[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 didand 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 didand 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.”
It was a good cover, wasn’t it, last second considering especially, like not that he hadn’t had it in mind as an option for a minute, Hunter liked his song choices deliciously bitter, but god, the collab would have been sooo much better if it had worked out? He already had his half of their first song recorded, even, he could record the other half himself he gueeeessed but it wasn’t the saaaaaame blah blah blah he didn’t say a word of it out loud. The moment had passed or had never existed, if the two of them were ever honest with themselves, which they never could be or the game would be over and what was the fun in that, right.
He ran his fingers over proffered fabric in delicate silence, back to the bathroom. Back to the mirror, pajamas off. Blink blink wrinkled brow, scrunched nose, flitting back and forth between sparkling red eyes and a stomach that stubbornly refused to be as perfectly flat as that of the character model he intended to emulate. Euphoria to misery, ping pong.
Clothes on before the mood soured. Layers so gauzy he thought they might disintegrate on contact with his skin, all by design, of coursemaybe don’t manifest another thing to owe Mona thanks, the tunic fit loose and tight in every spot it should. Pants nexttruly a shame the cape covered the fit in the back, no misery there, then belt, sash, cape, bits, pieces, like putting a puzzle together bit by bit, trying and failing every time to resist looking until he was finished, he may as well have maintained unbroken eye contact with the man in the mirror.
Him. The him in the mirror. This bizarre hybrid creature, red eyes and brown bedhead, freckles and dark circles and below the neck unrecognizable, a being that existed in photoshoots exclusively. He bounced on his heels, there was a tension in the incongruity but at the same time consider: maybe he’d look good in half-translucent white the rest of the year? Worth considering.
Hunter’s preoccupation was such that he near enough forgot to react when he slipped back out of the bathroom and found Mona having mostly replaced herself because that was simply the mood of the moment anyway, why wouldn’t she, but he did her the service of a disinterested but appreciative look up and down, admiring the craftsmanship exclusivelyand maybe the legs, yeah, in a quietly envious sort of way, some things you take to the grave etc.
“You too,” graciously but honest enough, followed by the effortlessly graceful twirlproduct of a lot of fucking effort actually. Sat down, eyes fluttered closed, implicitly trusting, gross, don’t think about it.
He didn’t speak, because she’d kill him if a stretch of his facial muscles knocked her brush or pencil out of position, opening his mouth was the most dangerous game; he was a recital of perfectly choreographed micro-expressions, the barely quirked eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching upward, the nose wiggle, taking the place of—not much, really. His circus but not his monkeys. Tragically relatable monkeys, in this case, maybe. He still didn’t say anything. Actual empathy would be a violation of their social contractwhich existed in his head exclusively and regardless would hold Damocles-sharp over their relationship forever which was very cool and normal.
Thinking about what the work's doing to your i-den-ti-tyyyyy, could not possibly be me, Hunter did not say as Mona finished erasing the recognizable parts of his face, it was too neat of a lineup. He discarded any other stray thoughts on the subjectbecause those were the kind of thoughts that drown you if you let them and he was too cute for that kind of bloating thaaaaanks.
They would have melted the moment he met eyes with the mirror, anyway. Blink, blink, slower, eyelashes just sweeping the tops of his cheeks. The head tilt, one way and then the other, synchronizing the movements in the mirror to the ones his brain told him he was making himself. Reconciling. Watching in real time as eyes that were not quite his lit up. He felt lightheaded, giddy for a moment.
“Thank you,” guileless, beaming, “it’s perfect”, his brain caught up with his words a moment too late and they tasted like stomach acid. He turned away, the nose wrinkle, the pout, deeply annoying, by the end of the day they’d both probably forget about it.
“Close enough that I can make up the difference, anyhow,” the artist cannot do her best work without an ideal canvas, whatever. Made him feel a little better to show a little teeth, but the face in the mirror didn’t need better. The only thing to tear his eyes away was the siren call of the final steps—blonde hair, pre-styled and braided and affixed with hair clips, gift-wrapped in mesh. The wig cap tugged over his head eagerly (inexplicably itchy, again—pain is beauty, itching is pain,) the wig on top of it, tugging strands of fine plastic into place. The peacock feather hair pin, the clip-on earrings. One more glance in the mirror, his best and most trusted friend at this juncture.
There it was.
