[Mona Marroquín, Memory Thread 2]
Mona, the infinity long and deep gray under eye circles, the crust in the eyes, the dry lips (fucking sucked being the one in the bed closer to the AC unit, thanks a lot you short fuck), the granny color underwear, the oversized plain white tee that no longer smelled like an ex-boyfriend. The eyebrows that needed plucking, the hair that needed flat ironing, the forearm fuzz that needed razoring (even when the costume covered her arms fully and it also literally had gloves).
5 AM. Early wake up because conventions on weekends waited for nobody.
Not like her roommate ever actually slept more than like. Two? Three hours a day. Hunter S Kim and the S stands for suck, try hard extraordinaire, every red blood cell competing for which could deliver oxygen the fastest. Mans barely qualified as human. Hence being a VTuber, etc. Imagine spending a couple hundos to imply you were too ugly IRL to hack it on cam (strictly speaking not true, some VTubers were pretty hot behind the OBS. Honestly, Hunter also was. But he also was very strictly off limits by dint of being so into men he formed an ouroboros shape with how much he avoided being straight, blah blah blah, munching his own ass, it worked on literally every level, them nine circles).
“I’m putting on music.”
The instant later, said music was on. Imagine giving someone a chance to protest her actions? Mona couldn’t envision such a situation.
Boom, get fucked Hunter.
M’wah. Love ya.
Mona started with the hotel ironing board, ever the classic shitty half assed barely can hold up its own weight when unfolded contraption coupled with the as shitty iron that has no steam so she had to wet the clothes herself. A crucial testimony to convention hours. All day every day, praise the Lord. Not here though. This was a godless placenot like God watched her nowadays, etc all, so on.
“I’ll do your costume too, boo.”
Services rendered, favors owed.
“And it’s gonna be cold,” the sea was right over There, a stones throw from some of the cosplay photo shoot areas, “so throw on a jacket too.”
Why yes, she did unironically care about him. Made it all the worse for him, end of the day (who’s a good boy? Who’s a good boy? Who will catch two knives in the back if he ever fucks with her? The one over there still writhing, still deciding if he’ll get out of bed or not. And he will get out of bed. For his own sake, if not hers. Suited her either way)
funny what an angel you think you've been
Theoretically an open thread if your kid has any reason to be at Anime Los Angeles 2024 (its private even then)
Hour and a half this time, babe, but who was counting, really?
>> HUNTER KIM: MEMORY START
Ninety-six minutes, some amount of seconds, more precisely, 3:24 AM burnt into his retinas in the moments before he clicked the lock button on his phone and let his eyelids fall—and then, sure, maybe anxiety brain didn’t actually let him fall asleep right away, anyway, maybe ninety-six minutes was his best overestimation, maybe he’d opened his phone one more time for another dance, YouTube Studio to Twitch to his socials, stream cancellation announcements, counting sad emoji reacts, worrying his bottom lip until he tasted iron—
Well, someone had to be serious about these things, and with present company considered the burden fell to him.
Hunter rose to sitting still wrapped in a hotel blanket chrysalis (inexplicably itchy!), fluffy mop of hair and disdainful eyes peeking out, blinking away grave dirt, the world’s most beautiful corpse as usual. Mona Lisa Marroquín shot him her least-winning smile, tragic reminder not everyone woke up perfect. It was loud and he would not strangle her with his own hands because he owed his dear friend oh-so-much; that she could probably toss him across the room didn’t factor into anything important.
He did owe her, this time — enough that it made him want to vomit a little, actually, but whatever.
By the time he shook himself properly free his face had rearranged itself into a complementary configuration, lips upturned, crinkly eyes, human facial expression, sparkle sparkle. The muscle in his jaw that never quite relaxed fully twitched under his skin and he considered how much ibuprofen he could take in one day before his kidneys melted under the strain.
“Thanks, queen,” he sang, dehydration voice cracking barely audible, joint cracking louder as he stretched his arms above his head, sleeves held tight by his fingertips for maximum aesthetic (silk pajamas, yukata style, thematic cohesion or something), “you’re a doll.”
He considered his costume mentally for a moment and dismissed the jacket; the outfit basically came with one and something something beauty is pain, you would think Mona Lisa would know that, all things considered. Probably she knew better than him in this particular realm, definitively hers and not his, for once, but he preferred to keep his imminent journey into enemy territory unexamined at this particular moment, thank you very much.
Hunter turned his phone onto his own kind of noisy brainrot just loud enough to interrupt hers as he slipped off the bed and passed by, blink blink innocent smile, and slipped into the bathroom.
>> HUNTER KIM: MEMORY START
Ninety-six minutes, some amount of seconds, more precisely, 3:24 AM burnt into his retinas in the moments before he clicked the lock button on his phone and let his eyelids fall—and then, sure, maybe anxiety brain didn’t actually let him fall asleep right away, anyway, maybe ninety-six minutes was his best overestimation, maybe he’d opened his phone one more time for another dance, YouTube Studio to Twitch to his socials, stream cancellation announcements, counting sad emoji reacts, worrying his bottom lip until he tasted iron—
Well, someone had to be serious about these things, and with present company considered the burden fell to him.
Hunter rose to sitting still wrapped in a hotel blanket chrysalis (inexplicably itchy!), fluffy mop of hair and disdainful eyes peeking out, blinking away grave dirt, the world’s most beautiful corpse as usual. Mona Lisa Marroquín shot him her least-winning smile, tragic reminder not everyone woke up perfect. It was loud and he would not strangle her with his own hands because he owed his dear friend oh-so-much; that she could probably toss him across the room didn’t factor into anything important.
