#shattered wing is probably my favorite here it turned out so cool

[nekoglycerin]

@zxal @cyberdragoninfinity toybox that probably gives you radiation poisoning

[stillness-in-green]

Chapter 354 Thoughts

Gonna see about making these an ongoing thing. Fair warning that they'll probably be running a bit late, as chapter reaction posts go, seeing as I typically prefer to draw final conclusions from the official English release, not the often-garbled scanlations. It's tempting to let them trail a full week late, in fact, largely to avoid big in-depth posts about things that turn out to be ludicrous fake-outs like that Hagakure "reveal" a few months back.

The opening of this chapter provides another excellent example of the bizarre funhouse mirror BNHA is in right now with its character sympathies.  In Chapter 346, it was Best Jeanist and company dubbing the arena for Shigaraki a coffin in the sky; here, it’s Hawks talking about how the best way to target AFO is to take out his life support.  The divide between the adults’ approach, which explicitly has death on the table as the likely and probably even intended outcome of these battle plans, and (some of) the kids’ approach, as they ponder if there’s any possible way to help the people they’re being set against, is so sharp.          I really am just waiting for the other shoe to drop, because Horikoshi can’t possibly be expecting me to root for the heroes’ plan, can he?  No amount of cool gadgets and heroes utilizing the villains’ resources against them is going to distract me from the fact that the heroes have all the advantages here.  I feel like I’m watching a heist flick where the casino security knew the heist was coming and so has the scrappy band of thieves split up into their own personal kneecap-breaking backrooms faster than you can say “gross income disparity.”          When do we get to the point where the plans start falling apart?          And on that note, I rather enjoyed this chapter.                  

I’d love to have a better handle on how exactly Hawks having “prosthetic feathers” works.  Did somebody make Hawks a pile of replica feathers?  How exactly does he control them?  How do they work alongside his remaining real ones?  How do they help boost his speed?  If Hawks has taken permanent damage to his wings, and his speed has dropped accordingly, why couldn’t it just have stayed as his speed dropping?          It feels like another weird thing like all the back-and-forth about Shigaraki’s post-surgery timeframe-until-perfected.  Every single one of the 3+ timeframes provided was equally arbitrary, so why did we have to spend so much time shuffling it around?  If Hawks’ speed is lessened by some arbitrary amount, why does it have to be boosted back up equally arbitrarily with “prosthetic feathers” that are (at least so far) completely indistinguishable from his real ones?          Personally, I’ve always been partial to nimble dual swordwielders, so I dig Hawks’ twin black swords look.  I would have been entirely happy if that’s just what he was packing now rather than the vagaries of his alleged prosthetic feathers.                        

“So we’re both crippled, huh?” is a good roast.      ��           

Horikoshi has learned about Poor Little Meow Meows.  Look at the cat ears on this helmet.  Ridiculous (affectionate).  But seriously, I like AFO’s new look in general.  The waistcoat is very dapper, and the rolled up sleeves very flattering.  I’m enjoying watching him float around gesticulating with his ankles crossed.                  

I love watching All For One drop bombshells, and the Touya reveal (remix) is no exception.  He just sits on these soul-shattering truths like fine jewels he takes out to admire from time to time before putting them away until it’s time to use them.  And then, when he does finally decide to deploy them, you can just hear him savoring them, rolling the syllables of the words around in his mouth like a wine connoisseur.  The “Shimura Nana’s grandson” reveal was exactly the same way.  Truly, it’s one of my favorite modes of AFO’s villainy.                  

#nice                  

This is a good Hawks chapter.  As others have said, I enjoy how obvious it is that he expects everyone else to be able to just shut off their emotions and act rationally, like he does, and that’s just not something Endeavor right now can do.  It’s not something Twice could do, which experience you might expect Hawks to have learned from, but not so much, apparently!          I like, too, that he’s so resolved to keep being there for Endeavor-san, who he cares about so, so much, but this isn’t something that his “being there” is going to assuage.  If one were an Endhawks shipper (and one is), one might be tempted to read a bit of possessiveness into a lot of Hawks’ behavior post-Jakku: shepherding Endeavor around, having his back, not pushing him to stay in touch with his family, and ultimately letting him avoid a family confrontation for a bunch of reasons that I’m sure all sounded really great in Hawks’ head, but also all meant that Endeavor would be there with him, not with his sons.  Of course Endeavor’s head isn’t in the game!  No amount of Hawks rooting for him is going to change that, and honestly, that feels like the closest thing Hawks has had to a real emotional setback since his Screaming Internally face applauding in the audience of the League/MLA merger speech.                    

AFO giving Endeavor a scar to match/mirror All Might’s is nice and all, but I feel Endeavor really ought to have lost his quirk right there?  Let me demonstrate: 

(Okay, maybe a few inches further up, since we're running in a shonen mag and all.)          See?  But frankly, even not quite touching him, AFO really ought to have been more than close enough.  Hori may have forgotten (or be trying to retcon) that bit in Chapter 193 where AFO leaps over a crowd with his hands outspread and takes four quirks simultaneously without touching a single one of them, but I have not (and will not).          Tragically, people getting their quirks’ previously demonstrated capabilities nerfed to make a fight scene work is not new, and it happens to the villains more than most.*  Perhaps it’s meant to read as AFO playing with his food, but like, the man’s got stuff to do, and Hawks’ despair at watching that brilliant flame be stolen would surely be equally tasty.

        

Given aforementioned stuff about Hawks and Endeavor’s disunity as caused by Hawks not being able to account for the effect of Endeavor’s feelings about his kids, it’s quite satisfying to me that Hawks had to get saved by the kid he’s been resolutely dodging.  Hawks really does not deserve Tokoyami.  And honestly, while I’d still like to see some conflict there re: Tokoyami’s respected mentor stabbing a fleeing man in the back, I’m all for anything that reminds the top heroes that students other than Deku exist.  It feels of a piece with Class 1-A showing up to lovingly kick Deku’s ass with the power of friendship and a united will, and makes a good contrast for Endeavor and Hawks, who absolutely are not working on a united will right now.                  

“Jobber characters” Caleb Cook why.  My first instinct is to question whether this is a term AFO knew from back in the day, and can thus be used to date him, or whether he picked it up from Tomura, and it’s thus a very ridiculous “How do you do, fellow kids” moment.  Upon further research, though, the Japanese there seems to just mean “supporting characters,” derisive sneer entirely optional, making “jobber” a particularly embellished localization.  More on this topic next time.                  

If Tokoyami and Jirou manage to take out All For One, I will literally never stop laughing.  I may not think it’s particularly great storytelling, but I will think it is extraordinarily funny.  Do your best, you two!!  I’m rooting for you!  AFO has been very annoying lately and he clearly needs to go back to Character Hiatus prison until he can come back with more nuanced characterization!

---

* Off the top of my head: the aforementioned disparity with All For One, Mr. Compress not being able to just compress and decompress his way out of Jeanist’s cables, Uraraka suddenly needing to touch bare skin to make people float when it has literally never worked that way for her or Toga, everything about what inanimate objects/background characters Dabi can incinerate compared to his flames’ effect on named characters, etc.

[sohotthateveryonedied]

I’ll Make a Million Mistakes

Read here on AO3!

Summary:

“Don’t worry,” Dick says, throwing his arm around Duke’s shoulders. “Everyone in this room has had their teeth knocked out at one point or another. It’s a rite of passage around here.”

“I don’t know how to tell you thith, but that doethn’t happen to normal people. We acthually prefer to keep our teeth, believe it or not.”

“Wait until you get your first major battle scar. Trust me, they’re cool.”

“Y’all need Jethuth.”

Bruce likes to think of himself as a patient man. Even more, he’d like to think it’s a trait he earned all on his own, but anyone who’s met him would testify that he inherited his patience from the man who raised him, and Bruce would have to agree. This level of restraint he possesses is an acquired skill—one that is reserved for the world’s best butlers and for fathers of six. Karen from the PTA wishes she were on Bruce’s level. His exceedingly calm temperament is the only reason Bruce doesn’t melt into a puddle on the ground now, his bones turning into a milky froth because Jesus fucking Christ, hasn’t he had a hard enough night as it is? No person should have to spend two hours solving riddles because Eddie was feeling manic tonight and then be forced to come home to human children. Duke smiles around a mouthful of bloody gauze. “In my defenth, I’ve never even had a cavity before.” “No, you just got your tooth knocked out.” “Teeth.” “What?” “Ith acthually teeth, plural. I lotht two of them.” Bruce facepalms. “Goddamn it.” He ignores the giggles from his other kids, all of whom apparently decided they needed to be present for this conversation. He’s picking his battles tonight.

“Ith not my fault!” Duke points over at Tim, standing against the Batcave’s wall minding his own business. “Ith hith fault.” “It is not. Bruce, don’t listen to him.” “Oh, yeah? Who knocked me into the railing in the firtht plathe?” “That was Jason’s fault. He’s the one who threw the football.” “Actually,” Jason chimes in, “that was Cass. I was an innocent bystander.” “Liar,” Cass says. “Don’t call me a liar.” “Liar.” “You’re the liar. She’s framing me, Bruce, I swear to god. I’ve never done anything wrong to my siblings in my entire life.” Dick makes a spluttering noise. “You once threw a pineapple at my head because I was breathing too loudly!” “And I don’t regret it one bit.” Bruce sighs. He doesn’t have the energy for this. He gently grasps Duke’s chin, being mindful of his sore jaw. “Where?” Duke pulls out the wad of gauze and opens his mouth wide. He points at the space where his front tooth used to be, then a canine on the bottom left which now consists of half a white shard. “Ith thith one and thith one.” Bruce hums. “I can get you a dentist appointment tomorrow afternoon. They’ll put a couple of caps in and you’ll be good as new.” He’ll have to rearrange a few things in his schedule. At least now he has a valid excuse to skip racquetball with Clark. There is no logical reason a bumpkin from Kansas should be better at racquetball than Bruce is, there just isn’t. “Tho my thmile ithn’t permanently ruined? Thath a relief. Thethe babieth are my betht feature,” he says, all the while bloody saliva dribbles from his lip like a deranged vampire. Best feature, definitely. “Don’t worry,” Dick says, throwing his arm around Duke’s shoulders. “Everyone in this room has had their teeth knocked out at one point or another. It’s a rite of passage around here.” “I don’t know how to tell you thith, but that doethn’t happen to normal people. We acthually prefer to keep our teeth, believe it or not.” “Wait until you get your first major battle scar. Trust me, they’re cool.” “Y’all need Jethuth.” “At least it’ll make for a good story one day,” Tim says. “Everyone loves scar stories.” Jason snorts. “People actually like death stories more, but go off I guess.” “Nobody cares that you died, Jay. Find new material.” “You want new material? Check this out.” Jason tugs down the collar of his sweater. He shows off the mostly-faded autopsy scar sliced up his torso and to his shoulders. Bruce winces. Dick yawns. “So? You got autopsied. Big whoop. Scars don’t count if you’re dead when you get them.” He tips his head down, parts a section of his hair with his fingers to show off the fresh scar on his scalp. “Talk to me when you get shot in the head.” Tim rolls his eyes. “You realize how stupid this is, right? We shouldn’t be arguing about who has the worst bodily trauma.” “Why,” Jason says, “because you know you’d lose?” “Because I’ve got you both beat.” He pulls up his t-shirt to display the surgical scar on his abdomen. “Missing spleen. Beat that.” “I lost a kidney. Kidney trumps spleen any day.” Cass rolls up the leg of her shorts to show off her bullet-riddled thigh. “Connect the dots. I win.” “But have you lost a vital organ?” Tim asks. “No.” “Spleens aren’t that vital,” Dick says. “Fuck off, at least you still have one.” “I would prefer to keep my organth,” Duke says. “Juth thaying.” “And you will,” Bruce assures him. “Probably.” “Probably?” “Look, I’m tired. We’re all tired. Can we schedule the scar contest for a later time when I’m hopefully not here to witness it?” Maybe he can ask Alfred to drug his tea from now on. At least then he can rest easy in a drug-induced slumber, knowing all the while that he’s missing the kind of petty arguments no parent should have to hear. “No one said you had to be here,” Dick says. “Anyway, Bane once slammed me against a wall and now my hip throbs when it rains.” “At least your wrist doesn’t click when you move it at the right angle.” Jason shakes his wrist next to Tim’s ear. Tim cringes. “You’re all amateurs,” a new voice says, and Bruce wants to die. Damian and Stephanie appear to have returned from patrol, still in their uniforms. “Try having your entire spine replaced.” Tim wrinkles his nose. “Great, it’s time to hear Damian talk about how much better than us he is. My favorite activity.” “Shut up, Drake. You’ve never experienced pain.” “I got blown up once! I still have burn scars all over my neck and shoulders!” “Eh. I’ve had worse.” Steph grins and holds up her left hand, just happy to be included. (Note to self: ponder whether Stephanie is secretly a golden retriever in human form.) “I have no feeling in these three fingers.” She pokes them to demonstrate. “And should I mention that I was tortured by Black Mask once? No? Because power tools were involved, in case anyone was wondering.” “Do I need to reiterate that I once died in an explosion?” “Jason. Little wing. I’m begging you to shut up about your death.” Cass points to a spot on her ribcage. “Two ribs made of metal. Got shattered during a fight. Four years old.” “My dad used to burn me with cigarettes every time I was bad, so...seven times a week, more or less.” “Oh, same!” Jason and Steph high-five. “My grandfather broke my arm in two places when I made a mistake during a training drill. He made me fight assassins for three hours straight afterward without so much as an ice pack.” Duke looks horrified. “Are you guyth okay?” “No offense, but none of you should talk unless you’ve gone through childbirth.” Stephanie rolls up the top portion of her Batgirl suit just enough to show off the scar across her lower belly. “You think getting blown up is hard? Try spending three hours in labor and having a baby ripped out of you. That’s hard.” Jason wipes away a fake tear. “Boo-hoo, someone had a baby when she was a teenager. Human reproduction doesn’t involve being beaten to death with a crowbar.” “Nobody cares that you died, Jason!” “Indeed,” Damian agrees. “Being stabbed by your clone is far worse than being caught in a little explosion. And I can take a crowbar beating in my sleep.” “I’m gonna kill him, Bruce. I’ll kill him right now. Just say the word and I’ll do it.” Bruce sighs, closing his eyes. “Duke, there are painkillers in the medicine cabinet if you need them. I’ll text you the time of your dentist appointment. The rest of you, please refrain from talking to me for the rest of the night.” Bruce walks away toward the manor, silently praying that he can forget this conversation ever happened. “Hey, who wants to see where Killer Croc bit my ass once?”

[kakakakashi]

Flightless Bird (Part 1/4)

Merry Christmas @wooobuddyletsgetnasty!!! 

I wanted to write this as a gift to someone who I’m honored to know. She’s literally an angel on earth. She is doing so much for others right now, and I wanted to give her this piece for Christmas, as a way to give back to her and to show her how grateful I am for her work and her friendship. 

- 

Keigo Takami (Hawks) x Reader 

Warnings: cursing, implied tattooing without a doctor’s license, lots of words that don’t make sense, idk, man. 

EDIT: OMG! I FORGOT TO ADD THAT THIS HAS MANGA SPOILERS & I HOPE I DIDN’T SPOIL IT FOR ANYBODY! I’M SO SORRY! 😭

Word count: 1,246

A/N: Keigo’s phone screen is shattered like 25/8. Change my mind. Anyway, who else is screeching about the latest chapter. 

- 

Checking your watch again, you noted that your latest client was late by thirteen minutes. You’d told him to be on time, but apparently, he had another idea. Glancing through the crowd to absentmindedly people watch, you imagined the crowd’s lives. The businessman on the phone was probably on his way to a meeting. Maybe he worked in finance. Maybe not. The little girl holding onto her mother’s hand made a smile quirk on your lips while she babbled on about her most recent lesson in school. However, a familiar figure in the crowd immediately stole your attention.

Sure, he was wingless and retired after his most recent battle, but he was still famous. This was going to ruin everything. You weren’t about to discuss your illegal tattoo business in front of a well-known hero. He’d surely run you in, and you’d end up with fines up your ass for tattooing without a doctor’s license. The client you were meeting with, Keigo was his name if memory served you well, was definitely not getting off to a good start, first, leaving you hanging, and now putting your ass on the line. It was probably best to ask for a rain check.

Strike that, you were definitely cancelling. Hawks, the famed hero you’d spotted, casually approached the bench on which you were currently seated before her reclined on the opposite end. Even without the vermillion feathers trailing behind him, it was obvious who he was. Pulling your phone out of your pocket to message Keigo, you began to wonder if you should even put in the effort. After all, the guy had missed his appointment.

“Sorry I’m late,” the young hero beside you spoke. Out of your peripheral vision, you noticed his iconic honey eyes were focused straight ahead, so you chose to ignore him. However, he continued, “Thanks for agreeing to meet me. I’ve been a fan of your work for years now.”

Raising your gaze from your phone, you skeptically side eyed him. After glancing to see who he could be talking to, you scoffed, “Me?”

“Yeah,” the corners of his mouth twitched up in a small smile, “You’re Y/N, right? The, uh, artist?”

You tried to imagine him sprouting a second head at his words. He had no real proof of who you were, so you knew it was a matter of who could be more convincing. “Sorry, I think you’re mistaken. I’m in marketing.”

It wasn’t a lie. That’s why you specifically chose those words. You ran your own social media page, after all. That’s how you got all your clients. As a matter of fact, you were currently out on business.

“I know.” You glanced at the hero to find him smirking at you with a crooked grin that was usually plastered on magazines. It was obvious he was trying to be charming, and you had to forcibly suppress the impulse to roll your eyes. “That’s how I found you, after all. Although, I can’t really like all your posts from my public account since I am… well… me, and it wouldn’t look good if someone in my line of work was liking photos of your, uh, artwork. I’m guessing you understand since it seems like you recognize me. I’m Keigo.”

You didn’t have to imagine the second head sprouting this time. Genuine confusion flashed across your annoyed expression. “What?”

Upon your disbelief, Hawks reached into his pocket to dig out his phone. He quickly unlocked it before opening the string of messages, holding the shattered screen out for you to read. Sure enough, when you glanced over the messages, you found your exact words in the bubbles. Glancing at the account, you noted the username matched Keigo’s as well. Fuck. You were screwed. You were going to get arrested for sure. Almost reading your mind, Hawks tried to quell your nerves.

“Look, this isn’t some kind of sting operation or anything. I’m coming here as Keigo, not Hawks.” The alias sent a flash of a shadow across his casual expression. The light in his eyes dimmed slightly when he continued in a softer tone, “I can’t do that kind of work anymore… That’s part of why I’m here, actually.”

All the noise of the city went silent to you. This wasn’t a good idea. He was probably lying. After all, he was a trained spy. Although, you couldn’t figure out why they’d send him, of all people, to help capture you. Such a high-profile person wouldn’t be the best choice for this mission, so he could be telling the truth. However, you couldn’t risk anything yet, so you remained still, staring off in front of you and waiting for more information to be offered.

“How about I talk about what I’m looking for?” Keigo figured it was the best way to break the ice, but you remained silent. You weren’t about to give the supposed-ex pro, the master of interrogation and acquiring information, any opening to wipe out everything you’ve worked for. However, while you stared into the sea of people before you, Hawks took your silence as an invitation to continue. “You probably saw the news. My wings got singed off. It left some pretty nasty scars on my back, and I’d really like to cover them up. I thought it might be cool to use some element of my time… in that line of work to remind me that it was all for a reason.”