Stupid in retrospect for Hunter to have been anxious, self-conscious, right? Hunter wasn’t even here.
He managed to not completely humiliate himself by gushing over Mona’s handiwork yet again though he could admit to himself, consciously, just for a moment, that she maybe, kind of, deserved it. No use letting it get to her head, right? He struck a pose instead for her approvaland pretend he hadn't been practicing for weeks, oh he just woke up like this in spirit if not body, tamping his smile down to proper size for the approval of imaginary cameras.
He ran his fingers over proffered fabric in delicate silence, back to the bathroom. Back to the mirror, pajamas off. Blink blink wrinkled brow, scrunched nose, flitting back and forth between sparkling red eyes and a stomach that stubbornly refused to be as perfectly flat as that of the character model he intended to emulate. Euphoria to misery, ping pong.
Clothes on before the mood soured. Layers so gauzy he thought they might disintegrate on contact with his skin, all by design, of coursemaybe don’t manifest another thing to owe Mona thanks, the tunic fit loose and tight in every spot it should. Pants nexttruly a shame the cape covered the fit in the back, no misery there, then belt, sash, cape, bits, pieces, like putting a puzzle together bit by bit, trying and failing every time to resist looking until he was finished, he may as well have maintained unbroken eye contact with the man in the mirror.
Him. The him in the mirror. This bizarre hybrid creature, red eyes and brown bedhead, freckles and dark circles and below the neck unrecognizable, a being that existed in photoshoots exclusively. He bounced on his heels, there was a tension in the incongruity but at the same time consider: maybe he’d look good in half-translucent white the rest of the year? Worth considering.
Hunter’s preoccupation was such that he near enough forgot to react when he slipped back out of the bathroom and found Mona having mostly replaced herself because that was simply the mood of the moment anyway, why wouldn’t she, but he did her the service of a disinterested but appreciative look up and down, admiring the craftsmanship exclusivelyand maybe the legs, yeah, in a quietly envious sort of way, some things you take to the grave etc.
“You too,” graciously but honest enough, followed by the effortlessly graceful twirlproduct of a lot of fucking effort actually. Sat down, eyes fluttered closed, implicitly trusting, gross, don’t think about it.
He didn’t speak, because she’d kill him if a stretch of his facial muscles knocked her brush or pencil out of position, opening his mouth was the most dangerous game; he was a recital of perfectly choreographed micro-expressions, the barely quirked eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching upward, the nose wiggle, taking the place of—not much, really. His circus but not his monkeys. Tragically relatable monkeys, in this case, maybe. He still didn’t say anything. Actual empathy would be a violation of their social contractwhich existed in his head exclusively and regardless would hold Damocles-sharp over their relationship forever which was very cool and normal.
Thinking about what the work's doing to your i-den-ti-tyyyyy, could not possibly be me, Hunter did not say as Mona finished erasing the recognizable parts of his face, it was too neat of a lineup. He discarded any other stray thoughts on the subjectbecause those were the kind of thoughts that drown you if you let them and he was too cute for that kind of bloating thaaaaanks.
They would have melted the moment he met eyes with the mirror, anyway. Blink, blink, slower, eyelashes just sweeping the tops of his cheeks. The head tilt, one way and then the other, synchronizing the movements in the mirror to the ones his brain told him he was making himself. Reconciling. Watching in real time as eyes that were not quite his lit up. He felt lightheaded, giddy for a moment.
“Thank you,” guileless, beaming, “it’s perfect”, his brain caught up with his words a moment too late and they tasted like stomach acid. He turned away, the nose wrinkle, the pout, deeply annoying, by the end of the day they’d both probably forget about it.
“Close enough that I can make up the difference, anyhow,” the artist cannot do her best work without an ideal canvas, whatever. Made him feel a little better to show a little teeth, but the face in the mirror didn’t need better. The only thing to tear his eyes away was the siren call of the final steps—blonde hair, pre-styled and braided and affixed with hair clips, gift-wrapped in mesh. The wig cap tugged over his head eagerly (inexplicably itchy, again—pain is beauty, itching is pain,) the wig on top of it, tugging strands of fine plastic into place. The peacock feather hair pin, the clip-on earrings. One more glance in the mirror, his best and most trusted friend at this juncture.
There it was.
Stupid in retrospect for Hunter to have been anxious, self-conscious, right? Hunter wasn’t even here.