He did owe her, this time — enough that it made him want to vomit a little, actually, but whatever.
By the time he shook himself properly free his face had rearranged itself into a complementary configuration, lips upturned, crinkly eyes, human facial expression, sparkle sparkle. The muscle in his jaw that never quite relaxed fully twitched under his skin and he considered how much ibuprofen he could take in one day before his kidneys melted under the strain.
“Thanks, queen,” he sang, dehydration voice cracking barely audible, joint cracking louder as he stretched his arms above his head, sleeves held tight by his fingertips for maximum aesthetic (silk pajamas, yukata style, thematic cohesion or something), “you’re a doll.”
He considered his costume mentally for a moment and dismissed the jacket; the outfit basically came with one and something something beauty is pain, you would think Mona Lisa would know that, all things considered. Probably she knew better than him in this particular realm, definitively hers and not his, for once, but he preferred to keep his imminent journey into enemy territory unexamined at this particular moment, thank you very much.
Hunter turned his phone onto his own kind of noisy brainrot just loud enough to interrupt hers as he slipped off the bed and passed by, blink blink innocent smile, and slipped into the bathroom.
Stupid pretty boy waking up like he’d already put on a full face of makeup and perfectly coiffed hair. Mona had enough emotional damage in her life as was hating any woman who dared look pretty, she didn’t need guys joining the apocalyptic choir of Instagram doomscrolling and weary glances at the mirror (the number one opp).
she’d recently noticed she tended to look better later in the day if she held off on breakfast. Food for thought? Not like she needed calories to fuel a sportsball life or anything. Liabilities could be culled, just like she had been from the Red Rock social ecosystem
Honestly the song he’d put on was one she liked as well. But the cacophony of their phones competing for drowning out the room ambiance in 日本語 (she knew those characters off the top ironically, like hell she’d be the sort of weeb who un-ironically had an interest in Japanese culture, like, pleeeeease) was agonizing. Hunter sounded thirsty, but when didn’t he? His history with men during their time knowing each other didn't exactly imply discerning tastes. Bitch you thirsty please grab a Sprite!
The bathroom door shut. The heat of the iron or maybe the exertion (C in PE, bby) was causing sweat to start tickling the corner of her eye. AC at full blast was a tale of contrasts. The bare skin on the back of her calves half frozen, the skin of her face right up against a blast furnace.
So here she was, way too early in the morning, exchanging her labor value for whatever indeterminate thing it was Hunter was useful for. Clout. Party invites. Vibes~. Something about it felt off to her, being the girl, doing the ironing, the clothes creation, carrying the emergency cosplay repair kit because she was definitely the only one between the two who could use it. Maybe it had been her doing the planning while Hunter had been working on his brand presencee too. Low key. Just a little bit.
Also, maybe, something about feeling like she was running a household reminded her of simpler times. Of power imbalances, of overwhelming expectations of her tiny prepubescent hands, of a home where she felt unwelcome despite it being her safe space by birth right.
Whatever. Equity, power dynamics, all that was a four letter word for the both of them. Fuck, cunt, cuck, so on.
Mona, Daiso-brand one dollar spray bottle almost empty, strutted up to the bathroom door. Bringing her phone, still tunes blasting, with her as a herald of her presence. Maybe she turned the volume up another notch too. Just subtle enough to pretend she hadn't even if the effect was stupid obvious like cowbell.
“Hunter.” Her knuckles hit the door. Regardless of that she tried the door handle before consent was offered. “Need more water for the ironing. And don’t drink from the sink, we have water bottles out here.” The classic full weekend supply that would be gone in half a day. As LVL Up 2021, so ALA 2024. As it would be in the past, so it would be in the future.
The phone in her hand dinged the default text received sound a couple of times in quick succession.
she’d recently noticed she tended to look better later in the day if she held off on breakfast. Food for thought? Not like she needed calories to fuel a sportsball life or anything. Liabilities could be culled, just like she had been from the Red Rock social ecosystem
Honestly the song he’d put on was one she liked as well. But the cacophony of their phones competing for drowning out the room ambiance in 日本語 (she knew those characters off the top ironically, like hell she’d be the sort of weeb who un-ironically had an interest in Japanese culture, like, pleeeeease) was agonizing. Hunter sounded thirsty, but when didn’t he? His history with men during their time knowing each other didn't exactly imply discerning tastes. Bitch you thirsty please grab a Sprite!
The bathroom door shut. The heat of the iron or maybe the exertion (C in PE, bby) was causing sweat to start tickling the corner of her eye. AC at full blast was a tale of contrasts. The bare skin on the back of her calves half frozen, the skin of her face right up against a blast furnace.
So here she was, way too early in the morning, exchanging her labor value for whatever indeterminate thing it was Hunter was useful for. Clout. Party invites. Vibes~. Something about it felt off to her, being the girl, doing the ironing, the clothes creation, carrying the emergency cosplay repair kit because she was definitely the only one between the two who could use it. Maybe it had been her doing the planning while Hunter had been working on his brand presencee too. Low key. Just a little bit.
Also, maybe, something about feeling like she was running a household reminded her of simpler times. Of power imbalances, of overwhelming expectations of her tiny prepubescent hands, of a home where she felt unwelcome despite it being her safe space by birth right.