Without any indication that you were listening, Keigo assumed he was getting nowhere fast. He knew he shouldn’t be surprised with your aloof demeanor, but he still deflated a bit at the thought that his favorite tattoo artist wouldn’t take him on as a new client. Sure, he could go to someone else, but your work hit different to him. He hoped you would be the one to ink him. However, it didn’t look like that was going to turn out, especially when you casually rose from the bench. Keigo watched you shove your fists in your jacket pockets, expecting you to take your leave. However, he was surprised when he heard your voice in that same monotonous timbre.

“Well?” A beat passed while you continued to gaze a hundred miles in front of you. Keigo’s wide eyes glued themselves to your figure, waiting for his response. However, he remained frozen in his spot. “Aren’t you coming? I’ve gotta get a look at your scars in person to see what I’m working with. My place is only a few blocks from here.”

Even if he was trying to set you up, you decidedit wouldn’t hurt if today was a consultation. Keigo and you could exchange information, and simply chat a bit. Maybe you could weasel some information out of him. Obviously, you were nowhere near the caliber of winged hero Hawks, but you were pretty good at reading people. Besides, he had no reason to deceive you. The piece he wanted was going to cost a pretty penny based off of his description, and the risk was worth the payout. Not to mention, taking a chance on him was an awfully appealing gamble.

His expression of cluelessness morphed into a sparkling grin, yet you still didn’t spare him a glance. Although, the little tug of your lips didn’t go unnoticed by Keigo. He quickly stood while you began walking in the direction of your home studio with the retired hero hot on your heels.

[finnified]

a list of things i absolutely love about / kind of analysis on hog hunt, compiled as i watch it for the second time:

(under the cut cos this got really long)

right near the beginning when they’re raising the anvil, she does this really cool transition from the light on the anvil to the light on the curtain in tubbo’s first few frames. it’s incredibly smooth and it works rlly well. the pattern is also continued to the shine on tubbo’s axe when he twists it to see his face in it which is also rlly neat.

i’ll probably point this out several times, but the use of perspective in this animatic is amazing. we first see it from phil standing on his balcony looking at the raised anvil, but the use of perspective is absolutely INCREDIBLE all throughout this animatic.

we see it right after this, actually, with the trees and the crow flying over it. not only is the perspective so cool here, but the motion with the feathers is also amazing.

i also love how whenever ghostbur shows up, the screen gets a little glitchy. i’m not sure what i like about it but it’s just kinda fitting with his static-y eyes and such.

PHILS CROWS!!

THE TRANSITION SCENE FROM TUBBO WALKING DOWN THE HALL OF THE WHITE HOUSE TO HIM PULLING OUT THE AXE AND SUDDENLY THE BUTCHER ARMY IS ALL THERE. that was so absolutely satisfying, with the sound effect of quackity’s torch and all. also ranboo is there which is <3

the transitions in this animatic really might be my favorite part. we get the bit with techno suiting up with his cape and his crown and then the really cool fog that allows him to appear outside with the butcher army, and we can see someone level their axe in front of them and BOOM techno appears out of the smoke, pulling the axe back and swinging. it’s AMAZING.

the swinging motion from that last scene allows a little bit of a still waving transition into the butcher army room, which is STUNNING by the way (and also ranboo) which then flawlessly pulls into phil and then the scene in phil’s house with the shattered glass visual and audio combination it’s AMAZING. the frame with phil’s chest in white on the black background with the only color being ghostbur’s blue is also really neat here as well.

i absolutely ADORE the frames where tubbo finds the compass, because you can hear and see the smirk in his voice and i love how the compass drops down on the little string and it’s just. so poggers. love that. the part directly after that where it zooms in on phil and you get the opportunity to see the weight of the situation from his perspective is AMAZING.

and the collection of frames after that that go in the flashes of light? quackity with his back to the screen, techno reading the letter (TECHNOGLASSES POG) phil’s compass slowly pointing forward to the viewer? the flash of phil standing on his balcony, and then the butcher army which gets cut off of view by one of phil’s crows, with the feathers in the background that morph into his wings? this sequence is so powerful, for a reason i can’t quite place, but i absolutely adore it.

THEN WE GET THAT PHIL SCENE THAT EVERYONE’S FAWNING OVER, AND RIGHTFULLY SO. the camera slowly pans down to phil’s face, and then his hat tips forward so the shadow can grow on his face, and then we get that really cool glitch effect where he turns all black with the white eyes and such. it’s so cool.

then we get the ‘i choose blood’ scene, which in all honesty i had to replay several times to properly get my thoughts down on. this whole bit is so incredibly smooth and flows so well, with techno’s cape and the butcher army readying their axes and then techno pulling the potions from seemingly nowhere and then the colored smoke again from earlier- which i quite literally can’t get enough of, sad-ist do your shoes need shinin ma’am, and then the whole sequence where tubbo is pinned by techno and screaming at quackity to do something, which transitions FLAWLESSLY into big q and carl. you can see techno’s shock even before he realizes quackity actually has carl, and i applaud sad-ist for being able to convey that much emotion even without techno’s eyes.

the spinning from the camera being right next to techno to right behind quackity is also amazing. i think the color of the background shifts slightly? which i think might represent something, but it sort of just stood out to me in the moment. the perspective when quack is talking and holding carl’s reigns is amazing, because it’s slightly below quack’s eye level, which gives us the impression of looking up at him, and also really allows us to see how much danger carl is actually in.

once again i applaud sad-ist for her ability to convey so much emotion in techno even with half of his face covered. his resignation of his own safety for carl’s is aggressively clear as he drops the cape and the crown away.

and then we get the phil sneaking out sequence, which i had to slow down to properly appreciate, but it’s REALLY cool. the blue handprint on the tree? the entire skull motif? (which my friend mysso pointed out) it ties back into The phil scene from this animatic earlier and i really love it.

then we have literally what might be my favorite scene in this animatic!! which is stupid maybe because it’s one of the less important scenes, but i love it nonetheless. it’s the scene where they’re walking techno into lmanburg and phil is on his balcony and says “you actually got him” which transitions into tubbo reminding him that he’s on house arrest and then techno running forward with the chains (which have their own noise, which i think is such a poggers detail) and demanding to know what they did to phil. i love absolutely everything about this scene, from (once again) the extreme amount of expression that techno has even with the mask to the fact that it takes both quackity and fundy to restrain him once he’s pissed off to once again the absolutely FLAWLESS motion in that bit. you can see the struggle happening perfectly with techno’s flailing and quackity reaching forward to grab his arm and all, and i love it.

the little short scene we get with techno shifting slightly side to side to imply walking slowly in time with the music is also really cool. detail in sad-ist’s animatics my beloved.

THEN WE HAVE THE PUNZ SCENE!!! i absolutely love this one because of the use of perspective as well. it flips from tubbo doing his speech to the rooftop with punz and dream, and dream slowly raises his hand and punz flips the ender pearl and then APPEARS on the ground, sheds the cape in a single movement (might honestly be my favorite singular motion in this animatic) tosses the potions, we see the beloved colored smoke again, and when it clears punz and ranboo are going at it. you get the amazing panic in tubbo’s voice with him screaming at big q to pull the lever, and techno’s iconic little ‘heh??’ and then-

anvil drops. here comes the best scene in this animatic.

we get a few seconds of techno staring up at the anvil in shock, holding the totem, and it’s super cool actually because at the very end of that you see the bottom of the anvil come into super sharp detail in the reflection of techno’s eye. it flashes to ghostbur on the outside, watching the anvil fall, and when the sound of impact comes the totem explodes. that frame on its own is amazing and i might make that my background just because of how dynamic it is, with the light exploding and everything, and THEN. THEN WE GET TECHNO’S ABSOLUTELY STUNNING REANIMATION SEQUENCE with the flesh wrapping back around him, being stitched together it’s the green totem threads, his skull underneath and the blood, it’s amazing. he jumps through the bars of the cage with the chains mostly broken except for one on his hand, and he runs off after dream who has carl. WHILE THIS IS HAPPENING, (and someone on tumblr just pointed it out,) techno is still actually reforming. one of his legs is only fully solid once he’s outside the cage and one of his arms is still reforming when he swings it through the bars- thats why he’s able to get out so easily, and that’s why it’s bleeding in the next few scenes.

dream in this animatic is terrifying, by the way. he’s the most inhuman we’ve ever seen him, with the hood always up and the shadow covering half the mask so there’s no way to see under it. i know a few people on tumblr have pointed out sad-ist’s design progression with dream (from very very human with the mask on the side to the mask on to the mask and the cape) but it’s so wonderful that i felt the need to say it again.

and then dream is gone and quackity is here. time for the most banger fight scene to ever be animated in the history of animated fight scenes!

the motion in this fight scene is amazing. techno never stops moving. he’s darting under quackity’s legs, twirling the pickaxe (he’s fighting with a pickaxe!) JUMPING OVER QUACKITY’S HEAD AND YANKING HIS AXE OUT FROM HIS GRASP WHICH IS HONESTLY THE COOLES THING, and that motion continues smoothly when you see the axe get imbedded in the wall, and then you get the ‘put it through your teeth’ which is AMAZING.

and then it slowly fades back to techno’s cabin, and then TOMMY!! he looks so soft in these few seconds when he’s here, and i love that for him, mostly because it shows how much he’s changed. the sound effects when the wither wall is dropping are flawless as well, and i know everyone is saying this as well but i literally cannot, CANNOT get over how techno does the spreading-his-arms-curling-his-fists thing in front of the wither vault like he did in the dawn of the sixteenth animatic in the revolutionary’s vault. we get those two frames- one with techno suddenly splashed in blood, and then the one where that blood turns green and we’re left with only the blood, techno’s eyes and tusks, and the very barest outline of the wither vault, all in the same bright green. techno’s laughter also draws out even through the closing scene, which is another nice touch.

overall? absolutely amazing animatic, so many things to point out and pick apart, and i am definitely going to watch it like eight hundred more times.

[zaph1337]

Monster Hunter Rating 16: Diablos, Tyrant of the Desert

Remember when I mentioned in the last review how Cephadromes try to keep their packs as far from a monster called “Diablos” as possible because of how freaking aggressive they are? Well, speak of the devil and he appears! Get it, ‘cause it’s called “Diablos” and “el diablo” is the Spanish term for--you know what, let’s just talk about the dragon.

(How it appears in Monster Hunter 1)

(How it appears in Monster Hunter Rise)

Appearance: Like Basarios, Diablos are Flying Wyverns--which is to say, they fit the description of wyverns in real-world mythology. Though, uh, I don’t think wyverns are supposed to have giant horns and tusks blocking out their faces. Seriously, look at the Rise render and tell me how easy it is to find its eyes. These guys must have really sucky vision. They’ve also got a Triceratops-esque frill and heavily armored backs. Their tail is also interesting, both because it’s a club and because it looks like a pair of human lungs. I hope to God it doesn’t actually keep its lungs in there, because using the casing around your lungs as a club sounds like a terrible idea. It also has weird horse teeth, which you probably didn’t notice because the tusks and horns take up most of the face. We’ll get into why a dragon has those soon.

If I ever actually fought one of these things, I’d probably find it a lot more intimidating, but it just looks kinda comical. Okay, the MH1 render makes it look disturbing, but that’s mostly ‘cause the face is more visible than the Rise one and it has beady white eyes. It still looks like a very clumsy creature, and all it would take to rectify that, in my opinion, is to get rid of the tusks to make the face less cluttered. 5/10.

Behavior: So, why do Diablos have horse teeth? Because why have fangs when your diet mostly consists of cacti? That’s right, this dragon, which is named after the freaking devil, isn’t even a predator, it’s an herbivore. How often do you hear about herbivorous dragons? Probably not very, if I had to guess. The thing about being an herbivore in the desert, though, is that aside from cacti, there’s not a lot to eat. Even then, a Diablos’ favorite type of cactus is a variety of large cacti that can grow up to 12 feet tall, but those suckers are pretty rare, so Diablos are always on the lookout for places where they grow. This often leads them to fight with other Diablos or even predatory monsters over territory, ‘cause once you find a spot with plenty of good food in the freaking desert, you kinda wanna keep it. This is why Diablos are so aggressive: everything is a potential competitor for their space, so they have to be willing to fight everything. The only monsters that Diablos won’t try to fight are Elder Dragons (we’ll get into those later).

Okay, so normally I’d stay away from this topic, but I feel obligated to mention that Diablos have a breeding season, and that females in heat turn black in color; these Black Diablos are considered a “subspecies” of Diablos, though the games themselves point out that this is a misnomer as they’re, y’know, the same species. Black Diablos are still treated as being different enough from normal Diablos to be close to a subspecies, so I’ll talk about them some other time. As for regular Diablos, there’s not a lot to understand about them; they’re feared for their temper and they eat cacti. The fact that they’re herbivorous dragons, of all things, is still interesting enough to cover for how basic they are. 6/10.

Abilities: This is unfortunately where Diablos falls shortest. It has no ranged attacks to speak of, and it’s too heavy to fly for extended periods of time. It instead relies on surprising speed and overwhelming strength in battle, charging at opponents head-on and using its tail as a club that can easily shatter stone. Its powerful legs are also good for burrowing through sand, and if it’s ever trapped in said sand, it’ll use its wings to push itself out. It’s certainly dangerous, but not exactly flashy or interesting. 4/10.

Equipment: Aside from having Diablos’ color scheme and texture, something several of its weapons have in common is that they’re pretty blunt, even when they’re cutting weapons. A good example is the pair of Dual Blades called the Diablos Bashers:

I like how their heads each look like a half of a Diablos’ tail club. Speaking of which, how’d you like to use one of those yourself? Well, with this Hammer called the Diablos Maul, you can fulfill your fantasy of beating a Diablos to death with its own tail (Disclaimer: Zaph does not support having a fantasy of killing something with a weapon made to look like a part of its body. If you regularly feel the desire to do so, please seek out a therapist):

And just ‘cause I think it looks cool and I haven’t shown one of these yet, here’s the Diablos Gunlance, complete with shield:

A lot shinier and pointier than some of the other Diablos weapons. As for the armor, it looks basically how you’d expect it to:

I don’t like how the male armor has a helmet (that also looks like it has tiny fangs for some reason) while the female armor just has a hairband because wE nEeD tO sEe PuRdY gIrL. Listen, I’m straight, but I don’t want the armor sets for women to be designed for my viewing pleasure, even if it’s in a way that doesn’t sexualize them (though considering the chest-piece on her armor outlines her cleavage, I don’t think I can say that sexualization didn’t occur here). Other than that, the armor looks fine. The equipment as a whole gets a 7/10.

Final Thoughts and Tally: I’m kinda disappointed that a monster called “Diablos” didn’t turn out to be very impressive, but it’s far from a failure. I don’t really remember a lot of what its fights were like when I saw them on a MH Rise stream, but I do remember that Diablos was talked about as a difficult monster to beat, so it clearly has a reputation. Again, I’ve only played the Rise demo and know everything else (outside what the wiki says) from streams, so you’re not getting the opinion of an expert here. If I ever get the game (and I plan to), then I won’t be surprised if my opinion on this guy changes. But until then, 5/10.

[starstaiined]

The Five Times Anne Protected Kitty (And The One Time Kitty Protected Anne.)

SUMMARY: Being six years older, Anne’s always done her best to look out for her younger cousin. (Trouble seems to follow Kat around like a lost puppy.) But as quick as people are to point out how protective Anne can be, they always seem to forget the same is true for Kitty. 

TW: Sexual abuse, slut shaming, victim blaming, anxiety attack

TAGGING:  @whenallthestarscollide  &&  @whoufflewhovian200311

ONE. 

Katherine hated her brothers. Okay, maybe that was a little extreme. But as they mocked her, made faces, and tugged roughly on her ponytail, it’s all the six-year-old could think. It escalated as Charlie pushed her to the ground, laughing, and she began to cry. Then, in a blaze of glorious light, her cousin entered the room. Anne, twelve at the time, was two years older than Charlie and ergo a cool kid. Or at the very least, cooler than the boys. 

She surveyed the scene with narrow eyes, before sighing. “Charlie,” She started, before he interrupted her. 

“It’s Charles. I’m not a kid anymore.” 

“Really? Because you’re sure acting like one, Charlie.” Anne shot back with a cool smile, not missing a beat. 

Charlie’s face went bright red, brow furrowing in annoyance. “No one cares what you think, Annie.” But it was almost painfully obvious that he did care. 

Anne shrugged, ruffling his hair and slipping into the most condensing voice she could manage. “Oh poor baby, did I hurt your feelings? Do you want a sticker and a juice box?” 

The look of indignation on Charlie’s face drew a watery laugh out of Kitty. That seemed to be the final straw. He stormed off, pulling Georgie along with him. After they disappeared, Anne helped Kitty to her feet. “Boys, am I right Kit Kat?” 

Kitty nodded, hugging her older cousin’s legs and sighing. “They’re so mean sometimes.” 

“Well, you don’t have to worry about them anymore, kiddo. Come on, let’s go get a juice box. Then you can tell everything I’ve missed out on recently. Because either my eyes are deceiving me, or you’re missing a front tooth.” Anne’s warm smile made Kitty feel safe. She grinned, happily rambling on as they walked hand in hand toward the kitchen. 

TWO. 

Anne was visiting! Katherine was fourteen now, and ever since Anne had moved last year she seemed to be spending less and less time with her favorite cousin. So these rare moments where they could just hang out were few and far between. 

Kitty spent the entire day glued to Anne’s side, and the next day too. She’d stopped going into the office. In fact, she hadn’t even thought about the office in hours. (Which had to be a new record.) But her temporary bliss shattered on the third night, when a knock on the door reverberated through the house. Anne paused the game they’d been playing, carefully edging towards the door and looking at it warily. “Who’s there?” 

“Francis. Francis Dereham. Katherine hasn’t been to the office in a few days, I just wanted to make sure she was okay.” Came the gruff reply. 

Kat froze. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest. Oh, she’d messed up. Was he angry? He didn’t sound angry, but Francis had always been good at hiding when he was upset...

Anne had turned to look at Kat, feeling the palpable anxiety rolling off the young girl. A bad feeling formed in the pit of her stomach. “She’s fine.” Anne answered curtly, all but glaring at the door. Her discomfort increased at his reply. 

“I’m glad to hear that. Would she mind coming back to the office for a few hours? It’s an emergency, we could really use her help. She’s been sorely missed.” 

Anne gritted her teeth. It was nearly six, what business did a damn grown man need Kitty to do that he couldn’t handle himself? 

Kat moved toward the door, head down and shoulders slumped, as if resigned to working. Before she could get a word out, however, Anne stopped her. 

“Sorry Mr. Dereham, but I’m afraid she can’t go tonight.” 

“And why not?” He sounded annoyed, and Kat shifted uncomfortably again. 

“I’m her cousin, Anne. I don’t believe we’ve met. But I’m only in town for a few days, I wanted to spend as much time as possible with my cousin. We were just about to head out.” Anne lied smoothly, nodding her head towards the table as if asking Kat to grab the keys. Kat, although confused, complied. 

Anne waited a moment for Francis to head back to his car, grumbling, before loading Kit into the family car. 