He managed to not completely humiliate himself by gushing over Mona’s handiwork yet again though he could admit to himself, consciously, just for a moment, that she maybe, kind of, deserved it. No use letting it get to her head, right? He struck a pose instead for her approvaland pretend he hadn't been practicing for weeks, oh he just woke up like this in spirit if not body, tamping his smile down to proper size for the approval of imaginary cameras.
Awwww. Perfect. That was not a word Hunter used lightly, unless it was referring to himself. And honestly even then he tended to earn the superlative through his sheer descaro. Perfect was eponymous, the Hunter self-titled. That he'd share with his worst best friend, well! It was absolutely touuuuuuchiiiiiiiiisscreeeeeeeeeeeeeechLOL WTF was she even ON giving Hunter credit for ANYTHING?!?
And just in time, as she caught the mistake of feeling sentiment and affection, he casually metaphorically slapped her in the metaphorical face with his immediate full disavowal of ever having offered thanks and praise ( in His name ( Hunter probably presuming capital letters Him referred to him, the all lowercase small font boy wonder) ). Like. Make up the difference? Only difference dude made up was the skill.
But hey. Not like Mona caredgod how was it that literally all her friends made her feel more lonely when she hung out with them. Hunter honestly looked pretty happy. Gross. It was all for the 'gram anyhowok fine he was legit adorable when he looked this pleased with himself. No matter how short it lasted. It never lasted.
"Mmm. Pose ain't bad." Mona only had one eye on Hunter. Other was on Kafka's boots, the one absurdly long ass one that she had to roll up her leg almost like a stocking. One foot against the wall, her balance trash because guess who got horrible grades in PE and was proud of it? Mona nearly fell over, the fluid in her inner ear as tipped as a cow or as a babby's sippy cup. Mona played off the startle with. Uh. Grace was the wrong word. But yeah, all that clumsy uwu anime girl moment aside. Hunter struck a solid pose.
Costume complete a moment later, Mona gave a little spin and a twirl of her own. Practiced(in the form of her doing it whenever she used it in game (shut up, its cool)) and she did it with her typical eye for flair. Spin and a twirl. Frame for frame footwork. Just a biiiiit of extra hip.
In short, compare and contrast. The virgin Hunter versus the Chad Mona. So on.
"Anyways, lets get out of here."
The karaoke room was on the second floor of the con's main building. A bit out of the way, with only one other panel room nearby, but it was already bustling because. Y'know. Wannabe sangers looking to be the next boy or girl releasing covers that Hunter mogged. About a dozen rows of chairs packed together pretty tightly. Small room, generic backrooms lighting, questionable acoustics as some guy with a certain look did his best impression of a broken fire hydrant to ZUTOMAYO. Mona glanced sidelong at Hunter as they entered, a shrug on her lips and a twinkle in her eyes.
"You think it's up to your standards, babe?"
And just in time, as she caught the mistake of feeling sentiment and affection, he casually metaphorically slapped her in the metaphorical face with his immediate full disavowal of ever having offered thanks and praise (
in His name ( Hunter probably presuming capital letters Him referred to him, the all lowercase small font boy wonder) ). Like. Make up the difference? Only difference dude made up was the skill.But hey. Not like Mona caredgod how was it that literally all her friends made her feel more lonely when she hung out with them. Hunter honestly looked pretty happy. Gross. It was all for the 'gram anyhowok fine he was legit adorable when he looked this pleased with himself. No matter how short it lasted. It never lasted.
"Mmm. Pose ain't bad." Mona only had one eye on Hunter. Other was on Kafka's boots, the one absurdly long ass one that she had to roll up her leg almost like a stocking. One foot against the wall, her balance trash because guess who got horrible grades in PE and was proud of it? Mona nearly fell over, the fluid in her inner ear as tipped as a cow or as a babby's sippy cup. Mona played off the startle with. Uh. Grace was the wrong word. But yeah, all that clumsy uwu anime girl moment aside. Hunter struck a solid pose.
Costume complete a moment later, Mona gave a little spin and a twirl of her own. Practiced(in the form of her doing it whenever she used it in game (shut up, its cool)) and she did it with her typical eye for flair. Spin and a twirl. Frame for frame footwork. Just a biiiiit of extra hip.
In short, compare and contrast. The virgin Hunter versus the Chad Mona. So on.