Whatever. Equity, power dynamics, all that was a four letter word for the both of them. Fuck, cunt, cuck, so on.
Mona, Daiso-brand one dollar spray bottle almost empty, strutted up to the bathroom door. Bringing her phone, still tunes blasting, with her as a herald of her presence. Maybe she turned the volume up another notch too. Just subtle enough to pretend she hadn't even if the effect was stupid obvious like cowbell.
“Hunter.” Her knuckles hit the door. Regardless of that she tried the door handle before consent was offered. “Need more water for the ironing. And don’t drink from the sink, we have water bottles out here.” The classic full weekend supply that would be gone in half a day. As LVL Up 2021, so ALA 2024. As it would be in the past, so it would be in the future.
The phone in her hand dinged the default text received sound a couple of times in quick succession.
Step one: cold water, meet face. Highly effective in not erasing the giant bags under his eyes whatsoever, maybe it peeled a layer of glaze off his dead eyes, hard to tell with the rest of the layers still firmly in place. Hunter soaked a washcloth and pressed it directly into his eye sockets; slightly more effective, at least in terms of improving his ability to perceive. His readiness to be perceived remained frustratingly unchanged, not that he was expecting anything.
If he’d dragged himself out of bed and found his expression had magically returned to the land of the living—you know, it would help, but it wouldn’t actually solve the most pressing of his problems?
The whole being perceived thing to start with. Like as a human person with skin and limbs and facial expressions that popped onto his face unbidden—just existing like that, in front of other people? Horrifying. People did this on purpose? Daily? Wonders never ceased, etcetera. Mona Lisa was of course not people and whatever feelings she had about his face were wholly irrelevant to him, ditto basically every (not basically, every, if anything he counts less, right,) other zombie shuffling aimlessly around Red Rock. But here?
Not that he wasn’t expecting this place to be also mostly losers, but there was at least the possibility that someone who mattered in some currently-undefined way would Look at him, and come to Some Form Of Judgement, and that sounded miserable, and the logical ways to deal with that was to attain perfection and then promptly go be perceived as much as possible. This was probably not an attainable set of goals for most people, but thankfully he was blessed with being like 95% of the way there. Just a little work, tug the death mask off at the corners and peel it away, bingo, perception time. He really needed to just not think about it.
Technically, officially, that was Mona’s job, along with basically everything else. Hunter wasn’t useless with makeup, it wasn’t the first time in his life he’d wanted someone to look at him with awe instead of vague concern, but this was a special occasion, something about makeup showing up differently under cameras, there would be pictures, all of that, and yes, okay, he could wait for her to finish the ironing, it was part of this broad package deal they’d worked out, but, but, but.
Whatever. All he needed to do was erase all the inconveniently human bits of him off his face, which—both weirdly new and literally what he was doing all the time forever. It would be fine. He could do one thing himself, and then he would forever have partial credit which was still an unbearable amount to owe a debt on but it was better than having no input at all.
Lenses first - conveniently placed next to the mirror already, he nearly popped in the wrong ones by mistake, pink and red were surprisingly easy to mix up in the vaguely yellow light of the bathroom. He would mentally edit out the teary-eyed wincing as he probed half-blindly, but with that bit erased from memory, incredible, the definitely not-wet eyes looking in the mirror were bright red, irises pushing past their normal limits, blink blink eyelash flutter okay, they were getting somewhere. Progress.
Concealer, thankfully easier to pick his out this time, he got to work.
… This was not actually going well!
Something about the lighting in the bathroom, Hunter had decided—he’d think he’d done a half decent job, dark circles tamed, freckles wiped clean from his blank slate face, and then he’d shine his phone flashlight on himself for a second and actually everything was a fucking disaster and it wasn’t his fault obviously but unfortunately he was still the one who had to do something about it.
He stared vaguely at his face in the mirror, nose wrinkled, glaring, taunting him. Maybe the lighting at the con would suck and he’d get away with it. Optimism really didn’t suit him.
It was of course at this moment that he noticed, in quick succession, that Mona Lisa’s personal accompaniment was suddenly louder, and also that she was saying his name, and also that the door was opening, and he practically dove for the faucet, flipping the water on and splashing it back in his face.
He could tolerate her judging the half-smudged mess that was now painting his face. He could not tolerate her judging his earnest efforts, and an ounce of self-sabotage now was worth a pound of humility.
“Mhm,” he replied, the very picture of boredom, dabbing the concealer off his face with the still-wet washcloth, not looking like he was on the verge of screaming even a little bit. “Whatever you say, mom.”
He could wait for her to do his makeup, sure, whatever. Whatever! He gave himself his partial credit internally anyway. Whatever kept their ground even. God knew if she took too many steps ahead he’d have her by the hair.
If he’d dragged himself out of bed and found his expression had magically returned to the land of the living—you know, it would help, but it wouldn’t actually solve the most pressing of his problems?
The whole being perceived thing to start with. Like as a human person with skin and limbs and facial expressions that popped onto his face unbidden—just existing like that, in front of other people? Horrifying. People did this on purpose? Daily? Wonders never ceased, etcetera. Mona Lisa was of course not people and whatever feelings she had about his face were wholly irrelevant to him, ditto basically every (not basically, every, if anything he counts less, right,) other zombie shuffling aimlessly around Red Rock. But here?