They went out and got ice cream, piled high with all kinds of toppings. Anne didn’t press the Dereham issue, afraid of making Kat uncomfortable, but it would be a decision that would come back to haunt her in the future. But for that night, there was nothing but laughter and love as they fell asleep in a tangle of limbs after a night of video games and sugar. 

THREE. 

Kat is cowering at her seat at the table while her cousin and the rest of her family go to war. In the last week, everything had come out. Mannox. Dereham. Henry. Culpeper. She can hear her brother making a noise of disgust, yelling out some derogatory term that makes her bury her head in her hands. She’s numb. She’d told her brothers, expecting sympathy. Expecting help. But instead they’d turned their backs on her. Her father was the worst one at all, he’d screamed about how she’d ruined the family name, how he’d wished he’d never had such a whore for a daughter. 

What a day for her cousin to drop in for a surprise visit. Anne had walked in amidst her uncle’s screaming, and wasted no time rising to Kitty’s defense. When she’d learned about everything, she was furious...but unlike the rest of the family, it wasn’t at Katherine. She couldn’t begin to understand why they were angry at Katherine. “She’s sixteen!” Anne all but screamed at her uncle, as if that would make him see reason. But he didn’t. 

He stalked over to the table, raising his hand as if he were going to strike Kitty, and Anne grabbed his wrist roughly. Her nails dug into his flesh, and she glared at him. “Don’t. You. Dare.” 

He tore his arm away, and Anne stepped in front of Kitty. “I wasted my life raising her. My money. I meant for those music lessons to help her future, meant for that office job and that internship as learning experiences. And she flushed all that down the drain. Now all I’ll ever be is the man with a slutty disgrace of a daughter. What would her mother think if she was here?” He spat, and Anne could feel her temper rising. 

“Probably that you’re nothing but a sick, narcissistic prick.” Anne shot back, and both Charles and George started towards her in a fury. But Anne didn’t budge, she turned her glare on them and dared them to try anything. He uncle stopped their advances before things could unravel further. 

“If you care about her so much,” He hissed, eyeing both of them unkindly, “then take her. She can be your problem. But I don’t want to see or hear from either of you again.” 

Anne stared him down. 

When she left that day, it was with Kat tucked under one arm and a bag of clothes under the other. In that moment, she knew she would do whatever it took to protect her cousin, and help her on her journey to recovery. 

FOUR. 

A few months had passed since Katherine had moved in, and finally the spare room was ready. They’d spent forever making it inhabitable. Or well, Anne did. With some help from her friend Anna, they’d added new furniture, repainted to room in bright pinks and soft silvers, and hung up portraits. 

But on the first night that Kat slept in her room, Anne woke up to the sound of screaming again. She rushed to Kat’s room, shaking her awake. Kat startled, lashing out before breaking down. Anne wrapped her in a hug, smoothing down her hair and rocking back and forth. “You’re okay.” Anne whispered, as Kat’s tears soaked her shirt. 

Once Kat had calmed down, Anne had helped her dry her tears. “Kit Kat, why don’t you jump in the shower? Take a breather. I’ll go make a midnight snack, and see if there’s anything good on right now.” Anne whispered, and Kat nodded.

Kat jumped in the shower, letting the damn near boiling water wash over her tense muscles, then dressed in a soft oversized sweater Anne had stolen from Anna and a pair of worn pajama pants. She padded lightly into the kitchen, where Anne was piling whipped creams on two bowls filled to the brim with strawberry ice cream. 

That night, they’d chatted softly over the movie. Anne managed to coax a laugh or two out of Kitty, and finally Kitty’s eyes fluttered closed as she curled closer to her older cousin. Anne sighed, staying vigilant and making sure that the nightmares didn’t come again as Kitty drifted off to sleep.

FIVE. 

It had been years, and between therapy, the support of the other queens, and the show, Katherine was thriving. She’d grown more comfortable with touch, and interacting with strangers, but just because she was doing better didn’t mean didn’t have off days. 

Kat had been ansty all week, shifting uncomfortably and avoiding sleeping for fear of the nightmares. Her body ached, but she didn’t want to let the girls down. So, she prepared for the show. Note for the future: doing a show on less than four hours of sleep and while emotionally unstable, not the best of choices. 

Halfway through “All You Wanna Do,” her heart rate spiked, her head replaying the worst of her memories. By the end, when she was ripping away from the other queen’s grabbing hands, she broke down. Her knees slammed into the ground, hard, and her shoulders shook with barely repressed sobs. The rest of the queens exchanged worried looks, and eventually Aragon and Cleaves moved further downstage, ad libbing some piece about teenagers these days to keep the audience’s attention while Anne helped Kitty up and off stage. 

“Kit, hey, Kit Kat, look at me.” Anne whispered once they were safely hidden in the wings. Her voice had dropped down to a soft level that she only ever had when it came to Kat. 

Kat complied, but her eyes were brimming with tears and unfocused. “i’m sorry,” she choked out, trembling. “I’m so sorry,” She wasn’t entirely sure what she was apologizing for. The breakdown, the concern she was causing, messing up the show...everything. 

Anne’s heart cracked in her chest, and she shook her head. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for, Kit.” She wiped away the tears rolling down Kit’s face before pulling the younger girl into a hug. “It’s alright. Whatever it is, you can talk about it when you’re ready. We’re all here to listen. Until then, just tell us what you need.” 

“A hug.” Kat whispered back, nearly inaudible. But Anne heard, she always did. She wrapped her arms around her younger cousin until Kat had calmed down. They reentered with enough time to do the last song together, and afterwards Kat was buried in hugs from the rest of the queens. (In fact, Jane managed to produce some chocolate, much to the youngest queen’s delight.) 

SIX. 

Anne hated boys who didn’t know the meaning of the word no. They turned up far too often at parties for her liking. And just because she was used to the shit they pulled didn’t make it any less infuriating. 

She’d been trying to tell this guy for an hour to fuck off — in fact, she’d flat out told him to do exactly that — but her refused to leave her the hell alone. She was about five seconds from tearing this prick a new one, but a voice from across the table made her had snap up.

Kat. She’d been sitting quietly the entire time, shifting uncomfortably more than once. (Parties weren’t really her scene, she was here because the rest of the girls were.) “She said she’s not interested, can’t you take a hint?” 

“What’s wrong, gorgeous, you jealous?” The boy turned to face the girl who’d spoken, smile not dropping for a second as he scanned her up and down. 

And Anne had to resist the sudden urge to smash her bottle over his head. When he’d been harassing her, he’d been an annoyance. But if he messed with Kitty, that was crossing a line. 

But to her surprise, Kitty didn’t back down. In fact, she STOOD UP. While she was no means physically imposing, something about her stance made her look ten feet tall. She stalked over, ignoring his comment. Her dark eyes glittered like moonlight off broken glass, just as baleful as they were bewitching. The air in the room came to a standstill as she spoke, the words slow and menacing. “She said, leave. her. alone.” 

The man instinctively took a couple steps back, almost cowering. He tried to puff up his chest but it failed horribly, and he quickly mumbled an excuse about a friend calling and all but booked it to the entrance.The second he disappeared from view, the adrenaline faded and Kat collapsed in on herself like a pile of playing cards. She had stood up to a stranger. Oh God, she had gotten close enough that he could’ve touched her….that thought steals her breath and her heart rate begins to spike.

Before she could panic too much, Anne pulled her into a quick hug before getting her to sit down. “Kit Kt, that was amazing! You looked, like, actually intimidating. If I didn’t know you, I would have been terrified. You spooked that poor bloke out of his pants....but he deserved it. Where did that come from??”

Kat shrugged, taking a shaky breath. “I just...reacted. He wouldn’t leave you alone, and I felt...I felt like I had to do something.” 

Anne ruffled her hair affectionately, while Kat let out an indignant squeak. “My hero.”  Anne laughed, pulling Kat to her feet and slinging an arm around her shoulders. “I think this is cause for celebration. What do you say we sneak out of here and raid the candy store before Jane can stop us?” 

[yadds]

Take My Pain

Tony comes back from the dead. He wishes he hadn’t. Peter helps.

.

Here, have some physical pain to go with the emotional variety I usually tend towards.

TW: graphic descriptions of pain, suicide attempt. Please read responsibly

__________________________________________

Three years after the final snap, Tony Stark suddenly appeared outside the Avengers compound, emaciated and feeling like every bone in his body had been shattered to pieces, every muscle shredded, every ligament ripped away. But he was alive.

“Miracle Return!” and “Tony Stark, Back from the Dead!” and “Second Chance for a Charmed Life!” the tabloids touted. It felt less like the proclaimed blessing and more like an eternal punishment.

Pain medications didn’t work on him anymore. Neither did alcohol. The pain was constantly off the charts, enough to over stress the heart of a normal human. He should be dead all over again just from the intensity of the pain, which never abated.

He spent three months drifting in and out of awareness because, of course, the sedatives didn’t work either. Every moment of consciousness was hell, full of screaming, sobs, and delirium.

It took six months and four attempts to just end it all before he was successful. He’d broken a nearby glass when he’d jolted back to consciousness, arms flailing, searching for an anchor as he thrashed in an ocean of agony. He’d seized a large, particularly jagged shard that had landed perfectly on the bed right next to him, quickly and firmly drawing it across his own throat. He felt his first moment of blessed relief as he watched the crimson downpour flood down his torso and across the bed to drip heavily onto the floor. It didn’t take long before his fingers went numb and the glass fell to the ground.

Oh, God. This numbness, this was heaven. It spread, slow and steady, moving upward from his extremities. He felt the shadow of gentle release settle over him, the pain ebbing away. Finally.

He had half a second of lucidity to feel sorry for the nurses and doctors racing around the room, shouting orders and trying desperately to find something that would work on him. And...was that...Pepper? Oh, he wished she wasn’t here to see this.

But that concern quickly faded away as well as his eyelids fluttered then closed.

.

Silence. Serene, clean darkness. He was suspended in a cool lake, a soothing balm to his scorched, broken body.

He closed his eyes and smiled.

.

It felt like only a moment, as fleeting as the brush of a butterfly’s wing. Then he was thrust back into the flames of hellfire.

‘No. Nonononono. Please, God! I’ll do anything! Anything!’

Tears streamed down his face but none of his pleas could be voiced. He’d probably sliced through his vocal cords.

Well, at least it was quiet now.

.

The pain was maybe receding, infinitesimally. He wasn’t sure how much of it was the actual absence of pain and how much of it was his apparently enhanced body adapting to a new normal. He also didn’t care.

The next time he was aware enough to understand what was going on through the haze of pain, the wizard was there.  What was his name?  Weird? Not his favorite person, but it was about fucking time.

“Stark. Can you hear me?” he was asking. By the expression on his face, he’d probably already asked more than once.

What was he expected to do here? Blink once for yes, twice for no? Hello, he couldn’t talk. He shakily raised his left hand, middle finger extended.

Gandalf had the expression of exasperation down to an art form, he was sure. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he muttered.

There was a smothered huff of laughter that came from behind...Strange, that was his name. Tony’s eyes slowly dragged further to the left and his heart stuttered.

Peter. “Kid,” he tried to say, but nothing came out, damn it. Peter seemed to get the gist though and stepped forward with a strained smile.

“Hey, Mr. Stark. Long time, no see, huh?”

Holy shit. He’d been aware that the original snap had been reversed, vaguely remembered seeing Peter on the battlefield. But seeing him again, now, whole, and here - Tony desperately wanted to get out of this damn bed, wrap him up in his arms and never fucking let go ever again. The most he could actually manage was to lift his hand just a few inches higher, fingers extended.

Peter grasped his hand in both of his, grip gentle but strong and secure. “We think we might have found something that can help you.”

At the skeptical lift of Tony’s eyebrows, Peter grinned. “Just leave it to Dr. Strange. I promise he’s more Glinda the Good Witch than he is Wicked Witch of the West.”

Bless this boy and his understanding of Tony’s sense of humor.

The bout of excruciation surged over him suddenly, a phantom hand around his throat as his back bowed off the bed, muscles seizing as he choked for air.

Peter’s hand clamped tighter, a bastion of stability in this tidal wave of agony. He had a hazy vision of Peter and the wizard arguing fervently before Peter shouted, “I know, just fucking do it already!”

And then it stopped. Tony laid motionless, in a daze. His body didn’t know how to react to the abrupt absence of pain, convulsing as it continued to pump obscene amounts of adrenaline and endorphins. His sobs began anew as he finally began to process the release. He didn’t care what the cost was; this bliss was worth anything. They could have all his tech, his money, his fucking free will. Everything.

It felt like an eternity before he was able to do so much as move his head. His gaze found Strange and he took in his grim expression and tight jaw with some trepidation. Why was he not jumping for joy, or at least smiling? It worked! Tony would be kissing his feet if he could.

He followed Strange’s grimace to the spot to his left. He couldn’t contain the full-body jolt as his world shattered.

Peter was hunched in the chair at his bedside as his body quaked and spasmed, blood streaming from his nose, his ears, his mouth.

And he was still diligently holding Tony’s hand.

He took it back. This wasn’t worth it at all. He would rather suffer through that torment for a thousand years than allow Peter to feel it for a single second.

His eyes darted frantically as he turned his heavy head back to face Strange, infuriated with his body’s continued inability to respond to his commands. ‘What the fuck is wrong with you? Fix this! Why are you just standing there, you sadistic piece of shit?’ he screamed silently, throat working uselessly. God, fuck his past self for taking even that capability away.

Strange wasn’t stupid though - he knew what Tony wanted. “I can’t,” he bit out. “Peter knew this would probably happen. It was his idea.”

‘Does it look like I fucking care who’s idea it was? Give it back!’ Tony gestured at himself weakly, hoping his face was at least expressing how livid he was.

“I can’t,” Strange reiterated, sounding just as frustrated. “Not without a massive amount of energy that I don’t have access to at the moment.”

Tony had never quite so ardently wished that looks could kill before this particular instant.

“We-” Strange broke off abruptly, clearing his throat as he rubbed wearily at his eyes. “We’re doing what we can, Stark. The hope is that medication will continue to work for Peter so that he can get the relief that you never could. He metabolizes significantly faster than the average human, but we’ve conducted testing for the past several weeks to develop proper dosing rates and have planned accordingly.”

Sure enough, he noticed now that the nurses and doctors weren’t just doing their normal background bustling but were attending to Peter, administering injections and IV medication bags.

Please, please, please let this work, he prayed, to any and every deity that could possibly exist.

The next few minutes were an endless loop of anxiety, where he felt at the brink of insanity. Tony was sure that this would be what would finally do him in. Because this was unfathomably worse than the months of physical anguish that had failed to do so.

Finally, the convulsions started to recede, Peter’s muscles unclenching and leaving his body to slump lifelessly in his chair.

Tony’s breaths came faster and faster as he stared at Peter’s body, remaining completely motionless, chest no longer heaving for breath. No longer doing anything at all.

Tony couldn’t breathe at all now, throat closing and lungs ablaze. No. Not Peter. He couldn’t-

There. Maybe- yes, again. A gentle rise and fall.

Tony gasped helplessly as his own breathing resumed. He heard a similar heavy exhalation from Strange’s direction.

“His vitals look okay, all things considered,” Strange reported as Tony watched a nurse carefully clean the blood off Peter’s face, neck, arms. Tony wished he could personally burn the blood soaked clothes.

‘Now what?’ Tony mouthed.

“Now we figure out what’s causing the pain and how to get rid of it,” Strange replied.

‘Um, excuse me, what? There was no plan to fix this? And you just let Peter do this anyway?’ While it may have gotten him in trouble in the past when he respected pretty much no one and everyone knew it, it was finally in his favor that Tony had a very expressive face.

“As I said, it was Peter’s idea. We were just supposed to be here today to work out logistics for when we were ready. But he was adamant that the risk was worth the possibility of the medication working for him and allowing you to finally be able to heal. He was pretty sure that his body was comparable to whatever yours has become, that he’d be able to withstand it like you have, in the event that it would be necessary,” Strange explained.

Tony shut his eyes tight. That stupid kid.

“I think I’m on the right track, but it’ll actually help a lot to finally be able to study your body and figure out what the hell happened.”

Fine. Study away. Slice him open and dig around inside if you have to. Just figure out how to fix Peter.

Tony looked back at Peter, eyes catching on his own hand, which had fallen out of Peter’s grasp finally when he’d officially lost consciousness. The fingers were all misshapen, bent at odd angles. He couldn’t decide if he was surprised or not that he wasn’t registering any pain from his crushed hand.

When he noticed them readying Peter to be moved, he tried to reach out, mouth opening to protest before clicking shut again in frustration.

“Wait,” Strange called out. “Bring him back in here when you’ve gotten him cleaned up.”

Thank you. Maybe Dumbledore wasn’t so bad after all.

“It’ll be useful to have both subjects nearby for testing,” Strange added.

Or maybe he was still just as obnoxious as Tony had originally thought.

“Of course, sir,” one of the nurses intoned. “We’ll bring in another bed.”

Tony shook his head and pointed at the spot next to him in his own bed. It was a king size, for God’s sake.

Strange shook his own head. “No.”

Tony glared back reproachfully, crossing his arms over his chest.

Strange rolled his eyes. “We’ll talk about it later,” he said with a smirk.

Hardy har har. Let’s make jokes about the mute man. Tony knew that he’d be developing something groundbreaking in the way of communication before the week was up. After he slept for five days straight probably.

Because if that’s what it took, he would talk with Strange about it. He knew what it felt like to be isolated in that never ending loop of agony and he would make sure that Peter knew he wasn’t alone.

Tony had once turned back time to save this kid. He sure as hell wasn’t going to lose him again.

__________________________________________

So, is there a limit to the number of metaphors one can cram into a single 1500 word entry? Asking for a friend...🙄🙄

On another note - Yall. Wtf is wrong with me? This is so not my usual style. Because I’m completely incapable of short explanations, here’s the long version of how this started:

Me: you know what I’d like to write next? A fic where Tony comes back from the dead and he and Peter reunite and hang out a lot and are able to relate in a way that most people aren’t. It gradually progresses and Pepper watches them grow closer and realizes that eventually Peter is more important to him than she is anymore. And blah blah blah, angst angst angst, eventually the boys work it out and realize their feelings and get together. Yay! Okay, so let’s get started - how should Tony come back?

My brain: PAIN! SUFFERING! Everyone just wants to DIE!

Me: ...okay... sure. That can be interesting. Here’s a brief description of that. And now-

My brain: NO! More, more, MORE! You’re not selling it, you wuss! I will not help you move on until EVERYTHING IS THE WORST EVER!!

Me: I’msorry I’msorry I’msorry I’msorry I’msorry. Is this enough now?

My brain: Almost, just a litttttle bit further.

Me: 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 this...this is all I can do

My brain: yesssssss. That’ll do for now. Now give it to Peter.

Me: ...Wut? That was never part of the plan.

My brain: don’t give a fuuuuuck. Is now. WHUMP!

So uh, anyway, that’s how that happened. I still want to write my original fic idea! I’m just not sure if it’ll be a continuation of this or a separate thing altogether. Who knows? I’m gonna snuggle my baby now and feel better from this completely unanticipated torture fest.