"Anyways, lets get out of here."
The karaoke room was on the second floor of the con's main building. A bit out of the way, with only one other panel room nearby, but it was already bustling because. Y'know. Wannabe sangers looking to be the next boy or girl releasing covers that Hunter mogged. About a dozen rows of chairs packed together pretty tightly. Small room, generic backrooms lighting, questionable acoustics as some guy with a certain look did his best impression of a broken fire hydrant to ZUTOMAYO. Mona glanced sidelong at Hunter as they entered, a shrug on her lips and a twinkle in her eyes.
"You think it's up to your standards, babe?"
Bitch, has no one ever told you no one likes a show-off? He didn’t say it, or suffer the inevitable commentary on the irony.
he soaked up her aura like rays of the sun, there but for the spite of god, etc. would it make her happy if he actually said the words? could mona experience unironic happiness, could he, whatever, the moment was over again
Time to go.
envy wasn’t the word, whatever it was.
—
“This,”
Hunter proclaimed, just loud enough to be heard by Mona alone above the ambient din and current extremely specific cacophony,
“is the bad place.”
Objectively correct! This was what hell looked—or at least sounded—like. The most tragic bit of all, of course, was the siren song (currently inaudible) that called out to his own ego and dragged him into a seat regardless. Two unoccupied seats at the end of a row; he seriously considered staring blankly at Mona until she took the bullet, but it would take too long. He took the inside seat more-or-less willingly next to a probably-teenage girl in an ill-fitting Frieren costume, white wig pulled a few inches back from her forehead to reveal uncapped black hair sweat-slicked to her forehead.
Hunter smiled at her, grace and light. She near-audibly gulped, staring at him wide-eyed before turning back to the stage, pink as anything. The heat, orrrr, who cared, he was over it.
The ZUTOMAYO singer(?generous) completed his bit to a far-too-generous round of applause, replaced immediately by an eager girl covered so head-to-toe in con merch Hunter couldn’t actually tell if there was a cosplay underneath to start with, warbling through the opening notes of IDOL. Could technically be worse, as proven by the previous several minutes! Could also technically be better, as proven by basically the rest of Hunter’s life.
Sooo, about that siren song. This was the part where he joined the line, presumably. Right? He considered the assembled “singers” (required scare quotes) along the side of the wall, some staring resolutely forward, others glancing back and forth with barely-concealed nerves at the gathered crowdand he considered just for a moment the possibility of failure and the following ensured damnation, death by concert stage, strung up by microphone cord.
Maybe he shouldn’t have sat down.
”What do you think?”
That could mean anything.
he soaked up her aura like rays of the sun, there but for the spite of god, etc. would it make her happy if he actually said the words? could mona experience unironic happiness, could he, whatever, the moment was over again
Time to go.
envy wasn’t the word, whatever it was.
—
“This,”
Hunter proclaimed, just loud enough to be heard by Mona alone above the ambient din and current extremely specific cacophony,
“is the bad place.”
Objectively correct! This was what hell looked—or at least sounded—like. The most tragic bit of all, of course, was the siren song (currently inaudible) that called out to his own ego and dragged him into a seat regardless. Two unoccupied seats at the end of a row; he seriously considered staring blankly at Mona until she took the bullet, but it would take too long. He took the inside seat more-or-less willingly next to a probably-teenage girl in an ill-fitting Frieren costume, white wig pulled a few inches back from her forehead to reveal uncapped black hair sweat-slicked to her forehead.
Hunter smiled at her, grace and light. She near-audibly gulped, staring at him wide-eyed before turning back to the stage, pink as anything. The heat, orrrr, who cared, he was over it.
The ZUTOMAYO singer(?generous) completed his bit to a far-too-generous round of applause, replaced immediately by an eager girl covered so head-to-toe in con merch Hunter couldn’t actually tell if there was a cosplay underneath to start with, warbling through the opening notes of IDOL. Could technically be worse, as proven by the previous several minutes! Could also technically be better, as proven by basically the rest of Hunter’s life.
Sooo, about that siren song. This was the part where he joined the line, presumably. Right? He considered the assembled “singers” (required scare quotes) along the side of the wall, some staring resolutely forward, others glancing back and forth with barely-concealed nerves at the gathered crowdand he considered just for a moment the possibility of failure and the following ensured damnation, death by concert stage, strung up by microphone cord.
