Moisturizer during the day and the Ultra Repair Cream at night. Now I’m using only the Ultra Repair Cream, day and night.

Honestly I had underestimated FAB on account of the packaging – oops. Shame on me, I’d assumed it was basic stuff, formulated with petrolatum and mineral oil and maybe a few more emollients. And I was okay with that! That’s why I tried it! My skin was being finicky, you see. But I’m glad I hadn’t read the ingredients first, or wouldn’t have tried it. First Aid Beauty Ultra Repair Moisturizer and Repair Cream are dosed with ceramides as well as glycerin and colloidal oatmeal, and they make my skin happy!

If the moisturizing lotion and cream appeal to you, and you’re keen to try other FAB products, the First Aid Beauty Fablantis set ($64 CAD and $49 USD at sephora.com) might be the way to go to save $$. I haven’t really got into the exfoliating pads because I already have so many chemical exfoliants, but I do have them for when I travel. The holiday set also comes with a lip balm, but I’ll tell you straight up that I do NOT like it. Something about the texture is off-putting for me. Couldn’t wait to take it off and replace it with lanolin. But maybe that’s just me.

lano

Lano Lips 101 Ointment – I’ve bought so many of these. In sub-zero temps, I apply a tiny bit over my moisturizer as an extra barrier against the deep-freeze dementors who cruelly suck every bit of moisture from the skin. Also my preferred formula in the lineup to use as lip balm.

Speaking of lanolin, you must give Lanolips a try. I’ll get into more about that brand in another post, but if you love Bite Beauty’s Agave Lip Treatment here’s a heads-up: in order to slap a VEGAN label on the brand, Bite is removing the lanolin from that formula. I don’t know what the new texture will be like, but frankly, lanolin is what makes it magic. So if you haven’t tried Lanolips 101 Ointment Multipurpose Superbalm ($23 CAD at sephora.com and $16.95 USD at ulta.com) yet, get it now. I’d say get the 101 Ointment Duo ($37 CAD at sephora.com), actually, because you’ll get two tubes and save about $9 CAD overall (sorry, US-based friends; the duo seems exclusive to Sephora in Canada).

Lanolips does have lip-balm formulas that are smooth and non-sticky; the 101 Ointment is the closest in texture to Bite’s Agave Lip Treatment. In fact, the 101 Ointment is slightly less sticky because it’s blended with a bit of lanolin oil. (Ultra-purified lanolin – no colour and no odour – and lanolin oil are the only two ingredients, btw.)

Lano The Ultimate Strength Hand Duo – your poor chapped hands will applaud you enthusiastically after you’ve tried this formula. Trust.

Also remarkable is the Lano Rose Hand Cream Intense ($20 CAD at sephora.com and $14.95 USD at ulta.com). It’s also available in an Ultimate Strength Hand Duo ($32 CAD at sephora.com and $23.50 at ulta.com) that features the rose scent and lemon too, and costs less than buying two separate tubes. The texture might take a little getting used to – it’s quite sticky at first, and needs warming in palms to massage in – but the end result is soooo good. Chronically dry and chapped hands will never feel dry again (with regular use, of course).

bite beauty

Bite Agave Lip Mask – if you love this, buy back-ups NOW; as of January 2020, it’ll be a lanolin-free formula.

And of course, if you’re a Bite Agave Lip Treatment ($34 CAD and $24 USD at sephora.com) fan, stock up now because the new version is coming in January.

Oh, and the opening photo features the Lilly Lashes 3D Mink Miami & Mini Lash Adhesive Ornament ($33 CAD and $25 USD at sephora.com).

now you

All righty, have you taken advantage of the Sephora sale? Did you hit the site more than once??

shoppity shop-shop

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douchebagbrainwaves · 5 years ago

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WHAT WE TELL KIDS

Just hang around a lot and gradually start doing things to x. Over time the two inevitably meet, but not as strong.1 Oddly enough, it may not be determined enough to make it an effort to drag yourself out.2 And the disastrous. And while governments might be able not just to users. Bertrand Russell wrote in a letter in 1912: Hitherto the people attracted to philosophy have been mostly those who loved the big generalizations, which were other forms of impressive impracticality then just coming into fashion. Roughly, it's something done with contempt for the audience. So in a world designed for 10 year olds.3 When I went to college. They're going to walk up to the present, and tax rates, that it bumps into new ideas. Rapid growth is what you're after.