[definitelynotaminion]

A Study in Survival (Chapter 1/prologue)

It occurs to me that my ao3 is kinda divorced from my tumblr, so let me brag about my favorite fic on my dash! Linking it via ao3 isn’t as fun. Mostly I just want everyone to appreciate shirtless sweaty Sakura in a dragon-ball-Z style fight at the end of the world. It’s a time travel fic, as most of you know. TLDR Sakura is the only human left alive fighting against Kaguya, again and again for months. So, here is the first chapter finally posted on tumblr!!

There is fire. There is light. She is bloody wounds knitting closed as an afterthought, cold, meticulous and precise sacrifices of chakra for each hit, and the jarring impact of her fist shattering against a goddess' face.

The impact destroys the ground around them for miles.

She is rage, and desperation, and there is a yawning chasm of grief in her, as wide as the world is empty, that she refuses to let consume her.

There is a battle that is a war, an endless fight with an enemy that never tires, and she is alone.

Sakura doesn't remember much of what happens. She has been awake and engaged with Kaguya or her forces for days and weeks. Sleep is rare, stolen moments; each scrap and spare bit of chakra is ruthlessly hoarded and used as efficiently as possible.

She feels stripped down to the bones, ragged with all excess parts of her shorn away. Sakura survives. She fights. She bleeds. She survives.

Another cataclysmic exchange of blows. Around them the earth tries to shake apart. Localized earthquakes and tsunamis herald their blows; what's left of the topography of the planet flattens and crumbles in their wake.

Sakura is tired, though she can't afford to be. Every cell screams in her, a razor sharp focus and intellect bent on living. The beat of her heart in her breast is a desperate thing, a furious and urgent thing, the blood in her ears the only sound she can hear.

It is amidst the usual ache of overextended muscles, the mint-burn of healing, and the push and pull of attack and retreat, bestow damage and receive it, that something changes. Sakura has been a thorn in Kaguya's side for countless hours and sunsets, a snarling wolf that disappears just far enough to lick its wounds, gather resources, and slam back into the melee with a reckless abandon.

Sakura has been trying to kill an immortal for so long that it's all her body knows, and she expects this to be no different, though each hit, each jutsu, each glancing touch of her hand or weapon does devastating damage to the world around them because she refuses to give up hope.

It is a wild thing, a snarling thing, behind the breath in her lungs and the constant drought of her chakra system begging for rest, for replenishment. Her hope is more savage than Naruto's was, the constant belief that he could change the world; her hope is more ragged than Sasuke's was, the child's certainty that if he devotes himself to his goal he can fix things.

Her hope is more enduring than Sai's was, a fragile, just-born realization that life can be marvelous, that love can exist, that there is good in the world, and laughter, and beauty.

Sakura's hope is a bonedeep, feral warsong, a thrumming that gets her through the days, and the nights, that moves her body like a puppet on a string, that lets her heal and kill and force her body past its limits. It's a bulldog's jaws clamped tight on her goal, all thoughts set aside for neverending action, deliberation, movement; it's gravity, and the smiles she won't let herself forget, the dreams and ambitions of everyone she can remember wrapped tight but never safe in the core of her, every precious memory burned one at a time to keep it alive.

Sakura's hope is all she's got left.

So while she hasn't lessened her efforts to murder the being responsible for the destruction of all she loves-- if anything, it's the opposite, eclipsing her old limitations with every encounter, every waking moment, inching millimeter by bloody millimeter closer to her goal with each breath in her body-- she is a being of observations, of rationalization, of cool and collected deductions, lightning-fast assessments and reactions half the reason she's still breathing, and nothing in the encounter has led her to believe something has changed.

Sakura jerks back her fist in surprise, not quick enough to pull the punch but able to change the angle so that it slides past her opponent. In a quarter-beat she's a mile away, still high in the sky.

A mile is nothing.

Sakura turns mid-flight, eyes on Kaguya, feeling the change as it lurches through her body. Probably someone else might not have noticed, but no one else is alive; Sakura is aware of every iota of chakra in her body, and Sakura notices the moment it alters.

There's a new pathway where there wasn't before, like a jutsu half-forgotten, and chakra wants to curl out of her tenketsu, twist in just the right way to-- Sakura doesn't know, and has to stop the quicksilver flash of thought as a wave of Kaguya's hand sends black desolation winging toward her.

Sakura dodges, nimbly, tossing a shuriken that expands outward into a swarm, a flock of thousands, uses the moment's distraction to throw herself from a surviving peak to a valley far in the distance.

Her only saving grace is that Kaguya can't sense chakra, not when it's ruthlessly surpressed with Sakura's perfect control-- though the goddess is more than willing to burn the countryside to ash, destroy any cover, and force Sakura out.

She's learned to rest while running, take solace in the comparatively less exhausting labor of crossing ground faster than the winds of a rasenshuriken.

Kaguya can't-- or hasn't, at least-- used genjutsu on her. Perhaps she senses the futility of it; Sakura can sense the intrusion of foreign chakra on her system the instant it occurs, obvious as a drop of ink on a pristine scroll.

This isn't that; this chakra is hers and hers alone.

The sweep of white is her only warning, so fast her eyes can't resolve it into a shape; she doesn't wait for them to, moving back as far as a single leap can take her on instinct. It was a swipe of Kaguya's arm, her senses tell her later, but in the intervening time Sakura has ducked and parried three blows and flipped over a lake, its water rising on on either side of them like a welcoming hug.

Sakura punches the lakebed, lets house-sized boulders rise as asteroids, dances between them for a blink's cover before Kaguya obliterates them with a thought, not even rubble remaining. The skin on Sakura's arms informs her of the heat, even from her new distance. She's behind the goddess now, though-- not that it matters to her sight.

Merely, she's opposite Kaguya's direction of attention for a single moment, and in their battles that's an opening, forcefully torn.

It's a sweeping kick, a dynamic entry that flows into a springboard flip to get away, because any hit that doesn't connect is a liability. Any second of close combat is too long already, Sakura knows, and ruthlessly stifles the frustration in her throat as the move carries her away.

Away, away, away, the endless flight from an enemy too dangerous to engage, and too dangerous not to.

A bright flare of chakra from within her, yin and yang twisting without conscious direction, and it would be terrifying, this loss of control, if it wasn't infuriating. Sakura can't afford any moment of distraction.

She usually engages Kaguya until she only has the energy left for a desperate flight, a retreat to think on what she learned about her enemy during the most recent clash, painstakingly pieced together from the smallest of tells.

She might not have a choice, this time, though each moment of combat is precious, every encounter another chance to learn and capitalize on a weakness, build a strategy up from atoms, and--

Parry, parry, dodge; Sakura slips medical ninjutsu into her enemy's flesh, feels it catch beneath the skin, but where it should absolutely wreck the seemingly human biology, Kaguya shows no reaction.

Sakura keeps her curse contained to gritted teeth, reaches deep and pulls chakra into her hands. She doesn't have the luxury of handsigns, hasn't for longer than she can remember, so each jutsu has to be utterly mastered before she dares use it.

The upside is that she doesn't have any distractions.

It's water molecules slammed into each other, a tsunami raging out, and Sakura uses it to disengage.

She has to figure out what the utter fuck is going on with her chakra before it gets her killed.

The ball of water had been easier than normal, a prison called from the displaced lake, but before she's even ten miles away Kaguya has evaporated it. A rush of seared air, so hot there's not even steam, hits Sakura's back like a shove from a giant.

It spins her and she goes with it, knowing better to have her back to her enemy even as her skin erupts in burns, a line drawn of red drawn over her and erased just as smoothly by her own chakra in a countering wave. Her armor's lost but it did little, anyway.

A blur, and there's nothing to step off of; Sakura replaces herself with a piece of rubble in the distance, replaces again with one of her weapons from before, far enough away that her chakra rips out of her, a sudden void.

The same weird lurch as before occurs, infinitely more disastrous, and Sakura uses precious seconds reaching inward, a step she doesn't have to do ever, trying to isolate the cause.

It's elusive and Sakura would snarl if she wasn't taking to the trees with as little sound as possible, shoving down her chakra with an iron fist.

The hiccuping aberration refuses to be silenced. A frisson of fear lances through her, shock and dismay as a monsoon of wind tears at the forest, ripping trees out of the ground and into pieces. She leaps from trunk to trunk in the sudden tornado, dodging limbs suddenly as fast and dangerous as arrows from Sasuke's Susano'o, really snarling this time when one comes at her at such an angle that she has no choice but to slam her fist through it, giving away her position.

She has to dodge and weave, chakra still suppressed but for that little, disobedient curl directly in the center, and when she multitasks slinging a massive oak opposite the wind-- causing it to crash into its fellows with a sound like ten-thousand exploding tags--

now there's an idea--

and racing to the top of the atmosphere to get over the wall, she pokes at it, a stab of will.

Cooperate!

Instead it comes unraveled, a flower unfurling, and Sakura has just a moment to panic before the winds kick up, slamming her back down to the ground from the seven miles up.

She leaves a crater, leaves the crater barely after it's formed, narrowly dodging the fist dropped into the center of it after her.

The crater is suddenly four times as massive, force delivered with such speed that the landscape is just changed around them, the sound barrier breaking too fast to make noise.

Reinforcing and then still having to heal her spine, in the space between breaths, had taken approximately half of her chakra reserves, but while one part of her mind is cataloging reserves grimly, most of it is still reeling from the golden glow that is sweeping through her, that refuses to be tamped down, that is out of her control.

Fear quickens her breath, and Sakura rips a spear of a stick out of her shoulder, pressing one hand to the place where it impaled her. There's a feeling rising in her that begs to be a sound, a pulsing, a quickening, and she has no idea what it is, has no time to process as she runs for her life, dodging and weaving.

Kaguya has taken the displaced trees in her windstorm and is guiding them at the ground with a single gesture, each huge as only Fire Country trees get-- had they really journeyed so far east, again? The landscapes are mostly unrecognizable, all familiar manmade landmarks destroyed.

Sakura is forced to bob and weave, dart back and channel her dead teammate, be as unpredictable as possible because Kaguya isn't throwing trees at her so much as where she guesses Sakura will be.

Where such strength should shatter the trees upon impact with the earth, they're sticking in the ground like oversized arrows instead, and Sakura has precious thought to spare deducing how-- obviously, reinforced with chakra-- and how she can turn this around, use it as an advantage--

Maybe catch and redirect one?--

Too late, Sakura realizes this too could be a distraction, just as Kaguya puts a knife-hand through her gut and smiles, beautiful and serene.

Of course she hadn't needed to be physically directing the projectiles, huge though they were.

Sakura's muscles are suffused with deadly memory, though, and hadn't required conscious thought to react; nor had the sudden pain caught her off guard. Her arm had whipped around, tan skin brought to bear in a fierce lariat--

No time to remember Bee's smile next to Naruto's, so happy and sure--

-- even as her head whipped forward, one hard-headed jinchuuriki's move against another, back when the bijuu existed, when any village stood at all.

It's unexpected enough that Kaguya takes it, a forehead to the face, and Sakura smiles grimly through blood as she throws herself off the arm through her chest.

Healing it is something she does without a thought-- or really, isn't even something she does. The healing process starts on its own, fueled by her chakra. She could stop it, it's still under her control, but no command had to be given to begin it.

Thanks to the heatwave earlier, there's not even any fabric to get stuck in the wound, or stuck in newly healed flesh.

Sakura would love to capitalize on her enemy's moment of distraction, the sheer unpredictability of the headbutt that actually worked--

Her love for Naruto rears up like a wildfire, burning her inside out, so fierce an ache that it would unmake her if she were any less used to it, if she hadn't cried out all her tears back when the nights had numbers and the days had names--

-- but so big a wound leaves her with near-dregs of chakra left, just a little more than experience has taught she needs to escape.

It grates at her to leave Kaguya injured and as vulnerable as she ever gets, but-- it grated the first dozen times, too.

Sakura pushes on, ignoring the hurts she can't waste chakra to heal, as well as the blurred quality her vision takes, lines and spots erupting. That hasn't happened in a while-- either she's lower on chakra than her body can handle, right now, or--

She's just focused on real, true escape, fleeing with all the strength and speed she has, when the singed hair on the back of her neck bristles.

It's barely a warning, but it's enough.

Pushing off hard against the ground, Sakura hits the clouds again, arrowing through them even as-- yes, Kaguya slams air in the direction, dispersing the moisture in the air to either side of the horizon.

Sakura is already falling back down, using shaky wind manipulation to speed her flight, fist cocked back and slamming hard into the goddess' face.

Too late, she realizes that in the heat of the battle, deep in the familiar motions of retreat, distract, hit and run-- she'd reached for as much chakra as she could spare. She has perfect chakra control, a precise accounting of how much chakra she has within her at any given moment.

Never before has some of her chakra been off limits.

This chakra, burning gold, had come as readily to her pull as any.

The strange mix of yin and yang, erupted into being of its own accord, rushes to her toes and through her throat and up her arm, but it's too late, she has tolive.

Sakura slams her fist forward with a manic yell, has a split second to register the expression of pure shock on Kaguya's face as the punch connects--

And keeps connecting.

Sakura punches a hole in the space-time continuum.

Or at least, that's what she registers later.

In the moment, it's just a tear in reality, a sudden feeling of give to the air itself, which her fist carries her body through.

There's blackness, a kaleidoscope of color-- dizzying, rushing.

Gravity is suddenly different, pulling her every which way and no way at all, nothing and everything turbulent around her.

The golden chakra is singing through her, warm and wild and choking her, destroying all thought.

It threatens to destroy all sense of self, and that's when Sakura gets over her fear to push back. There's a spasm in the air, in the crowded void of creation, and a surge of-- something.

Sakura struggles for breath, only to discover there's no air.

A sense of urgency overcomes her, the mindless and frenzied struggle for survival, as she claws at her throat, forces her heart rate slower to preserve air, as desperation wicks away all thought.

Sakura has been alone for days and weeks and months, the last alive in a world torn asunder, and through it all hope has sustained her.

Endless and enduring, Sakura's hope is a snarling thing, a calculated predator, a living, breathing monster in her breast that demands survival, precision in all things, self-awareness, and burns a vigil of memories of her lost loves to force her into the best version of herself that she could be.

The vortex widens, or tightens, and Sakura refuses to let this kill her when nothing and no one else has managed, when there's still air in her lungs-- even if her vision is closing in, a blackness creeping in from the edges--

Or is that the tunnel?

A lurch, sickening and final, and spinning, dizzying wind.

It stops.

Sakura breathes.

[paperwayne]

snapshot.

50 Wordless Ways to Say “I Love You” ➡ 23. Taking a picture together to print and hang later.

Pairing: Dick Grayson x Reader

Word Count: 2,095 words

Warnings: Mild violence

“Nightwing! On your left!”

“Got it!” Dick shouts, twisting out of harm’s way. A split second later, he spins around and lands a blow on the screaming android.

Two more come your way. You leap onto the shoulders of one and slap an explosive onto its chest, jumping onto another android right before it goes off. Hot shrapnel cuts into your cape as acrid smoke fills your nose.

“I gotta say – hah! – this is not what I had in mind when you invited me to the mall,” you yell over the chaos.

Dick skids over to your side. His escrima sticks crackle with electricity – and in a moment, he stuffs them into an android’s eye sockets. “Trust me, this wasn’t on the agenda. I wanted to sh – oof! – show you the new photography studio. It’s Wild West-themed.”

“You don’t say?” You link elbows with Dick and he swings you into a robot feet-first. “That’s cool. You know I always want to party with you, cowboy.”

“Aw, you flatter me, Blackfinch.”

Pain shoots through your shoulder right before you can reply. Grunting in pain, you reach up and grab the android behind you, heaving it over you and into the ground. The white tile shatters.

“You okay?” Dick asks. You tear your attention away from the throbbing in your arm and see that he’s fighting the last android; it’s barely standing.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you reply. “Gonna have a nasty bruise, though.”

“Hm –” Dick crouches low and knocks the android down with a sweep of his leg. A well-aimed stomp to its neck ends its rampage, and you watch intently as the neon green of its eyes fade into gray. Guarded relief washes over you the same time your adrenaline rush begins to die. 

After surveying the ransacked left wing of the mall, the two of you make your way over to each other.

“You didn’t break anything, right?” Dick asks, brow furrowing.

“Believe me, I would know if something was broken.” You pat his chest, gesturing with your chin at the blaring lights outside the exit. “Look like the police finally arrived.”

While he glances over at the police cars parked on the other side of the doors, you gingerly rub your shoulder and bend over to inspect one of the hunks of metal. “So – I’m guessing this is Glass’s work.”

Dick’s mildly concerned gaze quickly narrows when you show him the patterning on the interior. “Yeah, I think you’re right.”

“Wanna bet how quickly we can track him down?”

You raise a brow underneath your cowl. Putting away his escrima sticks, Dick looks down at your outstretched hand and smirks.

“Nope,” he replies. “Not gonna risk it all this time, Blackfinch.”

—

“You know, there’s an old-time photography studio uptown. Not Wild West, but close enough.”

You catch a falling drop of melted ice cream, looking over Dick’s shoulder as he scrolls through his phone. It really is admirable, how determined he is to find a good studio, but you’re quickly distracted by the tangy creaminess of blackberry cheesecake. (You think this particular distraction is well-deserved, though – what was meant to be a one-hour skirmish ended up being a two-hour long battle against Glass’s toys, and by the time the two of you managed to turn him in, both you and Dick were pretty damn sore).

“You really want this photoshoot done, huh, Grayson?” You pause to bite into your ice cream, letting out a pleased hum as it coats your tongue; so expensive, but so worth it. “What’s with the sudden interest?”

He shrugs. “I just think it’d be fun. A ridiculous photoshoot’s a pretty good idea,” Dick reasons, showing you the route to Bearon’s Studio. “See? It’s only a few blocks away.”

“Okay. Let’s go, then.”

Your companion nods just as an explosion rocks the ground. Your ice cream scoop falls to the ground as you stumble and regain your footing, looking up to see smoke billowing from a nearby building.

“Seriously?” Dick groans.

As if on cue, a cloaked figure jumps out from a window and hits the ground running. There’s a maniacal cackle, and you sigh.

“Guess we’re going in a different direction, Dick.”

—

The runaway criminal ends up being a petty thief-turned-pyromaniac due to some street drug with a name too vulgar for public ears. You would have been glad that he wasn't a big-time villain with ulterior motives, if it wasn’t for the fact that it was an absolute pain in the ass to finally get him cornered and secured. To add to the picture, you now have teeth indentations on the same arm that got bruised in the first fight.

At least it's over now, though. Maybe if you and Dick hurry, the studio will still be –

“Closed?” Dick exclaims, hands gripping the door handles. The interior of the place is shrouded in darkness, and right near Dick's shoulder on the other side hangs a sign that reads “CLOSED” in dark, red print. “It’s not even close to six yet!”

“Guess they closed early.” You press your forehead into the glass and squint inside. Nothing happens. (You’re sort of relieved that nobody jumps out of the shadows at you and Dick.)

Dick’s hands drop down to his sides, and his head soon plonks against the door next to yours. “Man,” he sighs.

You turn to look at him. There are many expressions that look lovely on Dick’s face, some more than others, but disappointment is not one of them. It prompts you to think, and you tap on the door in thought, lips puckering.

Finally, you stand straight and snap your fingers. Dick raises an eyebrow.

“I’ve got it. Follow me.”