Maybe he shouldn’t have sat down.
”What do you think?”
That could mean anything.
She didn’t reply immediately or at all.
Mona was actually already walking up to the long table at the front of the room where the karaoke organizers had their machine and sign up lists semi-neatly organized. Call it, like, the suggestion of an order of events. Mona had peeped the white-haired elf girl— who at a glance needed more than a couple of bust dart adjustments lest the dress just straight up slide down and off— being shy bashful trope girl @ Hunter and like, not good for him, loved it for him.
Banished from mind,
song on mind.
Why yes, that songshe honestly judged the karaoke staff for not giving her the stink eye when she picked it. Why yes, she was going to do the dance moves from the OPlike god what was wrong with the modern weeb, what happened to the good old days of wholesome moe yuribait.
There was actually a void in the sign ups, where Mona was the next person up after ‘dropped two hundred at Dealers Hall’ McGee finished up with her old people vibrato rendition. No point going back to Hunter then, right? She stood to one side, politely clapping to the four count of Oshi no Peak’s best opening, throwing in a token arm to the sky rah-rah cheerleaders could never sequence every couple of measures.
The singer started glancing at her every now and then. Damn, imagine the warmth and humanity of supporting people. Mona might have felt a bit fuzzy inside if Hunter hadn’t been in her general vicinity.
The floor and mic were vacated, with the singer looking a little more heartened as she darted back to her friends, almost staggering at times under the weight of her alleged outfit. Mona’s turn. Things that had never been said when she and Manuel had been together in the bedroom, for five-hundredhe had treated her well, actually. Fuck her for remembering that in general, let alone here and now in public.
and whoops ok she wasn’t going to cry. All eyes on her, or like, they would be. Not a single muscle on her face moved an inch. She cut off the sudden urge to start sobbing at the source. Braindeath was preferable to showing weakness, etc
And sheeeee waaaaaas
live!
"ヒトリゴトだよ 恥ずかしいこと!"
Why yes, she thought in the kanji— blah blah, y’know, the rest, not like she actually knew what she was visualizing in her mind save the phonetics of the words coming out of her mouth and the Japanese subtitles burned into her brain. Actually, Hunter had taught her that one. Through osmosis. Not like he’d ever actually shown her anything of value to enrich her life.
Just entertaining her. When he felt like it. When she felt like it, so on.
And as for the song, like. Eh. Mona was the best the room had seen so far, given the sudden abundance of people clapping to the beat, standing from their seats, sort-of-not-really miming the memorized routine she was pulling out. She was OK. She could hit the notes without a tire flat or a needle sharp, she could sing with an on-point cutesy affect (not really all that different from her actual voice, the fake one or the other even more annoying fake one or the real one). But her dynamics were pretty tepid. When she tried to dance around with the volume a bit for the flair, her voice would immediately become breathier and more flaccid.
But she set the room on fire. Standing ovation when she was done and she bounced a bit on her heels, waving shyly (for the bit) at the rows of seated weebs.
Maybe Hunter would get something from that. Who knew. Mona returned to her seat, smiling softly at Freiren-sama, expression
the moment Hunter went from peripheral vision to focal point.
“That answer your question?”
Mona was actually already walking up to the long table at the front of the room where the karaoke organizers had their machine and sign up lists semi-neatly organized. Call it, like, the suggestion of an order of events. Mona had peeped the white-haired elf girl— who at a glance needed more than a couple of bust dart adjustments lest the dress just straight up slide down and off— being shy bashful trope girl @ Hunter and like, not good for him, loved it for him.
Banished from mind,
song on mind.
Why yes, that songshe honestly judged the karaoke staff for not giving her the stink eye when she picked it. Why yes, she was going to do the dance moves from the OPlike god what was wrong with the modern weeb, what happened to the good old days of wholesome moe yuribait.
There was actually a void in the sign ups, where Mona was the next person up after ‘dropped two hundred at Dealers Hall’ McGee finished up with her old people vibrato rendition. No point going back to Hunter then, right? She stood to one side, politely clapping to the four count of Oshi no Peak’s best opening, throwing in a token arm to the sky rah-rah cheerleaders could never sequence every couple of measures.
The singer started glancing at her every now and then. Damn, imagine the warmth and humanity of supporting people. Mona might have felt a bit fuzzy inside if Hunter hadn’t been in her general vicinity.