Not that he wasn’t expecting this place to be also mostly losers, but there was at least the possibility that someone who mattered in some currently-undefined way would Look at him, and come to Some Form Of Judgement, and that sounded miserable, and the logical ways to deal with that was to attain perfection and then promptly go be perceived as much as possible. This was probably not an attainable set of goals for most people, but thankfully he was blessed with being like 95% of the way there. Just a little work, tug the death mask off at the corners and peel it away, bingo, perception time. He really needed to just not think about it.
Technically, officially, that was Mona’s job, along with basically everything else. Hunter wasn’t useless with makeup, it wasn’t the first time in his life he’d wanted someone to look at him with awe instead of vague concern, but this was a special occasion, something about makeup showing up differently under cameras, there would be pictures, all of that, and yes, okay, he could wait for her to finish the ironing, it was part of this broad package deal they’d worked out, but, but, but.
Whatever. All he needed to do was erase all the inconveniently human bits of him off his face, which—both weirdly new and literally what he was doing all the time forever. It would be fine. He could do one thing himself, and then he would forever have partial credit which was still an unbearable amount to owe a debt on but it was better than having no input at all.
Lenses first - conveniently placed next to the mirror already, he nearly popped in the wrong ones by mistake, pink and red were surprisingly easy to mix up in the vaguely yellow light of the bathroom. He would mentally edit out the teary-eyed wincing as he probed half-blindly, but with that bit erased from memory, incredible, the definitely not-wet eyes looking in the mirror were bright red, irises pushing past their normal limits, blink blink eyelash flutter okay, they were getting somewhere. Progress.
Concealer, thankfully easier to pick his out this time, he got to work.
… This was not actually going well!
Something about the lighting in the bathroom, Hunter had decided—he’d think he’d done a half decent job, dark circles tamed, freckles wiped clean from his blank slate face, and then he’d shine his phone flashlight on himself for a second and actually everything was a fucking disaster and it wasn’t his fault obviously but unfortunately he was still the one who had to do something about it.
He stared vaguely at his face in the mirror, nose wrinkled, glaring, taunting him. Maybe the lighting at the con would suck and he’d get away with it. Optimism really didn’t suit him.
It was of course at this moment that he noticed, in quick succession, that Mona Lisa’s personal accompaniment was suddenly louder, and also that she was saying his name, and also that the door was opening, and he practically dove for the faucet, flipping the water on and splashing it back in his face.
He could tolerate her judging the half-smudged mess that was now painting his face. He could not tolerate her judging his earnest efforts, and an ounce of self-sabotage now was worth a pound of humility.
“Mhm,” he replied, the very picture of boredom, dabbing the concealer off his face with the still-wet washcloth, not looking like he was on the verge of screaming even a little bit. “Whatever you say, mom.”
He could wait for her to do his makeup, sure, whatever. Whatever! He gave himself his partial credit internally anyway. Whatever kept their ground even. God knew if she took too many steps ahead he’d have her by the hair.
sis
RAM
like did you know
you might catch laringytis there
The bathroom door opening started and ended at a crack barely large enough to fit a finger through. Hunter's next boyfriend, etc.
Hey why the sudden concern
sis
u get sick at cons
like
ALL THE TIME
Yes! but like not that bad lol
When I get home I'll hate myself for 2 days and be fine
sis
SHRUG
same as when you healthy
God damn it.
True enough true enough
Let me guess you just started your biology HW
sis
just concerned!!!
do not read into things that do not concern you
Suuuuure
I'll bring you back a fan btw
sis
!!!
do the one with great wave on it
if you can find
Yup
I’ll stop distracting you from your project that is definitely due in two days
sis
i was BUSY
practicing our cheer routine!
During winter break??
sis
i have to stay on top of things!
red rock cheer tryouts are tough!
not that you’d know though
And thank god I don’t
sis
Oh yeah. Mona had a jackass to deal with present day present time. Right. The door finished swinging open a full half minute after it had started its long, not-so-hard (also Hunter’s next boyfriend) odyssey. Next song, why yes, Mona's playlist was partially ironic (allegedly (far as anyone knew (including herself, not like she knew what the hell was going on half the time) ) ). Mona let ‘er run for a good second while she stared at Hunter while refusing on principle to Perceive.
“Hotel has a makeup mirror, by the way.” She clicked a switch, until then innocuously hidden under the marble of the rich business-people sink temporarily turned daddy’s-money cosplayer sink. The vague and pleasant sun warm yellows all detonated at once. Flashbangs to the eyes, and then, sterile white. Makeup, in a way, was surgery for the face.
“So, while I appreciate you putting in the effort to actually do something relevant,” Mona shrugged, sliding her phone onto the precise spot on the sink where the acoustics had the most infinity mirror bounce, imagining a boot squeaking in your ear forever, and so on. “Doesn’t save us any time when we have to wait for your makeup remover to dry. Sooooo,”
“Let me see whatcha got.”
A brief one over. Mona didn’t bother getting particularly close.
“Good on the lenses… You forgot the primer.”
Not like Hunter needed to blur out pores or texture, man had the skin most image-conscious teenage girls only dared to dream of hiding under the covers where the mirror couldn’t get them, still scrubbing at the stinging wet in the corner of their eyes. Not that Mona knew from experience (really).