“Uh … okay.” Dick runs across the street after you, catching up in two quick strides. “Where are we going?”

You flash him a quick smile. “My grandpa’s house.”

Dick’s noise of surprise turns your smile into a smirk. The relationship between the two most important men in your life isn’t sour by any means, but your grandfather never really cared about social cues, and the most uncomfortable moments of your teenage life had resulted from his comments whenever you and Dick stood in the same room. You’ve gotten more used to his ways by now – which is nice – but still, you’re glad you don’t have to think about what he might say today.

“Don’t worry,” you assure Dick, running down the stairs toward the subway. “He’s out on business.”

Your childhood home was a penthouse suite. Fifteen years living the high-class life there, and not once had your grandfather renovated the place in any way, shape, or form; so after you and Dick finally reach the top floor and greet Miss Paula, it doesn’t take too long to find The Room.

“Okay,” you murmur to yourself, keeping ahold of Dick’s hand as you walk past your old bedroom, feeling your way down the hallway. Eventually, you reach a door with a keypad. “Aha.” Six digits, all in quick succession. “Behold.”

“… No way.” Dick walks over to the far corner as you flip on the light, gazing up at the array of hats hung onto the wall. Carefully, he takes one of them and examines the dark leather, lips curling into an incredulous grin. “How come I’ve never seen this place before?”

You take the hat from him and place it ceremoniously onto his head. “Grandpa’s way protective of his cowboy stuff. He only let me in here once I turned eighteen, and only responsible family and the closest of our friends can come in here.” Reaching around him, you grab a lasso off its hook and give it to Dick. “Here.”

The two of you spend the next few minutes trying on different combinations of hats and boots, modeling for each other and laughing your heads off like a pair of teenager. You tie a red handkerchief around Dick’s neck and fit him with a vest. He finds a giant wagon wheel hidden behind some crates and has you pose in front of it, expression deadly serious for historical accuracy. Finger guns complete the outfit.

“We don’t have a camera from the nineteenth century, but a filter’s the next best thing,” you state, rotating your camera around for a selfie. It takes a bit of stretching to include your enormous hats, but you manage. “Smile!”

Dick squishes his cheek against yours, and you can feel some stubble scraping against your skin as you take the shot. Your phone flashes and you bring it back down to check the result.

“Heh, you’re blinking.”

“You’re blurry.”

“It’s cute anyway,” Dick concludes, arm still wrapped around you as he favorites the picture.  “Text it to me, will ya?”

“I’ll do you one better and get it printed out at Walmart. This one should be framed and hung up,” you reply.

“You’re right.”

While Dick takes a moment to send one of the pictures to his siblings, you take off the two ten-gallon hats stuffed onto your head. The boots and spurs follow after a bit of difficulty. Your handkerchiefs go back into the drawers, the lasso back on its hook. It doesn’t take terribly long to put everything away, and when the two of you finish, the room looks exactly like it had before. (Who said that attention to detail was only applicable in the field?)

“Well, that was fun,” Dick laughs, hands on his hips as he surveys the hat collection one last time. “I’m actually glad we did this instead of the studio, to be honest.”

“I agree.”

Miss Paula is still, oddly enough, dusting the furniture when you and Dick come back to the foyer; she raises an eyebrow as the two of you walk to the elevator, all twin grins and muffled snorts.

“I hope you kids enjoyed yourselves,” she calls after you as the doors slide open, pointing her duster suspiciously in your direction. Her lips are pursed, but a twinkle shines in her eye.

You beam innocently. “We did. Send Grandpa our regards, please.”

“Mmhm.”

The doors close. Dick turns to you, eyes alight with mirth. “I hope your grandpa won’t be mad that we used his stuff for a photoshoot.”

“Nah, he’d have a heyday if he caught us. He’d probably want to hire a photographer and everything,” you snort, shaking your head.

He chuckles. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Glancing over at him, you will your next words to be light. “I mean – he always thought we looked cute together, remember?”

“He did.”

Dick’s reply is a mix between a question and a statement – you’re not sure which one it is, and when you try to read his face you don’t get much of an answer. His eyes flit to meet yours, and the slightest of smiles graces his lips for a moment before it’s replaced by a thoughtful look.

You instinctively turn your attention towards the steadily decreasing floor number above the buttons. There’s no elevator music, so now all you can hear is the sound of your breathing and Dick’s breathing, and god, the awkwardness is back again. Geez Louise. Why did you have to say that? That was years ago. Your grandpa probably only liked pairing you up with Dick because he thought it’d be funny.

“I think he was right.”

Your brain short-circuits. “… Huh?”

Dick leans back with his elbows against the rail, staring up at the floor number with you. Six, five, four. “We would be cute together. Hypothetically, you know.”

“Hypothetically.” You swallow, bracing yourself against the wall when the elevator suddenly stops at the ground floor. “Yeah, you’re right.”

Pause.

“Hey, remember when your grandpa made all of us ride on his Fourth of July float that one summer?”

His voice cuts through your fretting. You cling onto the new subject, and it’s thankfully easy to laugh once you refocus. “How could I forget that? God, he embarrassed me so much when I was in high school.”

“It was Wild West-themed, wasn’t it? I forgot that part until today.”

“It was. Damn, that actually makes it more embarrassing.”

“I need to look for pictures of that parade – oh, speaking of which, remember. To print out the photos.”

His expression’s solemn, and you roll your eyes and nudge him with your shoulder. “I’ll remember, Grayson. First thing after work tomorrow.”

“Alright,” he says. “I’m counting on you, partner.”

“And I’ve never let you down,” you respond.

Dick grins. He gives you a squeeze around your waist, looking down the street as you both walk towards the subway.

“Nope. Not once.”

__

[50 Wordless Ways to Say “I Love You” prompt list (requests using this prompt list are openCLOSED)]

[askponevernites]

Indignant Beginnings [Fort Tartarus]

26th Radiane, 817

Tempest Shadow’s eyes watered as Acacia Thorn smeared a yellow paste under each of her eyes. Changeling paste made with only cave-available ingredients worked, but that didn’t make it pleasant to wear. Nothing else happened, except the worsening of her mood. “Do you make every lone traveler go through this?”

“I make everypony do this.” Acacia hooved her a damp rag to wipe the noxious stuff away. “If the bugs capture the arrival tunnel, our newbies are all doomed. Can’t afford to let even one slip by.”

Tempest cleaned her face and all but threw the rag back at her. “They seem pretty doomed right now by the ‘caravan’ of pony bandits you let in.”

“Shut up and get in,” Acacia ground out. Her prosthetic left wing twitched in a stressed tic as she opened the gate.

Tempest stepped into Fort Tartarus. This small outpost was originally built around a distinct exit-only portal, through which all ponies (and some unruly livestock) exiled by the Empire arrived. Then, a few years prior, the sagging earth beneath the portal gave way into a massive sinkhole, demolishing half the fort and shattering the delicate magic that kept arrivals appearing in the same single place. Now they arrived in seemingly random locations in the tunnel exposed by the sinkhole. Most arrivals still made it in one piece, and the unlucky ones who ended up embedded in the stone usually died instantly. The fort above the tunnel had been repaired by now, but progress was only starting to be made on construction inside of it. For the time being, a staircase and an iron gate had been constructed. The gate had only been intended for emergencies, but it had become the cause of one. A bandit had killed a guard for the only key, wounded Cerberus, and locked himself and his cronies in.

Acacia Thorn had enough mares in her command to defend the fort, but executing a raid would risk changing that. So she did what everypony in Tartarus did when they needed a risky job done with concentrated violence: Hire an adventurer.

Well, Acacia had let Silver Torrent hire an adventurer. He did the job of giving arrivals some money to start their new lives and a sword to protect themselves. And he’d hired his friend, Tempest Shadow, former bane of Acacia’s work day and primary cause of several of the white hairs streaking her close-cropped blonde mane. Acacia had no doubts about Tempest’s competence anymore, but they just didn’t like each other.

“Has a locksmith gotten here yet?” Tempest asked.

“Yes,” Acacia answered, falling into step next to her, “but she refuses to go down and risk getting shot.”

Tempest rolled her eyes. Civilians. “I’m blowing the gate up.”

Deep in Acacia’s heart, she wanted to groan and put her head in her hoof. In the name of professionalism, she refrained. “Just don’t bring the roof down.”

A grin crossed Tempest’s face. “Worried about me?”

“Of course not.” Maybe a little.

“Good.” They reached the sloped pit where the portal had once stood, and Tempest continued down the stairs alone. She’d walked up these steps before--or steps that once occupied the same space as these--but never down. Cerberus used to bodily pick up ponies to keep them from stepping into the burning death of an exit-only portal. Now the stairs only continued on into the earth. Tempest gave a nod to the guards, who stood around the pit with crossbows ready, and descended out of their sight. As soon as she did, a distinct herbal smell hit her nose. She didn’t recognize it, or like it, but a sudden nostalgia for true plants still struck her.

Had something been smuggled down, or had the Empire sent down medical supplies? Ever since Empire officials had realized that Cerberus had been subverted to the Tartarites’ side, some of them had started sending occasional supplies down. It usually came on the backs of cows, sheep, or donkeys who had committed some small infraction or displeased their masters. Some Tartarites mistook this for compassion, but Tempest knew the truth: Sending supplies was just a bandage for the aristocracy’s consciences, to help them sleep soundly despite what they’d done.

The bandits had their backs turned to the gate, and hadn’t heard her. The one who looked best-equipped was chewing loudly on something wet-sounding. She built up a charge, lowered her head, and discharged an explosive ball of magic from the stump of her horn.

The gate ripped free of its hinges. The presumed leader spluttered a yelp when it hit him square on his hindquarters.

“Law Gone! We’re under attack!” shouted a cronie.

“You don’t bucking say.” The leader turned, his muzzle covered in green juice that dripped down his chin.

Tempest readied her iron spear with a laugh. “‘Law Gone’? Really? That’s what you’re going with?”

“That’ll be Bandit Emperor Law Gone soon enough!”

The fight was fast, and very one-sided. Tempest rushed the sole archer first, knocking the half-nocked bow from her hooves before blasting most of her face off point-blank. She bucked the swordstallion charging behind her square in the chest before rounding on him. He was winded and his sword-work was sloppy, so she easily ducked his swing and drove her spear through his thin gambeson and into his breast. By that point Law Gone had started to react, and she sent a blast of magic his way, too. He managed to deflect the worst of it with his sword, but his armor and some of his facial fur caught ablaze, forcing him to drop and roll to put it out. Tempest wrenched her spear free, jumped over the giant war rat sent towards her by the last remaining cronie, and used its back as a springboard to fling herself at its master, knocking him to the floor. She put her blade through his neck and jumped again, this time out of the way of Law Gone’s sword.

“So you killed my warriors! I’ll get more,” he boasted. “The Empire sends down more killers every da-AAY!”

Tempest had brought her spear up in an arc with its last victim still attached to the blade, and then down onto Law Gone, using the corpse as both a shield and a bludgeon. Law Gone buckled under the weight, and she took the opportunity to punch him in the snout. “You’re really not the brightest fish in the pond, are you?”

Law Gone spat, staining the floor green and red, and tried to stagger back to his feet, only to find that his left shoulder had been broken. He dropped his sword. For a split second, it almost looked like he might be surrendering, but Tempest’s split-second hesitation was all he needed to seize a glass orb from his belt and dash it against the ground.

Lavender smoke billowed out. Tempest sucked in a breath to hold too late, and a magical terror seized her--and the war rat, if its squeaky shrieks were anything to go by. By the time she’d collected herself again, Law Gone had scrambled through the gateway and up the stairs. The war rat hadn’t gone far; she’d broken its lower spine.

Hearing a commotion upstairs, and assured that her quarry was probably being riddled with arrows about now, Tempest retrieved her spear, cleaned it, and searched the bodies of her kills. There wasn’t much of use. A few coins, a dagger, a crude bow, and…

“Hey! Over here!”

“Oh you’re kidding me.”

“Nope! We’re your problem, now!”

Tempest sighed heavily and turned to the crystal that had just floated out of the archer’s bag to join her. Grey, nearly-featureless shades peered out of the polished octagonal main facet with empty black suggestions of eyes. She knew exactly what this artifact was: An asking crystal. There was no known way to get rid of these other than to be deemed too boring by the nosy faceless entities that communicated through them. Tempest opened her bag. “Fine. Get in.”

It’s so cool to have you as a protagonist. You’re one of my favorites.

“Get. In.” Tempest plucked the asking crystal out of the air and shoved it as deep into her bag as she could, then piled the bandits’ supply of mushroom meal sacks on top of it. Then she scaled the steps. “It’s me! Don’t shoot!” she called before she came into line of sight of any archers.

... There was a distinct lack of a dead Law Gone.

“Where is he?” she asked as Gardenia, the Greeter, trotted down to her.

“He got away,” Gardenia said.

“HOW?!”

“He was covering his face!” Gardenia protested. “By the time we were sure he was the killer, he’d fled! We couldn’t just shoot--”

Tempest turned away from Gardenia to address the guards. “Are you all cowards, or has Acacia Thorn never taught any of you how to body check somepony?! Where is she?”

“I was chasing him, but he threw down a magical smoke bomb at the gatehouse,” Acacia Thorn said, returning from Tempest’s blind spot. “By the time any of us came to our senses, he’d vanished.”

This was really happening. Law Gone had gotten away alive. And long tradition held that completion of a bounty on a group was contingent on killing their leader. “My payment!”

“Sorry. We bucked up.” Acacia sounded surprisingly sincere. “Look, if you go back down there, you can have your pickings of any supplies you find, and your food and lodging tonight’s on me.”

Tempest grit her teeth, but there was really nothing she could do at this point. “Fine, but you’re buying me drinks, too.”

“Deal.”

“Good. Gardenia, come down with me. The bandits’ war rat is half-paralyzed now, but it should live with treatment.” There were no bad domestic rats, just bad ponies. The wild varieties could be a different story when they were hungry.

Gardenia cringed. “At least you didn’t kill it...”

The two of them made their way down the stairs. Gardenia approached the rat and started praying in Old Ponish, while Tempest started to snoop around for loot. There turned out to be other bandits and even some misbanished changelings in the tunnels, and killing them netted some very modest equipment, some of which was at least salable. Much more valuable were the loose chunks of quartz she found; they weren’t gem quality, but they were pretty enough for carving. The bandits had also intercepted a small bundle of iron bars. Last of all, she encountered some terrified civilians, who thanked her for leading them to safety, but had nothing to pay her with.

All in all, not a total disaster of a day.

← Previous || Table of Contents || Next →

New Key Item: [Asking Crystal]

[+ x20 Coins] [+ x1 Healing Herbs] [+ x3 Crude Dagger] [+ x1 Crude Bow] [+ x2 Crude Short Sword] [+ x1 Gambeson] [+ x2 Mushroom] [+ x1 Scroll of Radiate Ice] [+ x7 Flawed Crystal] [+ x4 Bag of Meal] [+ x5 Bar of Iron]

[ofwizardsandmen]

I like me better when I’m with you

Characters: Tara Lee, Mark Yang, Tyler Lee (briefly).

Word count: 3,9k

Genre: angst, fluff

OST: Ed Sheeran - Hearts Don't Break Round Here

A knock on the door interrupts Tara from staring soullessly at the screen of her laptop. It’s only been a couple of hours since she left the Yang Residence and yet she has completely lost track of time. She can’t remember how long she’s been sitting on her bed, wrapped in a duvet, but the memories of her conversation with Mark are all vague and hazy, like scenes from a Frank Capra film.

Yet, it is probably the hopeful melodies or the fact Julie Andrews’ sweet innocence in The Sound of Music always manages to put her in a good mood, but Tara almost feels like she’s been transported to some benevolent alternate universe where she’s just a regular Oxford student chilling at home on a summer night and procrastinating her summer school paper for Medieval Literature.

There are no boys.

No magic.

No famous ex-boyfriend or fake fiancé.

It is just Tara and her muggle musical.

“I’m fine, Ty” Tara whines as Captain von Trapp walks into Maria’s room and finds his children singing along My Favorite Things. “Go to sleep!”  Mentally cursing at her brother for disturbing her hardly-found peace of mind, Tara pulls the fluffy duvet tighter under her chin.

Another knock

Tara lets the duvet fall to her shoulders, feeling as though she doesn’t have the strength to deal with anything right now.

“Ty, seriously…” she utters wearily. “I want to be alone-”

“I’m coming in” A voice that definitely doesn’t belong to her brother announces.

A second later, the door gapes open and Tara’s ex-boyfriend walks in, closing the door behind him.

Mark’s presence catches Tara off guard. From all the people she could’ve expected to see, her ex looking aggravatingly good was definitely not on top of her list, so she nearly chokes in her inhale.

With her heart picking up, Tara pauses the movie and then holds on to the duvet tightly. Almost as if her life depended on it.

And yes. It is a life-threatening situation if you consider that Tara can’t imagine a greater humiliation than letting Mark see the sweatshirt she’s wearing beneath. It is one of the many clothes she had raid from his closet during her last visit to Seoul, claiming that she would use them whenever she missed him.

Why did she have to be so freaking ridiculous? That is beyond Tara understanding, but now, letting him see that goddammed sweatshirt on her would be yet another moral defeat on the same day. Not to mention it would be downright mortifying.  

“Hey” Mark stands at the door, his hands shoved in the pockets of his favorite bomber jacket as Tara holds on the duvet for dear life.

“What are you doing here?” She turns her head in the other direction as if her vanity was the most interesting piece of furniture she’s ever seen.

At her sour expression, Mark’s expression falls. For a split of a second he seems to be unable to form a coherent sentence or push himself to do anything at all, but eventually, he quietly steps towards Tara and without saying a single word he sits on the edge of the bed.

But Tara avoids his eyes. She can’t bring herself to look at him because his presence is suddenly reliving the embarrassment and humiliation she felt during their conversation earlier that day.

“I saw the album,” Mark says, his breath hitching as Tara blinks twice without really understanding what he means.  “Jae said it was a present from you”.

With the trauma of facing Mark, she has almost forgotten about his birthday gift. Of course, she now regrets spending so much time putting together a photo book with pictures of the two from childhood up to the months previous to their breakup. If she had known Mark was going to behave the way he did, Tara would’ve accepted Enzo’s invitation and instead of the comfort of her bed, she would be on a luxurious yacht sailing the Greek Islands. Or she would’ve asked Tyler to lock her in her room so there were no more chances to land on the cover of scandal-hungry tabloids and gossip sites. Yes, she likes the second idea better.

But no, against her better judgment, she went to visit her ex-boyfriend so he could shatter her pride in pieces and humiliate her.

“And I’m truly sorry”  Without another word, Mark reaches to pull Tara to his chest. Initially, he meets resistance from her part. She briefly struggles to free herself, but when her name escapes from Mark’s lips in a soft whisper that makes her feel a wonderful sense of loosening inside, she gives in with a sigh. Too exhausted and emotionally drained to fight him back, she also lets go of the duvet in favor of letting Mark wrap his arms around her.

“I’m so, so sorry, T” He repeats as his hands move to stroke her hair and pat her back gently, slightly desperate to show he how apologetic he truly is. “I am sorry”

There’s a brief moment of silence before Tara speaks,  her voice breathy with a contained chuckle.