The floor and mic were vacated, with the singer looking a little more heartened as she darted back to her friends, almost staggering at times under the weight of her alleged outfit. Mona’s turn. Things that had never been said when she and Manuel had been together in the bedroom, for five-hundredhe had treated her well, actually. Fuck her for remembering that in general, let alone here and now in public.
and whoops ok she wasn’t going to cry. All eyes on her, or like, they would be. Not a single muscle on her face moved an inch. She cut off the sudden urge to start sobbing at the source. Braindeath was preferable to showing weakness, etc
And sheeeee waaaaaas
live!
"ヒトリゴトだよ 恥ずかしいこと!"
Why yes, she thought in the kanji— blah blah, y’know, the rest, not like she actually knew what she was visualizing in her mind save the phonetics of the words coming out of her mouth and the Japanese subtitles burned into her brain. Actually, Hunter had taught her that one. Through osmosis. Not like he’d ever actually shown her anything of value to enrich her life.
Just entertaining her. When he felt like it. When she felt like it, so on.
And as for the song, like. Eh. Mona was the best the room had seen so far, given the sudden abundance of people clapping to the beat, standing from their seats, sort-of-not-really miming the memorized routine she was pulling out. She was OK. She could hit the notes without a tire flat or a needle sharp, she could sing with an on-point cutesy affect (not really all that different from her actual voice, the fake one or the other even more annoying fake one or the real one). But her dynamics were pretty tepid. When she tried to dance around with the volume a bit for the flair, her voice would immediately become breathier and more flaccid.
But she set the room on fire. Standing ovation when she was done and she bounced a bit on her heels, waving shyly (for the bit) at the rows of seated weebs.
Maybe Hunter would get something from that. Who knew. Mona returned to her seat, smiling softly at Freiren-sama, expression
the moment Hunter went from peripheral vision to focal point.“That answer your question?”
Hunter managed to shrink his reaction to the sudden Mona-void to the affected head tilt, blink, plastic-strand-twirl (not the same effect), eyes half-narrowed as they followed her high-heeled click-step to the front of the roomhardly only his eyes, for altogether divergent reasons, gooood for her? extremely questionable in this company but he’d drag them back all the same, quality wasn’t the word, he wasn’t scanning profiles when his sub count ticked up.
Sure queen, go first. Opening act, who’d want to follow him given the option, cool fine sure. Honestly he was curious, like on a handwobble vague level—had he actually ever heard her sing? Probably, just not on any level that mattered enough to register. If she was good enough to matter she’d have put not-her-name on it by now, collected a brace of new sycophants for her trouble, so it stood to reason she wasn’t.
She projected confidence, if nothing else, which was sort of like being talented. The rest of the crowd applauded the previous singer(?) but Hunter was already leaning forward, hands interwoven, eyes fixed, mouth fixed in a half smile, friendly if you were blind. Caught the Freiren-thing looking at him again in his peripheral vision, he did not budge.
Okay.
Okaaaaay.
The crowd was into it, he noted. Interesting.
So, notes: song choice? Cringe, what year is it, who is admitting to having seen Eromanga Sensei in the year of our lord twenty twenty four, etceterahis having recognized it from the first sting would go unexplored at this time thanksbut also objectively not a bad one because, again, crowd. Into it. Only metric that meant anything in this venue. Good reminder to self, anime convention crowds, fucking cringe always and forever, shock to literally no one on this planet. He could pretend he didn’t have standards. You play to your audience even when they’re stupid, first rule of fame probably, he could write a book. His own options looped through his head, discarding his favorites one by one, they wouldn’t play well enoughand he didn’t want them to have them, anyways.
The dancing? Cringe yeah sure but also pretty good considering the presumed lack of preparation (she could have been doing this in her room for the last month, whatever) and also the heels. He could give credit for the heels if nothing else. The day was still young and his feet were already killing him in the weird open-ankle boot things that Kaveh inexplicably wore; if he’d been in heels he would have whipped them at the next staff member to make him stand in a line.
The singing? Was, like, fine. Not good, but fine, sure. Whatever. Whatever! The crowd was into it, so it was enoughimagine going on stage in front of people to be fine at something, could Not be Hunter, /pos, maybe, maybe not.