“And also, costume first. Unless you want to be transferring your beautiful skin tone onto that white collar I spent an hour on.” Kaveh was a fairly intricate costume, all the damn Genshin characters were, but of course he was one half of PEAK fiction, so it had been work Mona had been happy to take on. She hoped Hunter found his tall sculpted-breastplate for a chest man somewhere out on those con grounds.
She’d warn him about the risks of hooking up with a cosplayer but like, eh. She wasn’t the foremost expert on the details, most (all) of her knowledge about the gory details were courtesy of her older friends like Gabby. Ok Gabby swung for the same team but still, on the off-chance that Mona ever wanted to go for deranged girls in cosplaydefinitely never a thought that randomly intruded like Kermit in that one viral vine (era when Vine existed and Mona had still been… well. Y’know) where he was singing the Usher song as opposed to deranged guys in cosplay it was useful information maybe, if you squinted at it and looked at it sideways.
But yeah, Hunter could figure it out on his own. Or just like, be annoyingly lucky and ‘Nah, I’d Win’ all over the place like he usually did.
“So wait til I’m done ironing.” She started out of the bathroom with a fresh cup of water to blessIsaiah 12:3 their cosplay with. “Maybe make small talk like a normal human being? Large talk, if you’re so inclined. Tell me a bit about your latest projects, bae.” Hunter did things with his free time, that was definitely a thing he did. Insofar as his free time could be called that, as opposed to his work. School was just his side hustle, etc.
RAM
like did you know
you might catch laringytis there
The bathroom door opening started and ended at a crack barely large enough to fit a finger through. Hunter's next boyfriend, etc.
Hey why the sudden concern
sis
u get sick at cons
like
ALL THE TIME
Yes! but like not that bad lol
When I get home I'll hate myself for 2 days and be fine
sis
SHRUG
same as when you healthy
God damn it.
True enough true enough
Let me guess you just started your biology HW
sis
just concerned!!!
do not read into things that do not concern you
Suuuuure
I'll bring you back a fan btw
sis
!!!
do the one with great wave on it
if you can find
Yup
I’ll stop distracting you from your project that is definitely due in two days
sis
i was BUSY
practicing our cheer routine!
During winter break??
sis
i have to stay on top of things!
red rock cheer tryouts are tough!
not that you’d know though
And thank god I don’t
sis
Oh yeah. Mona had a jackass to deal with present day present time. Right. The door finished swinging open a full half minute after it had started its long, not-so-hard (also Hunter’s next boyfriend) odyssey. Next song, why yes, Mona's playlist was partially ironic (allegedly (far as anyone knew (including herself, not like she knew what the hell was going on half the time) ) ). Mona let ‘er run for a good second while she stared at Hunter while refusing on principle to Perceive.
“Hotel has a makeup mirror, by the way.” She clicked a switch, until then innocuously hidden under the marble of the rich business-people sink temporarily turned daddy’s-money cosplayer sink. The vague and pleasant sun warm yellows all detonated at once. Flashbangs to the eyes, and then, sterile white. Makeup, in a way, was surgery for the face.
“So, while I appreciate you putting in the effort to actually do something relevant,” Mona shrugged, sliding her phone onto the precise spot on the sink where the acoustics had the most infinity mirror bounce, imagining a boot squeaking in your ear forever, and so on. “Doesn’t save us any time when we have to wait for your makeup remover to dry. Sooooo,”
“Let me see whatcha got.”
A brief one over. Mona didn’t bother getting particularly close.
“Good on the lenses… You forgot the primer.”
Not like Hunter needed to blur out pores or texture, man had the skin most image-conscious teenage girls only dared to dream of hiding under the covers where the mirror couldn’t get them, still scrubbing at the stinging wet in the corner of their eyes. Not that Mona knew from experience (really).
“And also, costume first. Unless you want to be transferring your beautiful skin tone onto that white collar I spent an hour on.” Kaveh was a fairly intricate costume, all the damn Genshin characters were, but of course he was one half of PEAK fiction, so it had been work Mona had been happy to take on. She hoped Hunter found his tall sculpted-breastplate for a chest man somewhere out on those con grounds.
She’d warn him about the risks of hooking up with a cosplayer but like, eh. She wasn’t the foremost expert on the details, most (all) of her knowledge about the gory details were courtesy of her older friends like Gabby. Ok Gabby swung for the same team but still, on the off-chance that Mona ever wanted to go for deranged girls in cosplaydefinitely never a thought that randomly intruded like Kermit in that one viral vine (era when Vine existed and Mona had still been… well. Y’know) where he was singing the Usher song as opposed to deranged guys in cosplay it was useful information maybe, if you squinted at it and looked at it sideways.
But yeah, Hunter could figure it out on his own. Or just like, be annoyingly lucky and ‘Nah, I’d Win’ all over the place like he usually did.
“So wait til I’m done ironing.” She started out of the bathroom with a fresh cup of water to blessIsaiah 12:3 their cosplay with. “Maybe make small talk like a normal human being? Large talk, if you’re so inclined. Tell me a bit about your latest projects, bae.” Hunter did things with his free time, that was definitely a thing he did. Insofar as his free time could be called that, as opposed to his work. School was just his side hustle, etc.
This was fine! Perfectly fine and normal, no part of Hunter wanted to die even a little bit at all. God, she could have zero-sarcasm stood to be more of a bitch about it—like, to her severely limited credit, maybe she had learned something about dodging mines placed directly in her line of sight, but she could at least do him the kindness of letting him wallow a tiny bit? What else are friends for, etcetera, besides like all of the sewing and measurements and so forth that he’d definitely figure out at some non-specific future time.