“I know”

Mark is so thankful when she wraps her arms around him and buries her face against his chest that his heart races embarrassingly and his throat moves when he swallows. Yet, Tara seems unfazed, wrapped in her own thoughts and the scent of oolang and bergamot from Mark’s signature perfume combined with the faint smell of Febreze that Taeyong uses religiously in their clothes.

Mark smells like spring and his embrace makes Tara feel like home, so she stays that way for a few minutes, eyes closed, easily sinking into his arms and basking in the familiarity of it all.  It is just a simple hug, but it conveys their feelings with much greater clarity than words could have; it is almost a reminder of easier days when everything was less tangled and a simple hug could put everything back in its right place.

Now everything seems as it could be fine.

That is, of course, until she pulls away and notices Mark’s eyes brimming with tears.

It’s probably too soon to draw conclusions, but for some reason it makes Tara’s former optimism deflate.

Not like this is the first time Tara sees Mark cry. Oh no, she has seen him cry plenty of times before, although when she tells those stories to other people, they believe she’s making them up because Mark is a strong man by any standard and he has never shown any sign of weakness in front of anyone else. Particularly not in front of his bandmates or his fans.

People regard Mark as always cool and collected, that one person who always knows what to say and what people expect from him. He didn’t cry when his group reached the Nº1 spot for the first time in the South Korean charts, nor during his first concert or that time he injured himself in a rather foolish fashion and subsequently skipped a whole round of promotions with his group. If you were to ask anyone, Mark is described as a hardworking young man with a somewhat detached and serene outlook on life.

But that is Mark, the rapper of NCT. The Mark Yang sitting next to Tara cried when she went to Hogwarts for the first time and when their first bunny died. Mark cries over a sad movie plot and whenever he misses his family. The Mark Tara knows is anything but detached. He is loving and slightly clingy, although he always justifies himself claiming that he barely spends time with his loved ones.

That’s exactly why doubt wings through Tara when her eyes fix on Mark. Granted, her concern is slightly unreasonable given the circumstances and their unspoken reconciliation, but she knows him by heart and he looks merely appalled.

“What’s wrong?” She asks, eyeing him suspiciously

“Nothing” He musters dismissively. Tara doesn’t know he’s fighting hard to keep the tears at bay, but she can guess, by the way he bits on his lower lip, that there’s something he wants to tell her. And she simply expects the worst.

“Then what’s with that expression?” she says, forcing a soft laugh. “You look as though you’ve murdered someone.”

Mark doesn’t respond. There is silence and then a simple head motion

“I don’t know how bad this actually is or if Jane will be able to fix it before it goes out, but…” A frustrated breath slips from Mark’s lips and he moves to grab Tara’s hand “Earlier today I kinda told a reporter we had broken up.”

“What?” Tara’s eyes narrow in confusion.

“Listen T, I am really sorry, I just…” Mark runs his free hand through his hair “I got this question about you and the rumors and I-“ he tightens his grip on her hand “I just lost it. I saw that article on the news and I don’t know what got into me. Please, forgive me, I didn’t mean to-“

Amusement swirling in her chest, Tara doesn’t even attempt to hold in a laugh.

“Mark, people have been speculating about our break up for weeks and if they couldn't tell yet after the pictures of you and Mindy walking by the hand late at night” She said the last bit with the tiniest bit of accusation in her voice “They probably did after the headlines of this morning, so unless you had told them I cheated on you or that you hated me, I think we’ll be ok”  

“No, I would never” Mark says softly, once again wrapping himself around Tara “I only said that we broke up and I wished not to be asked any more questions about the topic”

“An answer straight from the idol book. Well done” Tara laughs, but still, that emotion written on Mark’s face —that she recognizes as guilt— doesn’t seem to go away.  “Oh, come on, Mark, change that expression! What’s wrong now?” Tara rolls her eyes, looking at him over her shoulder.

“I…” He falters “I also made you cry”

“When did you?” Tara asks, moving away from the hug and turning so they’re finally face to face. “I haven’t cried” She frowns, although her slightly puffed eyes aren’t painting the most convincing picture.

“Tyler told me” Mark smiles with a swift rise of his cheekbones. If Tara didn’t know him better she would assume that he is amused.

“Oh, don’t flatter yourself” Tara scoffs, but Mark is still smiling at her with a sort of smug twinkle in his eyes.

“I hate I made you cry, I really do.” He says solemnly “But the fact you did…” Mark finds the auspicious moment to caress Tara’s face with his thumbs, making her huff once she notices his cheeks going all squishy and his eyes crinkling in a smile.

She would definitely be offended if she didn’t know there’s no malice to it, just Mark’s attempts to lighten up the mood.

“I swear I will never make you cry again” He says, interlacing their hands “Please, don’t ever cry again” Mark places a gentle kiss on her cheek before adding “Plebeians like me don’t deserve the tears of a princess”

Tara cringes and laughs, smacking Mark’s arm softly

“That’s so cheesy” she complains, faking a retching noise. “Please never repeat that”

“Why?”  Mark catches Tara’s fist before it lands on his chest, pulling her towards him for the umpteenth time. It almost feels like he wants to make up for the lost time and Tara is not in a position to complain or criticize him because the longing is mutual so she only throws her arms around his neck, shaking her head. “Yo, it’s true though…” Mark says, his boyish manners coming out in full force when he speaks.

“That you’re cheesy?” Tara jokes.

“That I am a plebeian and you are a real princess… my princess”

“Ugh… cheesy” Tara’s face contorts into what could be disgust, but a split so second later she bursts out laughing. Mark chuckles too, but he becomes solemn as his hands slide under Tara’s —his— sweatshirt and his fingers glide up her sides until they reach for the curve of her waist.

“No, but seriously, T… I’m sorry” he repeats as Tara plays with his hair distractedly “I was rude to you and that was just off-limits. Nothing justifies the way I behaved.”

“True” Tara concedes with a nod and a small smile spreading on her face.

“You didn’t deserve any of that and I apologize for it”

“True again. You were acting stupid” She replies simply, looking away as she removes her hands from Mark’s neck, a noticeable frown on her face “But I guess I can take that apology”

A hearty laugh fills the room when Mark realizes Tara is just faking the angered expression and seconds later she ends up throwing him a poorly executed wink.

“Thank you, T” The guy’s amusement quickly vanishes, a warm feeling of elation coming over him. It is the kind of feeling that makes you believe an enormous burden has been lifted from your shoulders and you can finally be at peace.

He beams, his smile so bright that it almost makes Tara feel blinded by it. Then, a teasing glint fills his eyes “Though now that I remember, you did call me an idiot…” he dramatically places a hand over his heart “That hurt”

“Should I even be sorry? You were acting like one”  Tara states matter-of-factly. She raises a brow, trying to ignore the way Mark’s hands have returned to hold her at the waist pulling her closer.

“What?” Mark opens his mouth in an exaggerated fashion, pretending to take the offense.

“It’s true, you were acting like a di-” Tara stops midway, giggling as Mark tickles her sides. “Oh, come on!” Laughter escapes from her lips abundantly. “Mark... please…” She twists, fighting desperately to escape from his attack, but Mark continues to dig his fingertips on her sides, chuckling and occasionally letting out a full laugh.

“Please what?” He asks, watching amused how Tara tries to push him off with her knees.

“Stop!” She giggles “Please, Mark, stop!” She smacks his hands away when they reach her ribs and then places both her hands against his chest to stop him from ambushing her again “I’m sorry. Ok?” she says, catching her breath. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you serious?” Mark’s doe eyes flutter open as though he can’t believe his ears and Tara only nods, still focused on regulating her breathing pace.  “Oh T. Don’t be.” Mark places a hand over one of hers, squeezing it and pulling it to his lips to kiss it briefly “I actually deserved it because what you said back then was true. I was just trying to get back at you.”

“I know” Tara replies, wondering if Mark is aware of who he’s talking to. Of course she knew, even if he wasn’t fully aware back then, Tara knew. She always knows. “But that’s not what I’m sorry about. I also owe you an apology for the Mindy misunderstanding and the whole Darius scandal. Although it shouldn’t be a big deal, considering we had broken up, you still deserve to know nothing ever happened between him and I”

Mark blinks not fully sure of what to say next. He remains quiet, letting go of Tara’s hand but a grin —that he had dumbly tried to suppress— slowly makes its way onto his lips. Tara laughs because Mark, as always, is transparent as glass and the happiness that her statement causes him is not even close to been hidden.

“So you’re telling me nothing happened with the perfect Darius Black?” He questions skeptically, smug grin still plastered across his face.

“First of all wipe that grin off” Tara rolls eyes, her hand smacking Mark’s shoulder playfully “Don’t be such a smug jerk”  

Mark could be offended, but he ignores that last part on behalf of attending a more urgent matter, which is finding out what Tara has been up to since their breakup. It is a question that has been torturing him for weeks, so he jumps in as soon as the opportunity presents.

Of course, Mark is not generally the jealous or possessive type, but watching the pictures of —his— Tara walking by the arm of another man —a man who had always shown more than just a casual friendly interest in her— had awoken something inside him.

“So?” Mark begins to feel the worm of jealousy squirming in his guts as he imagines Darius' hands roaming Tara’s body, his lips pressing against hers, hot and urgent, an image practically etched in his mind since the morning when he saw that goddamned picture of them looking like lovebirds on the news. “Nothing?” He has no other choice but to pretend to be ok, so he lets out a sigh, easing his chest from that emotional hell.

“Nothing” Tara says, shaking her head from side to side. “I’m offended you even ask.”

“You are a beautiful woman, Tara” Mark ignores her weak attempt to hide the smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Men hit on you all the time and that Darius is shamelessly obvious about want-“

“I know how to say no, Mark” Tara says seriously.

“Oh, so he did try to hit on you” Mark insists predictably, causing Tara to chuckle. “I knew he did. I mean, of course he would, you got all dressed up and looked so fine. He would’ve been stupid if he didn’t”

“Mark, seriously nothing happened” Tara interrupts, her voice a mixture of amusement and weariness. “He was just trying to be helpful” She speaks as though she is trying to explain a hypersensitive 4 year-old that 1 plus 1 equals 2, but Mark does nothing but to repeat her last word with a questioning eyebrow. It makes Tara aware of all the explaining left to do, but also gives her the urge of kissing away the furrow of his brows. “Listen” Tara swifts on the bed to reposition herself “I drank too much and he was just trying to keep me safe.” Tara admits, looking everywhere but at his face.

“What?” Mark’s voice suddenly goes harsh and Tara turns to find an unexpectedly tense-looking man staring at her. “Are you sure he didn’t try anything weird-?”

“No, he didn’t.” Tara places a hand on Mark’s thigh reassuringly, but can’t deny the odious thrill his protective side makes her feel. “Trust me, Mark. Enzo or Adela would’ve already killed him if he had”

“Ok” Mark’s face relaxes and he goes back to looking at Tara with the same smug grin from before and eyes alight with mischief “So?”

“So what?” Tara rolls eyes “What now?”

“So why did you reject him? Because I’m not gonna believe he didn’t ask you out” Mark speaks naturally, as though he had just formulated a question about something like the time or the weather. “As far as I know all your friends fawn over him and Jane keeps reminding me that he is one of the most eligible bachelors of... your world” He adds that last bit hesitant.

Tara makes a mental note to scold her friend later “He’s just not my type”

Mark huffs “Tall, blonde, green eyes and handsome is not your type?” He asks incredulously.

“Why are you being so annoying, Mark?” Tara moves until she’s leaning her back against the pillows and crosses her arms over her chest. “What do you want to hear? That I got drunk because I missed you and I already made out with most of Enzo’s friends at previous parties so I knew, as a matter of fact, I wasn’t going to get over you going out with someone else and acting like some immature teenager? Is that what you want to hear?”  Tara snaps, but surprisingly, her voice is warped and tiny, twisted beyond recognition.

For a second Tara holds her breath expecting Mark to snap back at her. She watches his body stiffen, his face tense up, his eyes looking away from her. Then silence overcomes the room and she mentally smacks herself for every single decision she’s made that day.

“Hey” Mark pushes Tara out of her self-chastisement moment offering a hand a pulling her closer. “I’m sorry. I was just joking” he says, arms wrapping around her tightly “I didn’t realize what you went through.” Tara opens her mouth to say something, but Mark shakes his head and goes on. “That picture on the news… oh, God, T. It’s been driving me insane. I never knew how scared of losing you I was until this morning and I don’t want to feel like this ever again-“ Tara’s hand on his chin, silences Mark and when he looks at her, he’s surprised to find Tara smirking at him.

“Shut up. You have nothing to worry about” she pretends to pick inexistent pieces of fuzz from his jacket. “You know why?” Mark only shakes his head, making Tara scoff at him “Because you are the only person I’ve ever loved.” She says simply. “And I only have eyes for you”

"Hmm" Mark stares at her thoughtfully, almost as though he has been left at a loss for words, but between the smile on his face and the greedy way his hands clutch around her waist, Tara knows he has plenty of words to say. “You know what I really think?" He asks.

"No, but I bet you're going to tell me"

"I think maybe you’ve figured out no one can top me" It is impossible for Mark not to burst into laughter right after pronouncing such cringe-worthy words, his cheeks going a light hue of pink.

“Shut up” Although the muscles of her leg refuse to kick him to shut him up, Tara pushes him slightly.

“I’m kidding” He smooths down Tara’s hair, “But here’s a fact” He looks at her adoringly, clutching onto her with force “I love you, Tara Lee.”

“I love you too” Tara places a hand around his neck “Only you, Markie”

The two exchange a moment as they look into each other’s eyes, none of them daring to move, afraid to ruin the perfect harmony they’ve fallen into. Until Mark decides to break the silence, looking extra worried.

“Did we just miss the perfect timing to kiss?” He asks, dipping his head down to murmur into Tara’s ear.

“I think so” Tara is moving to press her lips against Mark’s when the door flies open.

“Absolutely not under this roof” Tyler barks, eyes throwing daggers at her sister’s boyfriend. “What does make you think I will let you kiss my sister right after you made her cry?”

Mark pulls away from Tara’s arms with such urgency that he nearly falls off the bed. She could’ve found it funny if she wasn’t so busy glaring at her brother.

“Were you listening to our conversation?” Tara forces a laugh, free of any true amusement.  “Why are you acting like some creep?”

“Creep? I’m just protecting my little sister from-“ Tyler splutters, catching the way Tara is looking at him. “From some hormonal guy trying to take advantage of her”

“Just get out!” Tara reaches under her pillow for her wand and points it directly at her brother. There’s not even an ounce of hesitation in her eyes “I swear Tyler Lee…”

==============

“I’m sorry my brother is such a jerk” Tara says minutes later, apology evident on her face as she snuggles her head on Mark’s chest. They’re currently cuddling on his king-sized bed, surrounded by dozens of ridiculous pillows Mark has accumulated over the years. The Sound of Magic is playing on his state-of-the-art movie system; an unnecessary waste of money, as Jane had described it since he barely spent time in London, but one of the very few things Mark never hesitated to splurge on. After all, Tara liked watching movies and he enjoyed cuddling her on any normal day.

“You don’t have to apologize for that. He was actually kinda sweet earlier when he threatened to turn me into a toad if I didn’t go there and apologized to you” Tara gaps at that, looking at him with through slit eyes, so Mark is quick to add “which I was going to do anyway without angry brother involved. Well, Jae was already angry and involved, but you know what I mean...” He corrects himself, rambling about his older brother and patting Tara’s shoulder.

Both of them laugh at that, but then Mark sits up slightly and looks down at Tara.

“Speaking of what, Jason told me to look at the last picture in the album, but I forgot to. What’s so important about it?” Marks inquires, an eyebrow going up.

Tara’s eyes widen “You didn’t watch it yet?”

Mark shakes his head a “no”.

“You have to” She rolls eyes at him, moving to pause the movie just before Julie Andrews teaches the Von Trapp children how to “Do Re Mi”. “Now” She orders, pushing Mark off the bed.

Mark groans, but he ultimately gets up and crosses the room. Heis wearing plaid pajama bottoms, a white t-shirt, and rounded glasses.  He looks so soft, Tara wonders how she ever believed, even for a second, that he could do anything that hurt her.

“I can’t believe you didn’t see the picture” Tara clicks her tongue when he picks the photo album from the bookshelf. “I thought you went to see me after recalling the good old times”

Mark says nothing, he only shifts the pages as Tara comes behind him and wraps her arms around his chest, tiptoeing to rest her chin on his shoulder. When he reaches the end of the album, he finds himself laughing shakily and blinking rapidly.

“Yo, where did you find this?” He turns to see Tara smiling brightly. “I thought your mother- wow, T. I can’t believe-“ Mark rambles barely making sense. He can’t believe Tara had recovered the first-ever photo they had taken together. Particularly because they had been convinced Tara’s mother had gotten rid of it when she attempted to erase all of Tara’s childhood memories. “I-” Mark’s fingers run over the photo, memories of that day suddenly surfacing in his mind. The picture had been taken on a day trip to the local zoo when they were barely four. Tara is sitting on a bench kicking her legs in the air, dressed in a tomboyish outfit that contrasts with the girly bag hanging from her shoulder. At her left, Mark is holding her hand, standing next to a monkey cage. Under the picture, in neat capital letters in pink ink, Tara had written: “Forever yours”.

“Forever yours” Mark recalls those words. They were part of the confession he’d made on their first trip to the beach together. It was the summer before he moved to Seoul and the first time he saw Tara in 6 months. They had carved a huge heart into the sand and decorated it with shells and pebbles, embossing their initials in the center and promising to love each other for eternity.

Tara says nothing. She waits for Mark to make a move and predictably, seconds later he places his hand on each side of Tara’s arms, rubbing small circles. “I am forever yours” In normal circumstances, Tara would be ready to clown the cheesiness of his words, but she only giggles, wraps her arms around his waist and lets Mark press his lips against her own.

It’s like coming home.

***

[sad-goomy]

GladMoon Week Day 6

The Play’s the Thing

Summary: There’s something rotten in Melemele High School’s production of Hamlet...But Moon’s crush makes it a little hard to see just why everyone is so annoyed with Gladion. Read on Ao3

Faded Cornflower Unrequited love

Everyone in Melemele High School’s theater department is at least a little pissed off that Gladion got the role of Hamlet in their fall production.

It’s not that he’s bad, and lord knows they always need more boys to audition, but the fact that the titular role is being played by a Senior who hasn’t even stepped foot on stage before, much less been a part of the theater program, feels a bit like a slap in the face.

A slap in the face that Mallow, despite having gotten the role of Ophelia, takes personally.

“Why couldn’t Sun or Hau have gotten it?” She looks to Moon, the two gossiping in a corner of the auditorium, the first ones at rehearsal. However, other students are starting to trickle in, and so she keeps her voice down to a conspiratorial whisper.

Moon doesn’t even look up from her binder as she replies, “Because they’re perfect for Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, and they milk everything for a laugh. Besides, I didn’t cast it – I'm the stage manager.” She snaps the three rings closed, satisfied with her organization, and glances around the room.  

Gladion’s taken a seat at the far end of the theater, away from where everyone else is beginning to cluster. It’s only the first rehearsal, but he’s made it clear since callbacks that he’s not here to socialize, and keeps to himself, barely speaking to anyone else unless it’s scripted. Her eyes travel over him, taking in his black clothing and shock of blond hair, settling on his green eyes.