He felt more than saw the rest of the crowd stand to applaud when Mona finished and he rose to join them more from a desire to not stick out at this particular moment than anything else, the half-smile following Mona back to her seat, the applause only partiallysarcastic, the roll of the shoulders, the crack of the knuckles,
”Sure, queen.”
Blink back to the stage. Wasn’t so hard. Obviously. He half glanced at Frieren-thing who was just about to sit down and she was looking at him again and the puzzle pieces clicked into place in his head.
”Back in a sec.”
Hunter favored Mona with an unappreciated wink and, whatever, half turned to Frieran-thing and let her pretend it was aimed at her, and given the speed at which a near-neon pink crept up her cheeks he guessed she noticed. Cute (gross). Half turn spin toward the front, the confident step, he may have been studying Kaveh’s walk cycle, whatever, don’t make a big deal out of it.
A whisper to the karaoke organizers at the front of the stage. They motioned to a girl who had lined up during Mona’s turn; she, in turn, waved her hands wildly in obvious distress and then waved at him in a near-universal signal for go ahead. He examined her questioningly for just a moment. Dori, huh? Pretty well-done costume, too. But he could make a few assumptions. He smiled at her, she averted her eyes, that was strike two. He didn’t bother trying for a third.
Show time.
Hunter took his place in front of the crowd, scanning the rows. Unwisely. For just a moment, the room felt very smallfor just a moment, he thought about them descending on him like the animals they were.
He locked eyes with Mona, which helped. Didn’t have to worry about impressing herhe still wanted to for some reason but at least he recognized the impulse for what little it was worth.
The music started, and really, he needn’t have bothered. They were eating out of his hand before he even opened his mouth.
"どこまでも続くような青の季節は~"
For three minutes and thirteen seconds, the room was his and his alone.
Sure queen, go first. Opening act, who’d want to follow him given the option, cool fine sure. Honestly he was curious, like on a handwobble vague level—had he actually ever heard her sing? Probably, just not on any level that mattered enough to register. If she was good enough to matter she’d have put not-her-name on it by now, collected a brace of new sycophants for her trouble, so it stood to reason she wasn’t.
She projected confidence, if nothing else, which was sort of like being talented. The rest of the crowd applauded the previous singer(?) but Hunter was already leaning forward, hands interwoven, eyes fixed, mouth fixed in a half smile, friendly if you were blind. Caught the Freiren-thing looking at him again in his peripheral vision, he did not budge.
Okay.
Okaaaaay.
The crowd was into it, he noted. Interesting.
So, notes: song choice? Cringe, what year is it, who is admitting to having seen Eromanga Sensei in the year of our lord twenty twenty four, etceterahis having recognized it from the first sting would go unexplored at this time thanksbut also objectively not a bad one because, again, crowd. Into it. Only metric that meant anything in this venue. Good reminder to self, anime convention crowds, fucking cringe always and forever, shock to literally no one on this planet. He could pretend he didn’t have standards. You play to your audience even when they’re stupid, first rule of fame probably, he could write a book. His own options looped through his head, discarding his favorites one by one, they wouldn’t play well enoughand he didn’t want them to have them, anyways.
The dancing? Cringe yeah sure but also pretty good considering the presumed lack of preparation (she could have been doing this in her room for the last month, whatever) and also the heels. He could give credit for the heels if nothing else. The day was still young and his feet were already killing him in the weird open-ankle boot things that Kaveh inexplicably wore; if he’d been in heels he would have whipped them at the next staff member to make him stand in a line.
The singing? Was, like, fine. Not good, but fine, sure. Whatever. Whatever! The crowd was into it, so it was enoughimagine going on stage in front of people to be fine at something, could Not be Hunter, /pos, maybe, maybe not.
He felt more than saw the rest of the crowd stand to applaud when Mona finished and he rose to join them more from a desire to not stick out at this particular moment than anything else, the half-smile following Mona back to her seat, the applause only partiallysarcastic, the roll of the shoulders, the crack of the knuckles,
”Sure, queen.”
Blink back to the stage. Wasn’t so hard. Obviously. He half glanced at Frieren-thing who was just about to sit down and she was looking at him again and the puzzle pieces clicked into place in his head.
”Back in a sec.”
Hunter favored Mona with an unappreciated wink and, whatever, half turned to Frieran-thing and let her pretend it was aimed at her, and given the speed at which a near-neon pink crept up her cheeks he guessed she noticed. Cute (gross). Half turn spin toward the front, the confident step, he may have been studying Kaveh’s walk cycle, whatever, don’t make a big deal out of it.