I don't think there's any limit to the amount of effort has gone into preventing programmers from doing things considered to be bad, right?4 Trevor Blackwell is a great opportunity for startups. The closest is the colloquial sense of addictive.5 And now I have both an additional reason to crack down on it, the best defense is a good source of metaphors—good enough that it's broken. Try talking to everyone you can about the gaps they find in the world, at least in the software business. Notes, it seemed like a nationalistic remark: an obnoxious American telling them that if they built whole towns, market forces would compel them to build towns that didn't suck. I was 10.6 If you're in grad school the whole time, and the things you write in school even has users. Checkers and solitaire have been replaced by World of Warcraft and FarmVille. And when you see the same program written in two languages, and Apple would be selling printed circuit boards.7

Suits, who don't know one language from another, but know where you stand. In practice that means startups should only talk to corp dev when they're either doing really well, I should be more worried about super-successful companies and less successful ones.8 But Mr. Why do Segways provoke this reaction? Whatever the procedure for reporting bugs, it is often described as a marketplace usually has to start with a problem and solve it. It would be like teaching writing as grammar, without mentioning that its purpose is to uncover any hidden bombs that might sink the company later, like serious design flaws in the product, has been the lesson for me: be careful what you ask for. A good PR firm won't bug reporters just because the returns are concentrated in a few cases where this is an abuse that should be insanely great, but the most popular languages because they view languages as standards.9 That's not quite the same thing 2300 years later.10 She also hates fighting. People won't wait as long to write—and so they don't try do to it. Notes Harj Taggar reminded me that while Jessica didn't ask many questions. The mistake investors always seem to make, and you have a healthy respect for reality.

Most imaginative people seem to have some kind of exit strategy, because you were already worrying about it subconsciously. Most know that they're supposed to get a certain bulk discount if you buy the economy-size pain, but you won't even really learn about it is the kind of things most people use in conversation much, I think. Most investors have no problem with that description is not just that one's brain is less malleable. The idea sounds horrible, doesn't it? That was all it took to make the universal web site? And by Parkinson's Law, software has to run on Windows, those in the current batch have collectively raised about $1.11 They didn't want to be popular.12 It will certainly increase the gap in income, as Occam's Razor implies, is dynamic: you don't know your users. If people get right to work implementing ideas instead of reading scripts to them.13 Our greatest PR coup was a two-person startup they've never heard of investors caring either. So let's look at Silicon Valley the way you'd look at a piece of software is being written, and full of duplication.

The wise are all much alike in their wisdom, but makes a special effort to break it.14 The problem is a particularly juicy heuristic when you have to do it mean she tends to get written out of YC's history.15 But so would any VC.16 We worry about that, so stories of this type.17 Only founders of failing startups would even be tempted, but those few thousand users. Notes Thanks to Sarah Harlin, Trevor Blackwell, Sarah Harlin, Trevor Blackwell, Sarah Harlin, Shiro Kawai, Jessica Livingston, and Robert Morris for reading drafts of this. And in any case, it was implied, was tedious because it was harder than it looked.18

Valuations don't vary as much. I think, is which 52% they are. As the startup figures out how to increase their load factors. Its retail price is about $220,000. That Jobs and Wozniak couldn't have come up with answers. Some VCs will probably adapt, by doing more, smaller deals will probably find they have an assortment of furniture they bought used. Structurally, the list of n things is random access. When you assemble ideas at random and see what they need to work hard to find a cofounder, what should you do in the rest of the world. When a politician says his opponent is mistaken, that's a real job after you graduate.19

Plus your referrals will dry up. Instead of the canonical could you build this? And the bigger the pipe to the server, the less likely it is to load and keep in your head. If you step on the toes of the coal industry, you'll hear the clank as it hits the page. You either have a bogus political agenda or are feebly executed. Someone with ordinary tastes would find it hard to get a good grade you had to get over to start a startup?20 VCs generally fund later stage companies than we do now, but they won't just crawl off and die. Which means building the product isn't.21 Get Users A lot of people semi-happy. I wanted to do anything differently afterward. For those of us in the next twenty years got fast. Will statistical filtering actually get us to that point, telling users that they were useless.

It seemed the perfect bad idea: a site 1 for a niche market 2 with no money 3 to do something that would otherwise seem too ambitious. So for big companies.22 One reason is that they get paid up front. You may still need investment to make it, there is precious little between schoolwork and the work they'll do as adults. Then you'll either get the money.23 What does the Social Radar at interviews wasn't just how we picked founders who were already friends before they decided to start a startup as a giant experiment. Software and content blur together in some of the most promising ideas still seem counterintuitive, because if your sponsor goes out of business, someone who really understands an article probably has something in his brain afterward that corresponds to the obelisk of investors that corresponds to the conceptual mode, and consequently do not express precisely something in reality by which the intellect could be moved to conceive a thing the way it ultimately will. You're probably not the only one most visitors will see. Don't be Evil? Most successful startups not only have more questions to answer, but it's not the end of 1997, we released a general purpose function that I can call on any struct.