Mallow frowns, turning in her seat to follow her gaze. “What are you...” A realization snaps her back around, mouth agape and eyes wide.

“Moon, no.”

“What?” She forces her eyes back to her friend, desperately hoping she’s imagining the heat she feels spreading on her cheeks.

“I can literally see you forming a crush on him.”

Moon guffaws, drawing the attention of a few other students sitting near them, and she scans the room, thankful to see that their drama teacher has entered with the last of the actors in tow. She stands, gripping her binder to her chest and laughing a hair too forcefully. “Why would – now that’s just ridiculous.”

“This feels like betrayal and don’t you walk away from me.”

But she’s already halfway to the desk set up for her and their director/drama teacher, giving Mallow a nervous smile. “Sorrywe’reabouttostart.”

And as their drama teacher takes the stage to welcome them all to their first rehearsal, Mallow subtly shifts her head to give Moon a glare.

A glare that she misses, because she’s too busy staring at the back of Gladion’s head with a wistful smile.

He’s even better to watch on stage.

Even when they’re blocking and his flow is constantly interrupted by comments from the director, questions about acting choices, and the constant looking down at scripts, he handles the stage effortlessly. His presence is commanding, and Moon finds herself struggling to focus on annotating when every movement of his draws her eye.

She’s never even liked Hamlet - she was almost disappointed when it was announced as the fall play.

Now though, she’s enraptured, and she can see every thought process behind the character, breathless at how delicately and nuanced Gladion plays him. He goes from furious outbursts to vulnerable moments of questioning with ease, and Moon is along with him every step, eyes glazed over like she’s in a dream.

“Did we have Polonius and Claudius stage left or right last time?”

Moon blinks, snapped out of her trance and cursing herself for letting a boy distract her. She looks down at her script, realizes she’s on the wrong page, and flips forward, flustered and all too-aware of Gladion watching her (along with everyone else, but there’s a weight to his gaze and stop, focus).

“Upstage right.”

The drama teacher nods and turns to look back at the students on stage, and Moon chews on the end of her pen, stealing a glance up and only a little disappointed that Gladion isn’t still watching her.

Her brother and Hau are about as supportive as Mallow.

Sun shrugs as they walk through the school parking lot. “I don’t know, I kind of just get an asshole vibe from him.”

Moon is tempted to argue, but after two weeks of rehearsals, she doesn’t have a lot of ground to stand on. The boy still doesn’t talk to any of them, and the few unlucky souls who’ve tried to strike up a conversation are quickly shut down with an eye roll and mumbled, curt answers.

Hau adjusts his backpack as they walk, pursing his lips in thought as they get closer to Moon’s car (and it’s technically Sun’s car, too, but ever since his sister got her license he’s been too lazy to bother with his). “I think he still doesn’t know my name.”

“He doesn’t even know Moon exists.”

She smacks her brother in the arm, glaring as he rubs the now sore spot. There’s a voice inside her that pipes up, that’s trying to come up with a counter-argument, and so she mumbles, “He’s probably just...”

The longer she takes to come up with a theory, the higher Hau and Sun raise their brows, sharing a skeptical look.

“...introverted.”

They reach her car and she unlocks it, tossing her bag to Hau, who catches it while he slides into the backseat. Sun takes his customary place as shotgun, and Moon hesitates to slide into the driver’s seat, a roaring engine drawing her attention.

He’s wearing a helmet but she’s heard that Gladion owns a motorcycle, and she watches as he peels out of the parking lot, deafening the other students as he zips away.

“You’re drooling, cousin.”

Moon straightens, sending a scowl to Hau as he laughs along with her brother, and she buckles up. Sun watches her as she starts the car, shaking his head. “An absolute asshole – you'll see.”

She starts to see that Monday, when she’s posting notes from the director on the bulletin board backstage.

“You’re not supposed to be back here.”

She flinches so hard that she nearly stabs her own finger with the thumbtack. Moon turns to see that Gladion is standing behind her, somehow able to sneak in silently, and looks bored and vaguely irritated.

It doesn’t even occur to her that this is the first thing he’s said to her as she blinks, mouth twisting in confusion and heart beating too loudly when she meets his eyes. “Uh, yeah I am.”

Just when she’s about to mentally kick herself for that lackluster answer, he crosses his arms. “Are you involved in Hamlet?”

Moon raises a brow, feeling some of the butterflies in her stomach turn to daggers in her eyes.

“I’m literally the stage manager.”

He’s seen her before, was there when the director introduced her as the stage manager. Even the Freshman know who she is at this point, and it’s not like they haven’t seen each other around school before. Surely, he feels at least a little embarrassed at being caught, and Moon waits expectantly for the apology.

“Oh.”

And he turns and walks down the hall, leaving her to watch as she stands on the verge of an epiphany.

She shakes her head, picking up her bag and deciding he’s probably just a little awkward, and bad with names, and faces (and just generally being a decent person maybe but he’s cute and it’s fine).

The next week, rehearsals start focusing more on the leads, as they get held behind for an extra hour while the rest of the cast gets to go home early. They grin and bear it, though, doubling down and trying to muster up their energy for soliloquies and emotionally devastating dialogue.

Moon notices their yawns, and leans over to their director during a break, whispering and getting a nod of approval before she hurries off to her car.

She comes back about twenty minutes later with coffee and donuts for all the principal actors, and she smiles when she hears the chorus of “thank you.”

But she can’t help but notice that Gladion’s mouth doesn’t move, that he doesn’t even smile, just rolls his eyes when the others go to collect a pastry and pour sugar and creamer into to-go cups.

And a few days later, when Ilima and Mallow surprise her with a note and a gift card to her favorite coffee shop, she can’t help but notice that all the leads have signed it.

Except for Gladion.

It’s the little things that start to crack at her rose-colored glasses.

Though he has plenty of natural talent, Gladion doesn’t take direction very well, and huffs at the notes the drama teacher gives him.

When the tech crew starts coming in to start building the set and deliver props, he barely spares them more than a glance and mutters about how they’re in the way.

And is it really that hard to say “thank you five” like the others?

But the final straw breaks during the costume fittings, when he throws something damn near a hissy fit over having to wear tights. The poor parent who’s agreed to help explains that they’re going for historical accuracy, and Hau tries to crack a joke about how it’ll take some getting used to but it’s not so bad, and nothing appeases him.

As he storms off, Moon and Mallow watch from the sidelines, and in that moment the stage manager realizes.

“Oh my god he’s an asshole.”

Mallow smirks. “Took you long enough.”

And just like that, her crush is gone, because there’s nothing like the threatened masculinity of a high school boy to shatter the illusion.

As the days go on and rehearsals get longer, Gladion only grates worse on Moon’s nerves.

Still, she keeps her cool, even as she has to read lines out for him well past the off-book date. She’s been a stage manager for three years now, so she can handle whatever little diva moments he may have.

At least she thinks she can, but the problem is that no one’s bothered to tell him off.

Not until they’re halfway to opening night.

Moon is in the wings, discussing light cues with the head of the tech crew, Kiawe. She’s vaguely aware of the scene happening onstage, but doesn’t realize that Act 1 has come to a close until a fake lantern is being shoved into her hands.

She blinks, Kiawe also startled, and the two turn to see the culprit, Gladion, stalking away towards backstage.

“The props table is on the other side,” she calls out, watching as he stops and turns.

He sneers – seriously, sneers, like she’s the bug he’s had the misfortune of stepping on – and says, “So take it over there.”

Her and Kiawe exchange an astonished look, and Moon has to take a deep breath in through her nose and out her mouth before she can even look at the actor. “It’s your prop.”

“And you’re a tech, right?” He slides his hands into his pockets, shrugging and clearly bored of this conversation. “Take it there.”

Kiawe looks down at the stage manager and he can feel the fury radiating off of her. He should probably hold her back and tell her it’s not worth it.

But then he remembers how Gladion’s treated him and his crew and so he keeps his mouth shut and takes a step back.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

The actor blinks, for once dropping his bored face, staring at the stage manager with wide eyes. Moon practically growls, walking towards him and shoving the lantern into his chest before pointing an accusatory finger at him and letting close to three months of annoyance out.

“What’s your problem? Okay, because you have no respect for anyone here. It’s gross and stupid that you’re walking around with an inflated ego just because you have a smidge of talent.” She knows she should stop, that if their director or anyone sees her like this it’ll be her fault, not his, but Moon is on a roll and she keeps going, like steam finally hissing out of a teapot. “Do you actually think you’re any better than anyone here? If anything, you’re the worst! You walk in here like you own the place, with no respect, and think you can get away with it. Newsflash, asshole – you’re ruining this for everyone and you aren’t even that good! So fix your attitude, learn your goddamn lines, and take your own fucking props to the props table!”

And with that, Moon turns on a heel to go back to her spot in the audience, leaving Kiawe to hold back laughter and Gladion to openly gape at her receding form, awkwardly holding the lantern to his chest.

That’s the moment when Gladion’s crush on Moon begins.

[lost-kinn]

Fernweh+Quirrel?

Fernweh:The ache for distant places; the craving for travel.

“What is thatthing?” asks the merchant, pointing to the flat white ceramic disc tuckedunder Quirrel’s arm, before he even asks Quirrel’s name.

“It’ll bring you noharm, if that’s your concern,” says Quirrel.

“But what isit?” says the merchant again.

(Quirrel doesn’t know–)

Of course Quirrel knows. Heowns the thing. The flat white disc in question has four dots on it that hethinks looks like a face, but it can’t be a mask, since there’s no eyeholes.There is a depression for something along the bottom. “It’s myhat,” says Quirrel decisively–yes, it must be his hat; he feels thatthat’s (probably) absolutely the right answer. He fixes it to the top of hishead with his headscarf on the spot.

“Odd looking hat,”says the merchant.

“The world is far andwide and full of many strange sights and bugs. I’m sure it allows for a fewstrange hats, too.”

The merchant does not seem toshare Quirrel’s sense of humor. “I am Losot,” says the merchant.“And you are?”

When Quirrel tells Losot his name,Losot only nods and asks no more questions, and this is how it comes to be thatQuirrel acquires one of his first travelling companions.

*

Other travelers are not sotaciturn as Losot. It becomes customary to exchange a set of questions on thelong trails through the wilderness, things like: “Who are you?”“Where are you going?” (“Will you hurt or help me?” goesmore unspoken, but not unsaid.) When people ask questions, Quirrel knows thatif he plays his cards right, he could have a travelling companion for a time,and takes care with his answers. He considers himself fortunate that he has noreason to play his cards dishonestly for a little company.

The third companion is awoman making a long trek to join her sons in a distant land, where they’d leftto secure a living wage. But Quirrel knows she’s lying, more to herself thanQuirrel. Wherever her sons have gone to, the woman, deep in her heart, suspectsmisfortune. “And you?” asks the woman bravely. “Where are yougoing?”

(Quirrel doesn’t know–)

Quirrel certainly knows, orelse why would he on the road? “Wherever strikes my fancy,” he sayssimply. Yes, that must be right. He can’t think of a destination right now, sohe must be travelling without aim, like a few bugs he’s met so far. “I’man incorrigible traveler, it would appear. I’ve been to so many places, Ibelieve I may have forgotten them all.”

She laughs. “Keep yoursecrets, then,” she says.

Quirrel never does convinceher that he was telling the truth before they part ways, and when they do,Quirrel wanders under the night sky alone, hoping a stranger’s children are okay.

*

The seventh companions are agroup of miners looking for a fresh ore vein–or so they say, but they’re anawful long way from the last ore deposit, and how would they transport anythingthey mine without carts and steeds, anyway? Quirrel keeps these questions tohimself, for courtesy’s sake. They agree to keep Quirrel company on the roadeasily. “Always good to have a fighter in the group,” says theleader.

“Oh, no,” saysQuirrel. “I’m no fighter.”

“Y'sure? Y’ve got a nailand everything.”

Quirrel glances at it. Yes,well, you’d think that a bug carrying a nail around would be a fighter, if nota knight. It’s a perfectly logical assumption, and Quirrel can hardly blame theminer for it. “I’m quite sure,” says Quirrel.

“That’s a shame,”says the leader.

The group of miners try torob Quirrel in the middle of the night. Quirrel kills one and cripples anotherbefore they run off. Quirrel sighs, and wonders if there had been a peaceableway to resolve the situation, and leaves the abandoned wounded miner for thewild beasts to devour.

*

For the eleventh companion,Quirrel’s name is not enough. “But who are you?” the buginsists, without lowering the tip of her sea-green nail. This one, Quirrelthinks, is a proper fighter. Possibly even a knight.

“I’m but a simple traveler,”Quirrel tells her.

“I can see that. Anyonewho travels is a traveler. I ask not whatare you, but who are you?”

Quirrel looks down at himself.He’s got a nail, a bag of food, and his hat. “I’m only exactly what youand I can see,” says Quirrel. He prays that it will not come to blows.He’s not a fighter, after all.

But a second passes, and thewoman lowers the point of her nail. “How does it feel, being only exactlyas you appear?”

“I’ve never been anyother way. If you want a recommendation, I’m afraid I have no point ofcomparison.”

She laughs. A peacefulresolution, indeed.

The woman is named Fallow,and she is, indeed, a knight. “But it is of no importance anymore,”Fallow says, rather darkly, when they settle down over a campfire for thenight. “I was of a distant kingdom that has had its name stripped from it,and it lies nameless and dark. Only the circus lives there now, like carrionbirds feasting upon the corpses.”

“I had no idea that waswhat circuses did.”

Fallow sneers and refuses tospeak of it any further. But at Quirrel’s request, instead, she tells him ofher home as she remembers it: A vast plain, upon which the sun was hot enoughto kill and the nights were blessedly cool; during the day, the sun would meltthe sandy plains and the cool winds would turn them to glass, and the bugswould go aboveground to scavenge the day’s offerings. Sun tears, the glasspieces were called. Her nail was made of sun tears, she explained, which waslike no glass any bug could make–a fifty foot drop could not shatter thisglass, let alone the measly impact of piercing a bug’s shell. Her glass nailcould parry any nail of steel and more. Belowground, entire cities wereconstructed of glass alone, tall and glistening, of fiery reds and deep purplesand sea greens and the purest, clearest transparent panes, the sort of pureglass that made you wish your mind and soul could be so clear.

Deep in the glass towers hadbeen Fallow’s lord, a young debutante with thoughts of fancy. “She’d beenthe most ridiculous girl,” Fallow says, snorting. “She was convincedthat a bug without wings could achieve flight, if she built a contraption tomimic the wings of moths or bees. She only worked with pink glass. She wantedher wings to match her favorite outfit.”

“She soundswonderful,” says Quirrel.

“She was,” saysFallow. “She was an honor to serve.”

Quirrel notes the past tenseand changes the subject. “And what a miraculous kingdom, too.”

“You would have loved tosee it,” says Fallow, “a wandering type like you.”

“It would appear I wouldhave,” says Quirrel.

*

Some time before Quirreldecides to travel to Hallownest, he meets a blind old bug, their eyes rippedout with (as Quirrel learns) the traditional markers of punishment for murderin a far-off land. The blind bug wanders along a craggy cliff’s edge, tappingtheir way along the road with only a stick, and Quirrel hastily introduceshimself to steer the bug away from the ledge.

The old bug does not protest,but maintains the usage of his walking stick, and stays close to the rockyledge; Quirrel quickly realizes that, despite the danger, the ledge is one ofthe best ways for the bug to tell where they’re going, and although the bugmoves slowly, they were in no danger whatsoever of falling over the edge.Quirrel, chastised, apologizes for his presumption.

“It was a fairconclusion,” says the bug evenly. “There are worse things than apresumptuous good deed. Tell me about yourself, young man, since I have no eyesto tell me for myself.”

“My name isQuirrel,” he begins, then physical looks down at himself, as if he mayhave forgotten something about himself since he last introduced himself tosomeone. No, he appears exactly the same as he last knew himself. He reciteshimself to the old bug as he sees himself: “I carry my bag of food and ahat along my journey. I possess a nail, although I’m not a fighter. I’m asimple bug, who goes only where his whim takes him. Mostly, I justtravel.”

“Why?”

“Why?” Quirrelrepeats.

“Why do you travel?” theold bug says patiently. “You’re an awful long way from anywhere. What bringsyou so far off into the wilderness? Are you an exile, like me? A merchant? I’vemet quite a few of those. A refugee? A messenger? A servant of a lord?”

“None of the above. Itappears nobody told me to be here, and I appear to have no destination, either.Therefore, it would seem I am simply here because I want to be.”

“You’ve a funny way ofreasoning it,” says the bug. “‘I appear’ this, ‘I appear’ that, ‘itwould seem’ and so on. Are you or aren’t you?”

Quirrel laughs. “You’reright. I’ve gotten into a bad habit of mincing my words. Nobody told me to behere, and I have no destination. I am here simply because I want to be.”

“I’ve been told there’snothing in these wastelands worth seeing. I conclude you’re addled in the head,then.”

“I suppose I wouldn’tknow if I was mad,” says Quirrel. “But I have met many wonderful bugsalong my way, and seen many wonderful sights–even sight that people havethought were not so wonderful, I have found delightful. And I think that it isnot so unreasonable to travel for the love of seeing new and wonderfulthings.”

“I suppose not,”says the blind old bug. After a moment’s pause (tap tap tap, goes thewalking stick), the bug says: “Tell me, then. With all your love oftravel, what wonders do you see?”

Quirrel keeps the bug companyfor three days, and tells them of the tall, shadowy wastelands and high cliffsaround then. And when they grow tired of hearing about the world around them,Quirrel tells them of a canyon full of floating ghosts, a city of perpetualrain, a road through lush gardens, a nest of darkness and silk. When it comestime to part ways, the old bug tells Quirrel to take care. “Your loveshines true, even to my sight,” they say. “It shall not lead youwrong. Do not forget it, nor yourself. Let no one take it away.”

“I won’t,” saysQuirrel, and watches the blind old bug make their way down the left fork in theroad. Then Quirrel sets off down the right fork, towards Hallownest, the famedkingdom of wonderful sights, to see them with his own eyes and his own love.

[uiruu]

Okay so here’s a confession lmao... I kind of got into Loona because of Hunter x Hunter. 

I got caught up in the HxH manga, and there are apparently a lot of references to a jpop idol group called Keyakizaka46. There’s a nen ability called “Silent Majority”, which is like a doll thing with the exact same haircut as the main member of that group, who has a song called Silent Majority. Also Halkenburg’s bow and arrow nen ability has him make a pose from the song Fukyouwaon. So I saw that and was like “WHAT THE HELL TOGASHI”, and I checked out those songs. They’re okay. Nothing to write home about. I mean like, they’re fun I guess, I like Fukyouwaon better of those two (which are the only ones I heard), but idk. I listened to it a lot for a couple days, it was like a guilty pleasure thing haha. And then like I must have seen posts from some of my HxH mutuals (who probably aren’t mutuals anymore after... uh... the drama in late february lmao...) post about Loona, and I was like okay, if I’m listening to this idol group that I can kinda tell isn’t like the highest quality thing in the world, let’s see what a Real group is like. 