Spotify blessed him with suitably chaotic energy to sulk to, RNG blessings as usual.
Okay, but if he looked in the mirror and ignored the slight pink left behind on his cheeks from having rubbed them half to death honestly how was he supposed to know there was a makeup mirror under the sink, like was Mona hiding that tidbit from him specifically so that he’d make a mistake like this because that was probably unlikely which was not impossible but also weird place to make a 4D chess move when she could just make his pants make his ass look lumpy and he could not actually kill her if she did regardless of whether she deserved it and
Okay, but if he looked in the mirror, actually, the lenses? Ideal. Plus some fangs and he could cheap out on this year’s Halloween costume and be the hottest bitch in the room by a mile regardless. I’m breaking down, breaking down at the thought of you, he sang quietly under his breath, private concert, Mona wished. A couple of measures steadied his stupid heartbeat, anyways.
So—whatever. It was fiiiiiiine. He could just skip the makeup entirely and look Kaveh hasn’t slept and he has freckles now and he’s perfect, adding this to the fanfiction I am writing to commemorate this moment, the theoretical fujo in the audience says. He didn’t need Mona except in all the ways it had already been established he did and ideally he would stop needing her before the worms in her brain infested him fully, particularly the ones that were currently making him feel feelings like “vague fondness” and god forbid, “gratitude”.
Also he completely forgave her for any and all previous sins actually, given her ceding the floor and allowing him the grace to indulge in some proper gossip. Streamer gossip, the most sacred and terrible kind involving zero words in the Bible, mostly his was irrelevant to her and vice versa but god did they eat it up regardless. What else are friends for, etcetera in stereo. In theory she could have just been being nice but LOL, could you imagine?
“Mm, it’s a lot—you know, always, forever, buuuut if you insist~”
Hunter slid onto the bathroom countertop, just high up enough he could kick his feet aimlessly as he talked and close enough to the mirror.
“Sooo there was whole thing I had planned with Yana-P, you know her—” Mona probably didn’t, why would she care, 200k subs was not enough to break anyone out of the niche bubble they build their own empire in, but names were just labels to stick on the puppets at the puppet show in these sorts of stories, anyway— “like, a whole series? Like, months of stuff, bi-weekly, and collabs are such a fucking thing so it’s been like running laps for weeks, I’ve been stalking her Discord and it’s even more of a disaster than mine, okay anyway—"
“—and that was when the bomb dropped that she was sleeping with her mod which would have already been a whole thing, but then he outed her as being like, sixteen, I think, which was supposed to be revenge or something but given he was twenty-three, liiiiiiiiike—(this would qualify as some kind of cautionary tale if either of them was completely stupid, don’t fuck your staff, obviously, or twenty-three-year-olds for that matter but Mona could maybe use a refresher course in that one tee-bee-aych)”
“—so like, Chisato-tier bullet dodge, neither of us had synced our schedules yet so we hadn’t announced and oh my god, if I’d gotten dragged down by bullshit on that level I’d have been happy she got doxxed so I could set her house on fire myself—”
“—got the Self-Proclaimed Angel cover set up last minute for this week” — picked it out special for you babe, hope you like it, kisses — “so they can’t throw a fit at no stream this weekend not that that ever stops them, fucking animals, affectionate, you know,” she knew.
“So! Collabs fucking suck and are cancelled forever, that’s the news.” At some point he’d started pacing without noticing, three steps, quarter turn, repeat, this time he poked his head partway out the door, blink blink, picture of innocence if you hadn’t heard literally anything he just said. “You got anything?”
Spotify blessed him with suitably chaotic energy to sulk to, RNG blessings as usual.
Okay, but if he looked in the mirror and ignored the slight pink left behind on his cheeks from having rubbed them half to death honestly how was he supposed to know there was a makeup mirror under the sink, like was Mona hiding that tidbit from him specifically so that he’d make a mistake like this because that was probably unlikely which was not impossible but also weird place to make a 4D chess move when she could just make his pants make his ass look lumpy and he could not actually kill her if she did regardless of whether she deserved it and
Okay, but if he looked in the mirror, actually, the lenses? Ideal. Plus some fangs and he could cheap out on this year’s Halloween costume and be the hottest bitch in the room by a mile regardless. I’m breaking down, breaking down at the thought of you, he sang quietly under his breath, private concert, Mona wished. A couple of measures steadied his stupid heartbeat, anyways.
So—whatever. It was fiiiiiiine. He could just skip the makeup entirely and look Kaveh hasn’t slept and he has freckles now and he’s perfect, adding this to the fanfiction I am writing to commemorate this moment, the theoretical fujo in the audience says. He didn’t need Mona except in all the ways it had already been established he did and ideally he would stop needing her before the worms in her brain infested him fully, particularly the ones that were currently making him feel feelings like “vague fondness” and god forbid, “gratitude”.
Also he completely forgave her for any and all previous sins actually, given her ceding the floor and allowing him the grace to indulge in some proper gossip. Streamer gossip, the most sacred and terrible kind involving zero words in the Bible, mostly his was irrelevant to her and vice versa but god did they eat it up regardless. What else are friends for, etcetera in stereo. In theory she could have just been being nice but LOL, could you imagine?
“Mm, it’s a lot—you know, always, forever, buuuut if you insist~”
Hunter slid onto the bathroom countertop, just high up enough he could kick his feet aimlessly as he talked and close enough to the mirror.