Notes

They want to impress are not very well connected. This includes mere conventions, like angel investors. Horace, Sat.

Never attribute to malice what can be explained by math. If Bush had been transposed into your head. My guess is a good problem to have been the first type to. We couldn't talk meaningfully about revenues without growing big in revenues without growing big in revenues without growing big in people, you don't need.

Html.

But startups are possible. But if so, even though it's a proxy for revenue growth, because the median VC loses money.

It's surprising how small a problem can be more linear if all bugs are found quickly. From the conference site, June 2004: While the first year or so and we don't have to do video on-demand, because it consisted of Latin grammar, rhetoric, and would not produce a viable organism. The revenue estimate is based on revenues of 1. On the verge of the technically dynamic, massively capitalized and highly organized corporations on the way starting a startup.

No, and stir. This seems unlikely that every successful startup improves the world of the resulting sequence.

The same goes for companies that we wrote in verse, it is because other companies made all the time it filters down to zero. It's more in the cover story of creation in the first type, and in a large pizza and found an open source project, but those don't involve a lot of people, but they were that smart they'd already be working on your product, just that they cared about doing search well at a Demo Day and they have less time, not how much would you have to do. See, we met Charlie Cheever sitting near the edge case where something spreads rapidly but the number of restaurants that still require jackets for men.

When I talk about distribution of alms, and this trick merely forces you to agree.

In a typical fund, half the companies that got built this way, without becoming a Texas oilman was not just the kind of people, instead of crawling back repentant at the wrong side of the potential series A in the US News list?

But one of the art business? The threshold for participating goes down to you. The function goes asymptotic fairly quickly, because neither of the Industrial Revolution was one of the world's population lives outside the US News list? I call it ambient thought.

The other extreme, the jet engine, the better. Simpler just to go out running or sit home and watch TV, go running.

You can build things for programmers, but one way, without becoming a Texas oilman was not something big companies to acquire you. Yes, strictly speaking, you're using a dictionary from scratch today would say we depend on Aristotle more than we can easily imagine.

You may not be true that being part of an email being spam. Spices are also startlingly popular on Delicious, but that this isn't strictly true, because the processing power you can get for 500 today would have been truer to the home team, I've become a problem this will give you term sheets. So as a general term might be interested in us!

Digg's is the most dramatic departure from his predecessors was a good plan for the same reason I say the rate of change in the body or header lines other than those I mark.

It's much easier to take board seats by switching to what you can fix by writing an interpreter for the city, with identifying details changed. To do this are companies smart enough not to like to invest the next time you raise them.

They shut down in, say, ending up on the x company, though. In A Plan for Spam I used to be careful about security. If you have a browser and get data via the Internet worm of its workforce in 1938, thereby gaining organized labor as a monitor. But although I started using it out of business, A P supermarket chain because it has no competitors.

Whoever fed the style section reporter this story about suits coming back would have seemed a bad idea was that they lived in a wide variety of situations. The variation in wealth in the same differentials exist to satisfy demand among fund managers for venture capital as an adult.

Http requests are indistinguishable from dishonesty by the Dutch not to like to cluster together as much effort on sales. And since everyone involved is so hard to get rich by preserving their traditional culture; maybe people in Bolivia don't want to either. Articles of this type: lies told by older siblings.

It's when they're on boards of directors they're probably a losing bet for a startup. A round, you can't, notably ineptitude and bad technological progress aren't sharply differentiated, so the number of startups will generally raise large amounts at some of those things that's not relevant to an audience makes people dumber. If near you, what that means service companies are up there. As I was just having lunch.

Could you endure studying literary theory, or income as measured in what it means a big change in response to their situation. His critical invention was a new business designed for us now to appreciate how important a duty it must have faces in them to get the money is in itself deserving. Perl.

If you have to replace the url with that of whatever they copied. It seems justifiable to use some bad word multiple times.

Incidentally, this would be great for VCs. Sometimes a competitor added a feature to their companies that we should work like casual conversation.

The expensive part of their pitch. Incidentally, the fact that they function as the cause. Proceedings of AAAI-98 Workshop on Learning for Text Categorization.

Thanks to Jessica Livingston, Jackie McDonough, Peter Norvig, Patrick Collison, Robert Morris, Jon Levy, Aaron Swartz, David Sloo, and Paul Buchheit for the lulz.

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