I wasn’t really attuned to the differences between jpop and kpop, though I think I have a better understanding of the prevailing trends and styles that differentiate them (not just language. theyre as different as hiphop from LA and UK grime rap. that’s pretty different). But yeah, I was interested to see what a really Quality group sounded like. I wasn’t really expecting much, I was expecting something very catchy but kinda bland, like a lot of American pop is. I was also expecting something a little exploitative because of just the nature of having a group of “idols”, and I’d heard stuff about the kpop industry that wasn’t pleasant. 

And like, I listened to Hi High (which was the top result at the time. i got into them about a week before Butterfly), and I liked it at first. I wasn’t ready to let myself love it, though. In the back of my mind there was that voice saying “lol what are you doing, you are not the target audience for this, i should keep this to myself cause it’s embarrassing. if i admit that i’m listening to kpop right now i’ll be laughed at haha”. But still, it was catchy as hell and I liked that. The video production was sooooo good too, that video looks like a movie.

I watched Egoist too cause I guess it was the top related video, and I thought that song was pretty good, but idk I guess a lot of it just didn’t like sink in or something? I don’t really know. I listened to some others but didn’t find anything that stood out, I think there was a point just before Butterfly released where I liked Hi High, Egoist, and Love Cherry Motion (though I was kinda iffy on that one). I remember talking to my friend Jaci about them cause I know Jaci’s a kpop fan, and they said that they were kinda into Loona but not especially, though Heart Attack is one of the best kpop songs ever made. After hearing that, I listened to Heart Attack, but I didn’t really like it, it was a bit too bubblegummy for me, I guess.

Then Butterfly came out, and by then I knew most of the members by name (not all), and I had watched videos from people like formoftherapy about the songs I had heard and so I felt better about liking kpop cause the illusion of it being completely shallow was shattered. Butterfly didnt wow me at first... I liked the video a lot but the song was kinda eh. The “wings, wings” in the chorus stuck out to me in a bad way lol, I didn’t like that. 

So anyway, by then I was like huh, I’m gonna check out some more stuff. So I listened to groups like Momoland and Blackpink and Red Velvet. And by listened to, I mean really just kinda one song from each of those. I listened to other Momoland songs after Bboom Bboom and they didnt really do anything for me. I listened to Red Velvet songs besides Peekaboo and they were okay, Russian Roulette was pretty good but not something that really wowed me, but I was super super super into Blackpink for about a week there haha. I don’t know, I really liked Ddu-Du Ddu-Du, and I liked the members a lot. They’re only four members, so it was really easy to get into them. I listened to more of their songs though and at first I liked them, but the more I listened, the more I realized how bad they are lol. The members themselves are fine but god, some of the other Blackpink songs besides that one are just really bad. To me, anyway. And I think that’s when I realized... oh... Loona’s really something unique, huh?

Like, listening to other groups made me like Loona more hahaha. That’s when everything started to click with me. Songs that didnt impress me at first, like Girl Front and Favorite and especially Heart Attack started REALLY clicking with me. Suddenly every song I listened to from them I liked. And I was noticing things in their songs that I didn’t notice at first. And like, that’s also when it hit me... oh, it’s not just that Grimes did a feature in the intro to one of their songs, they actually take a lot of inspiration from Grimes musically. Aaaaaand that was the nail in the coffin. See, I was one of the biggest Grimes fans alive before we all collectively realized she’s kind of a shitty person. So, to see the good aspects of her music translated and adapted and iterated on by another group is cool. It also kinda made me facepalm because like god fucking damn it, I thought I was free of Grimes, turns out even when I get into something I thought was totally separate, nope... I can’t escape haha. Then though I started noticing interesting and experimental-ish production EVERYWHERE in their songs. 

And that’s when I’m like okay... I gotta finally go through and watch all their videos in order. I knew bits and pieces about the Loonaverse already, so I was ready to sink my teeth in and see it all for myself. It takes about 2 hours to watch all their music videos but it’s really worth it, that was a cool experience haha. The next day, I watched some of formoftherapy’s reactions to doing that same marathon too, and that helped me notice and appreciate even more things, especially about the music video production, since that’s what they specialize in talking about. 

And then you know, two or so weeks later, here we are, and I’m all in, haha. It’s wild to think that I thought Egoist was pretty good and Heart Attack was not really my cup of tea at first haha. Egoist now blows me away EVERY time I watch that video... the song is sooooooo good and the video is maybe their best and most cohesive video aesthetically and thematically speaking. Heart Attack is also in my top 5 songs now.. so is Butterfly haha, that song grew on me a lot too. It helps for Butterfly that the choreo and video are so artistic and masterful. 

Oh, also, one last thing, in the part where I mention other groups... I don’t wanna knock Red Velvet at all. I love Red Velvet. I could write a separate post about my journey with their music too, and how there was a moment when their songs also started clicking for me, and I think they’re just as adventurous and eccentric as Loona. I like Loona more cause I’m more personally invested, and I think Loona covers a broader range of styles and themes and stuff, but Red Velvet are really, really good. I cannot overstate that lol. Also, there are other groups and songs I’ve gotten into since then too, I’m not just a fan of two groups lol. Though to be honest, if I had to pick the ones that I think are doing something really interesting and stand out from the crowd, I think there’s only three groups I would call myself a die hard fan of, and that’s Loona, Red Velvet, and Fromis_9 (who have sooo much potential, im excited to see where they go). 

That’s all! I don’t expect anyone will reblog this (cause its so specific to me lol) or even read this, it’s pretty long after all, but if you did, thanks <3 I just wanted to write about my journey with this. Cause like, it’s cool how this type of thing can happen. It was cool to watch myself start to allow myself to really get into it. I could feel myself getting more and more into it but I was embarrassed about that and I thought it was really lame of me haha. I don’t mean that I was sad or scared or whatever, again, I just thought it was really lame haha. But I mean, deep down I thought it was cool, and the more I got into it, the more that became the only way I thought of it. And now I just think it’s really worth checking out and like not all that lame at all. There are lame groups, yeah. It’s just cool that Loona isn’t one of those. I didn’t expect that the one I heard the most about was 1. not even close to the most popular, and 2. really deeply musically interesting and risktaking, and that’s something that’s always appealed to me about the music I like. Who knew that Loona of all groups would be like that lol. You know... Loona. From the “Stan Loona” memes. Huh. 

Go figure. 

[hellyeahrpmemes]

※ JENNA MARBLES SENTENCE STARTERS, PT. XIII ※

starters from jenna’s 11 most recent videos! feel free to change names/pronouns/zodiac signs/etc.! more jenna sentences

MY BOYFRIEND COOKS MY FAVORITE DESSERT

“Is that what that is?”

“You say standing, I say upright leisuring.”

“I think it’s subtle.”

“It is pretty subtle; I didn’t notice you.”

“Did you just choke?”

“Sometimes, we just can’t find delicious things that both of us can enjoy.”

“Why are you wearing that helmet?”

“Are you going to wear that the whole time?”

“Wait, so I’m cooking all of the cupcakes?”

“Do I look like someone that’s gonna bake today?”

“I will walk out and I will come back when these cupcakes are ready if you make fun of me one more time.”

“I’ll probably just wing it.”

“I want cupcakes, not Aries shit.”

“A lot of people seem to think that, if you are a vegan, that I wake up every day just with a craving for some carrots.”

“Do I look like a rabbit to you?”

“I’m not here to eat lettuce.”

“You don’t get this very average-looking 31-year-old body from sitting around eating spinach.”

“A “piece of cake” is really open to interpretation.”

“This is a predetermined portion, so, if you have five, that’s on you.”

“I just wanna go enjoy cupcakes with my boyfriend in the middle of the night.”

“We should open a cupcake shop that stays open twenty-four hours a day.”

“Can I get one “this is why mom doesn’t fucking love you”?”

“That actually is making me feel safer, somehow.”

“What’s the point of this, by the way?”

“This is what Julien does. Like, he knows enough conversational Spanish to make absolute nonsense Spanish sentences.”

“Don’t try and drag Virgos, they know everything that’s in the house and where it is. Don’t even try.”

“Imagine if I dropped this right now, and it just shattered glass everywhere, and it was all for nothing.”

“Why are you breathing so hard?”

“I’m self conscious about my breathing.”

“This is what not planning out portions looks like.”

“Are you relaxed yet?”

“Can you just, like, maybe, relax?”

“Someone has not done that to me in so long.”

“If this is a mess, I apologize.”

“It could or it couldn’t; we’re trusting that it won’t.”

“Does that look like the trash to you?”

“Three and a half cups of powdered sugar? Honestly? Worth it.”

“There’s nothing gentle about this.”

“That’s very creative, but I don’t wanna eat that.”

“I just got some paper in that bite.”

“Why did you just burn your finger on purpose?”

REACTING TO COMPILATION VIDEOS OF ME 3

“It is not easy to do that.”

“Normally, the funny moments for you are miserable for me.”

“Don’t you like when I just defy you?”

“You pull out a hammer to cut an onion, Julien…!”

“It doesn’t count as a mustache if it’s accompanied by a beard.”

“Beards do not have to also include mustaches.”

“I could destroy you for an hour in this argument, so maybe we table this.”

“Why do you put up with me sometimes?”

“This is infinitely annoying.”

“You just wanted a reaction.”

“I was just trying to annoy you. It was worth it.”

“It is a good time to mess with you.”

“It is a masterpiece.”

“It’s all about how it makes you feel.”

“I am not a robot 2k18.”

“You started something that I can no longer stop, now.”

“I’m just saying I’ve never seen you two in the same room.”

“That is what the internet is for.”

WE BOUGHT A HOUSE

“This is something that I have been saving for since any of you have known me.”

“I’m terrified the whole time.”

“I’m terrified of everything.”

“It’s been my only goal.”

“I just see a terrifying responsibility.”

“We have chosen to be as independent as possible.”

“You can fix some things. Not all things.”

“Where the hell are you guys?”

“I don’t want to think about it too much — I will cry.”

“I’m always the one who stands.”

“We had prom in here.”

“I don’t do any formal living - I only do casual living.”

“Um, fam, why’d you lock me in here?”

“Please, for the love of god, promise me.”

“This is my favorite place ever.”

“There’s a stuffed animal backpack and a hat that says sexy from Pigeon Forge, Tennessee.”

“As you can tell, I’m a lady of sophistication.”

“I’m gonna keep this hopefully forever.”

“We’ll show you the dungeon next time.”

“What — shit, was I not supposed to tell about the dungeon?”

“If you hate it, that’s fine too.”

TRYING TO DECORATE OUR HOUSE

“We still have so much stuff to do.”

“Everybody can see us just butt-ass naked up there.”

“Honestly, if you’re standing somewhere else in the room, it looks fine.”

“Are you making me build the table?”

“I’ve got weak arms. I’m kidding, they’re like the strongest part of my body, they’re enormous.”

“No nude portraits, Julien. I’m barely nude in front of myself, okay?”

“That’s one of the seven deadly sins. Vanity, gluttony, greed, stools.”

“You fuck it up and then you yell at me when I tell you you fucked it up.”

“There are no directions. Most things don’t come with directions. It’s a suggestion pamphlet, that’s it.”

“Nothing says I’m building a table quite like not having any shoes on.”

“This is coming from the person that had paper curtains for the longest time.”

“I don’t know how this works, I don’t know how to do any of this.”

“Should we just change our whole entire goal today?”

“I don’t know where all of my forks have gone.”

“That’s absolutely not where that came from.”

“I think we took steps backwards, today.”

“This is a gigantic waste of time.”

“Look at the bright side. I don’t know what it is, just look at it.”

“How do people have the will to do this nonstop?”

“I don’t know what the fuck to put there.”

“It’s a skill that I just do not have.”

“Things we’ve learned today: 1) Christian rock bumps. 2) Shopping for things in the world and not on the Internet is a gigantic waste of time.”

“Honestly, leaving the house is a waste of time.”

GIVING MYSELF EYELASH EXTENSIONS

“I’m rare, like a dragon.”

“You’re like a dragon. You scream loud.”

“I will never be using that.”

“I felt like she just didn’t like me.”

“If it has controversial reviews, give it to me. I can’t wait to try it.”

“Wait, what? You’re gonna burn your eyes?”

“I cannot be bothered with this shit.”

“If it’s expensive, there’s gotta be a way to learn how to do it and do it yourself.”

“I didn’t really know what was gonna happen here today.”

“So far this has turned out to be a challenge.”

“Julien, I need you to stop it.”

“I’m not sure I’ve done anything more tedious and frustrating in my life.”

“Don’t remind me that I waste my time.”

“That’s not a good look, but that’s my look.”

“Come on, I’m trying my best.”

“I am having a good time.’

“Is that too much? Do I look extra? Because I have the too much gene, and I don’t know when to stop.”

“I wish I didn’t have a nose.”

“Compliments like that aren’t compliments.”

“I don’t know if I can make it. I don’t know if I can do it.”

“I need encouragement…!”

“I’ve never been tested like this.”

“I need a snack and a large glass of water.”

“I’m really starting to feel the consequences of my decisions.”

“I’m sure these are great for someone. Not me.”

“I’m not sure I’ve ever felt more uncomfortable than I do right now.”

MAKING MY DOG A BED OUT OF SOAP

“I’ve been working literally all day to try and figure out how to make this work.”

“I went and got three tubs of said soap.”

“It doesn’t work. Trust me. I’ve been doing it all day. It doesn’t work.”

“I can’t describe to you how much it smells like soap in here. It’s nauseating. Like, it almost makes your throat hurt.”

“Does that feel cool?”

“I love that dog… I love that dog…! I love him!”

“I can’t take another failure.”

“No one was ever making a bed out of soap.”

“We could really be tedious about this, but, honestly? Fuck it.”

“I can’t fucking believe that this is actually happening.”

“This was their fault. Not mine.”

“Hi, my name’s Jenna, I’m 31, and I don’t know what I’m doing with my life.”

“It’s just really fun to melt soap and then mold it.”

“My arms hurt, my back hurts, my legs hurt.”

“I feel like I’m digging for treasure, this is so stupid.”

“Why did I do this? What have I done?”

“My arms are exhausted from doing that.”

“Please come back, please come back, please come back.”

“This was thirteen hours of work, please just look at it.”

“He hates it. I’m so upset.”

“Let this be the example to remember. This does not work. This is a mess.”

“We’ve created ourselves quite the pickle.”

“He literally doesn’t even care.”

“I need to go to bed.”

MAKING MY BOYFRIEND A ROMPHIM

“Who says a man can’t enjoy a beautiful flowy fabric and a flowy shape that allows you to enjoy the warm weather with freedom?”

“Please don’t take any instruction from me.”

“I don’t know how to sew, I just refuse to fail.”

“You’re on thin ice with me already.”

“If you don’t wear this, I’m gonna be genuinely offended.”

“What’s your favorite part of scissors? Mine’s the handle, ‘cause it’s safe.”

“I guess I don’t even really know how to put in a zipper.”

“There’s no disputing it, I was stabbed.”

“Um, I accidentally cut a hole in it.”

“Thicc, with four and a half Cs.”

“This is taking me far longer than I anticipated.”

“Don’t boop my nipple.”

“Look at that exquisite workmanship.”

“Will you put it on backwards for me? I’m just curious.”

“I’ve gathered you today to look at me. Because I’m beautiful.”

“Give us a good strut.”

“Now strut that little butt out of here.”

COME DO TERRIBLE THINGS TO MY HAIR WITH ME

“The term ‘semi-permanent’ is absolute bullshit.”

“This apparently glows under blacklight.”

“If you’re expecting to look this good, expect disappointment.”

“Dear hair, I’m so sorry, love, Jenna.”

“I feel like this is gonna take forever.”

“Just make sure you wrap it in like seventy thousand plastic bags.”

“How do you feel? Do you feel beautiful?”

“I can’t believe I dyed my hair navy blue seven months ago, and it’s still in here.”

“I got it on my pants, I got it on my pants…”

“You can’t blame me for trying.”

“You’re anticipating my failure, is that what you’re saying?”

“If you dye your hair navy blue, it’s just never coming out.”

“It’s too late, now. Just forget it.”

“It’s been thirty minutes, and I can tell nothing is gonna happen.”

“Look at, that did nothing…! I feel sad.”

“You always prepare for worst-case scenario. All the time.”

“Did I done fuck up?”

“How did I fuck up this bad?”

“Something tells me my technique isn’t gonna pay off this time.”

“It’s not like I’m gonna learn my lesson.”

“I’m like a brunette bird of paradise.”

CAMOUFLAGING MYSELF INTO A CHAIR

“I can’t come up with a list of reasons of why not. There’s only yes.”

“Why is it funny if I do it, but if a makeup artist does it, they’re like, wow, this is spectacular, they deserve an award.”

“Why can’t I try stuff without people thinking I’m nuts?”

“We already have a timer going for eighty-four years.”

“That actually looks so good on you, fuck…”

“The real me has come out.”

“I hope that works, because there is no plan B.”

“I feel like this doesn’t look good at all.”

“She doesn’t believe my feedback until she sees it for herself.”

“You look like an X-Man that didn’t quite make it.”

“I’m just out here being an adult.”

“You did such a good fucking job.”

“I’m just out here trying to have a good time. What’s your problem?”

“I actually had a wonderful time.”

“If you think I’m taking this off, you’re dead wrong.”

“This is my nightmare.”

“Send help to me.”

MY DOGS PICK MY MAKEUP

“There’s no easy way to follow that up.”

“Alright, that’s enough answering from you.”

“Just know that we’re a little stressed.”

“Knock knock, who’s there, it’s not America, freedom doesn’t knock, freedom rings.”

“Later on, I will be drawing eyebrows on you.”

“No matter what people tell me or do on the internet, I’m just not one of those people that does my eye makeup and then puts on foundation.”

“That is a one-way ticket to just smudging everything you just did.”

“I’m what you might call lazy as hell.”

“This is a stupid video.”

“What a sophisticated look you just picked.”

“Are you enjoying yourself even though you don’t know what’s going on?”

“I like to do all of my eyeshadow with one fucking brush.”

“Wow, I mean, I have an audience here.”

“You’re gonna have to wipe down every single box, because I’m not having this life.”

“I’m still mad that you did that.”

“It’s not gonna be a very fun week for you, huh?”

“I kind of like it a lot.”

“I get it, it’s dumb.”

“Open your mouth a little wider?”

“I’m coming for your brand.”

“There is a wasp in here…!”

REACTING TO COMPILATION VIDEOS OF ME 4

“I forgot that you made a bunch of Spider-Man jokes.”

“When I’m concentrating on something that I’m really trying to pull off, I don’t hear your jokes.”

“Literally did not even experience you saying that in person.”

“Just fuck me up.”

“Aw, he’s so cute.”

“He fucking melts your heart.”

“I thought you were gonna say your face is a drug. Cause I was gonna say, then I’m addicted to that.”

“Are you calling me a rat?”

“Honestly, that was really fucking scary. That was genuinely scary.”

“We are alone in this house. You disappear, and that appears.”

“That’s what you hear in the middle of the night that wakes you up.”

“I blew it, man. I fucking blew everything.”

“I’m too emotional to watch this stuff.”

“I wish I knew how to do that.”

“God? Is that you?”

“God, he’s cute.”

“Wow, right on time.”

“Did you know that we’re laughing about you?”

“What the fuck is this?”

“What did we do?”

“I’m feeling personally attacked right now.”

“They literally look at me and go ‘oh, no’, and then they don’t know what to do.”

“I’m feeling attacked.”

“Please stop making fun of my eyebrows 2k18.”