“Sooo there was whole thing I had planned with Yana-P, you know her—” Mona probably didn’t, why would she care, 200k subs was not enough to break anyone out of the niche bubble they build their own empire in, but names were just labels to stick on the puppets at the puppet show in these sorts of stories, anyway— “like, a whole series? Like, months of stuff, bi-weekly, and collabs are such a fucking thing so it’s been like running laps for weeks, I’ve been stalking her Discord and it’s even more of a disaster than mine, okay anyway—"
“—and that was when the bomb dropped that she was sleeping with her mod which would have already been a whole thing, but then he outed her as being like, sixteen, I think, which was supposed to be revenge or something but given he was twenty-three, liiiiiiiiike—(this would qualify as some kind of cautionary tale if either of them was completely stupid, don’t fuck your staff, obviously, or twenty-three-year-olds for that matter but Mona could maybe use a refresher course in that one tee-bee-aych)”
“—so like, Chisato-tier bullet dodge, neither of us had synced our schedules yet so we hadn’t announced and oh my god, if I’d gotten dragged down by bullshit on that level I’d have been happy she got doxxed so I could set her house on fire myself—”
“—got the Self-Proclaimed Angel cover set up last minute for this week” — picked it out special for you babe, hope you like it, kisses — “so they can’t throw a fit at no stream this weekend not that that ever stops them, fucking animals, affectionate, you know,” she knew.
“So! Collabs fucking suck and are cancelled forever, that’s the news.” At some point he’d started pacing without noticing, three steps, quarter turn, repeat, this time he poked his head partway out the door, blink blink, picture of innocence if you hadn’t heard literally anything he just said. “You got anything?”
Yana-P’s discord was a low key disaster, yeah. Mona (dasheth1 blessed be her name) was an honorary mod and… yikes.
Front sash one fell flat, crisp, wrinkle free like Mona’s gray matter. She ran a finger nail against the seams where the gold trim that spread over Kaveh’s costume like kudzu still evoked the memories of her back slowly cramping up while she stooped over a garage workbench. No give or looseness, so as expected, she got a gold star. For effort, and for success in said effort. She flipped the sash to neatly drape over the edge of the ironing board. Now for the belt.
Wait, what was Hunter talking about?
“It was a good cover. But you knew I was gonna say that.”
Praising Hunter, as earned as it was very unfortunate, was a ritual as old as spacetime. Like the laws of physics, the outcome was predictable. Man had pipes, call that Mario.
“But naaaaaah, no affection for them.”
“Affectionate.” slash A, tone indicator, etc.
“But like,”
Mona gingerly held up the finished product. Crisp, recycled out of a couple of muslin shirts she’d found in clearance. The sun (a desert sun, it was SoCal (akshually)) captured the protective opaqueness of the whites well. Hunter’s slut energy would only go so far.
“It’s P.” And Mona wasn’t talking Skateboard. “What do you expect? Now go put this on and let’s get this show in the road.”
Aaaaaand however long Hunter took to yassi-yaoify himself, by the time Hunter came out of the bathroom and was ready for Mona to continue carrying his ass through his cosplay debut, Mona was the long sleeve gathered cuff, she was the cinched waist-high pleather shorts she hadn’t needed to shimmy at all to fit into, the thigh-to-crotch loops clicked into place, she was the cloak with sleeves, the meticulously embroidered spider patterns in midnight dark, she was the silky elbow-high gloves, she was the tassel foam with metal spray painted rings (hi Ray, fuck you Raywhy was the hottest guy in school the femboy, many such cases).
And nothing else. Every motion she made to suit the fuck up was measured and diligent. Not a single stitch torn in five-going-on-six years of cosplay and she wasn’t about to start being sloppy now. So she was Kafka with the Mona hair and the bare legs, no tights, no boots.
“Looks good, Hunter.” And he of course knew it, and that was why she hated her. /a. Maybe. She one-eightied him with one finger. And made sure the makeup lighting was on before they started.
“So Gabby,” AKA MakiFujiwaraVT; AKA I actually know the names of my friends unlike you, you stupid fruity hot boy, “has been having some trouble with her latest girlfriend and that’s why she’s been pretty radio silent on Twitter. Like, she’s told her chat but unless you’ve got her on as background ambiance whenever she’s streaming you wouldn’t be getting any tea,”
maybe it was a bit weird her BFFsies petty relationship drama was sometimes the highlight of her day?
“and like, to be fair to Gabby, having to deal with that creep who manages Candice is like.” Gagging noises. Retching noises. Let it never be said Mona wasn’t good at voice acting where it totally didn’t matter and where nobody but her loser friends were tuned in, “you know how straight men be. Like, literally. I’m sure you’ve had to deal with being shot down by guys who don’t deserve the time of day from you but you’re attracted against your better taste or judgement,”
wait shit was she signalling she cared about Hunter’s life at all? Course correctunlike her life,
“but yeah, that aside. We’ve been shit-talking dude for the past week and, I swear to god, he’s just gotten worse because,”
“and yeah, Gabby and a few of the girls and I were doing like a critical listen along of Wallsocket, y’know,”
The felt tip of the liner in Mona’s fingers flicked a final few times. As palpable as fairy dust or glitter finding a home on Hunter’s skin.
“fashionably months late but. I put Gabby on it and then she started getting really into an overarching theme of, uh, I guess I’d call it how obsession with other people can override your identity which, y’know, we kinda deal with that one all the time,”
And then Mona was done at the same time that her train of thought’s bridge unceremoniously collapsed because she no longer had to kill time with things she honestly didn’t even care if Hunter knew about or notbut like, learned helplessness from years of exposure to the Hunter aura. Would it maybe kill him to care a little? It’d be nice if at least one of them did, etc.
“Mmm, let’s see.”
She flicked her thumb at the mirror that Hunter could already see his own face in. The smooth applique, the nonexistent darkness under his eyes, the slight sharpness added to his now duskier lips, the pixel sharp double winged eyeliner on both inner and outer corner, the earthy hue eyeshadow with a dusting of sunset orange and golds, like the sun melting into the Sonoran desert but specifically over the suburbs of Phoenix because Mona’s makeup skills were just An experience, not The experience.
“Nine point five out of ten from me. You can dock points at your leisure.”
Front sash one fell flat, crisp, wrinkle free like Mona’s gray matter. She ran a finger nail against the seams where the gold trim that spread over Kaveh’s costume like kudzu still evoked the memories of her back slowly cramping up while she stooped over a garage workbench. No give or looseness, so as expected, she got a gold star. For effort, and for success in said effort. She flipped the sash to neatly drape over the edge of the ironing board. Now for the belt.
Wait, what was Hunter talking about?
“It was a good cover. But you knew I was gonna say that.”
Praising Hunter, as earned as it was very unfortunate, was a ritual as old as spacetime. Like the laws of physics, the outcome was predictable. Man had pipes, call that Mario.
“But naaaaaah, no affection for them.”
“Affectionate.” slash A, tone indicator, etc.
“But like,”
Mona gingerly held up the finished product. Crisp, recycled out of a couple of muslin shirts she’d found in clearance. The sun (a desert sun, it was SoCal (akshually)) captured the protective opaqueness of the whites well. Hunter’s slut energy would only go so far.
“It’s P.” And Mona wasn’t talking Skateboard. “What do you expect? Now go put this on and let’s get this show in the road.”
Aaaaaand however long Hunter took to yassi-yaoify himself, by the time Hunter came out of the bathroom and was ready for Mona to continue carrying his ass through his cosplay debut, Mona was the long sleeve gathered cuff, she was the cinched waist-high pleather shorts she hadn’t needed to shimmy at all to fit into, the thigh-to-crotch loops clicked into place, she was the cloak with sleeves, the meticulously embroidered spider patterns in midnight dark, she was the silky elbow-high gloves, she was the tassel foam with metal spray painted rings (hi Ray, fuck you Raywhy was the hottest guy in school the femboy, many such cases).
And nothing else. Every motion she made to suit the fuck up was measured and diligent. Not a single stitch torn in five-going-on-six years of cosplay and she wasn’t about to start being sloppy now. So she was Kafka with the Mona hair and the bare legs, no tights, no boots.
“Looks good, Hunter.” And he of course knew it, and that was why she hated her. /a. Maybe. She one-eightied him with one finger. And made sure the makeup lighting was on before they started.
“So Gabby,” AKA MakiFujiwaraVT; AKA I actually know the names of my friends unlike you, you stupid fruity hot boy, “has been having some trouble with her latest girlfriend and that’s why she’s been pretty radio silent on Twitter. Like, she’s told her chat but unless you’ve got her on as background ambiance whenever she’s streaming you wouldn’t be getting any tea,”
maybe it was a bit weird her BFFsies petty relationship drama was sometimes the highlight of her day?
“and like, to be fair to Gabby, having to deal with that creep who manages Candice is like.” Gagging noises. Retching noises. Let it never be said Mona wasn’t good at voice acting where it totally didn’t matter and where nobody but her loser friends were tuned in, “you know how straight men be. Like, literally. I’m sure you’ve had to deal with being shot down by guys who don’t deserve the time of day from you but you’re attracted against your better taste or judgement,”
wait shit was she signalling she cared about Hunter’s life at all? Course correctunlike her life,
“but yeah, that aside. We’ve been shit-talking dude for the past week and, I swear to god, he’s just gotten worse because,”
“and yeah, Gabby and a few of the girls and I were doing like a critical listen along of Wallsocket, y’know,”
The felt tip of the liner in Mona’s fingers flicked a final few times. As palpable as fairy dust or glitter finding a home on Hunter’s skin.
“fashionably months late but. I put Gabby on it and then she started getting really into an overarching theme of, uh, I guess I’d call it how obsession with other people can override your identity which, y’know, we kinda deal with that one all the time,”
And then Mona was done at the same time that her train of thought’s bridge unceremoniously collapsed because she no longer had to kill time with things she honestly didn’t even care if Hunter knew about or notbut like, learned helplessness from years of exposure to the Hunter aura. Would it maybe kill him to care a little? It’d be nice if at least one of them did, etc.
“Mmm, let’s see.”
She flicked her thumb at the mirror that Hunter could already see his own face in. The smooth applique, the nonexistent darkness under his eyes, the slight sharpness added to his now duskier lips, the pixel sharp double winged eyeliner on both inner and outer corner, the earthy hue eyeshadow with a dusting of sunset orange and golds, like the sun melting into the Sonoran desert but specifically over the suburbs of Phoenix because Mona’s makeup skills were just An experience, not The experience.
“Nine point five out of ten from me. You can dock points at your leisure.”