A whisper to the karaoke organizers at the front of the stage. They motioned to a girl who had lined up during Mona’s turn; she, in turn, waved her hands wildly in obvious distress and then waved at him in a near-universal signal for go ahead. He examined her questioningly for just a moment. Dori, huh? Pretty well-done costume, too. But he could make a few assumptions. He smiled at her, she averted her eyes, that was strike two. He didn’t bother trying for a third.
Show time.
Hunter took his place in front of the crowd, scanning the rows. Unwisely. For just a moment, the room felt very smallfor just a moment, he thought about them descending on him like the animals they were.
He locked eyes with Mona, which helped. Didn’t have to worry about impressing herhe still wanted to for some reason but at least he recognized the impulse for what little it was worth.
The music started, and really, he needn’t have bothered. They were eating out of his hand before he even opened his mouth.
"どこまでも続くような青の季節は~"
For three minutes and thirteen seconds, the room was his and his alone.
Poor Frieren. Poor Dori. They deserved it for the terrible taste, but also, they deserved to suffer way less than Hunter did.
Anyways. The room became Hunter plus a vaguely breathing backdrop with people shaped shadows. The song hit.
No okay, but seriouslyMona had to unironically give Hunter his flowers. Compromise, she'd give him soon-to-wilt clearance sale ones. The room immediately tensed upon recognizing the opening riff. A few folks cheered. JJK, mainstream, many such casesMona liked it too, she wasn't above being normal. Occasionally. Pretty much everyone in the audience, Mona included, envisioned the pan down the hall with frame-for-frame accuracy. The title logo in spindly black kanji.
And then Hunter actually started to sing.
No okay, but seriously there was just no way that Mona, at least in the sanctity of her mind, couldn't recognize peak. Much as she wanted tobut there was just no part of her primal brain she could compartmentalize Hunter's actual skill and talent away into. Small as she tried to make the thought it resisted being ignored. Mona knew how Hunter worked when it came to his sang-ing craft, the long hours, the throat strain, the painkillers, the constant nomming on his own lip, and more importantly she knew it always paid the fuck off for him. But like, in the abstract. Every new upload she begrudgingly checked outand even more grudgingly added to her background music playlist oh hey she could still pretend she didn't like and respect him and everything he did to some capacity, as it turned out, was the tiniest drop of sand on the beach with more sand than the universe or whatever the saying was.
Hunter’s control. Perfectly timed breaths. Gentle melismas. Barely there but evocative dynamics, capturing how the singer of the original was fairly mellow but with the showboat twist Hunter needed to, well. Light up the room. Mona had gotten the crowd dancing and clapping. Hunter got the crowd straight up jumping, wildly cheering, reenacting dropping out of the skyscraper and flying through the air like in the OP, like, almost unironically. Bring on the lightglow sticks, so on.
Especially for the girls. Good lord, the girls. Dori was completely losing it. Mona almost didn’t want to glance sidelong at Frieren, yes she would admit out loud (in her own head (which was not a safe space by any means) ) that she was that enraptured by watching Hunter kill it on the karaoke floor call that first-degree. But she did glance. Oh jeez. Love in that girl’s eyes.
Would it kill him to look a little more energetic thoughMona understood. Focusing purely on his vocals, no need to throw in smiling and dancing around like Mona had to to make up for being an amateur. That said. Reading the audience wrong. He was lucky he was THAT talented?
The song ended. Hunter’s ongoing standing ovation got its own standing ovation. So many people in the audience that looked like they wanted to get to know him all of a sudden, congratulate him, try to get some of Hunter’s talent to rub off on them by proximity. Same amount of people who would be totally ignored.
“Um.”
Minus, apparently, one. While Hunter was still making his way back with whatever amount of ego boost he now had following him like a comet tail, Mona glanced sidelong at the Frieren in all her ‘seriously it’s going to fall off before Dealers Hall closes please let me fix it’ glory. Mona smiled at her the same way girls smiled at girls they didn’t care about. Thick like Nutella and bright like her nonexistent future.
“He’s really good. Like. God. Really really good.”
Points to her, she had a cute voice. Mona nodded, still smiling her best non-Duchenne.
“Yeah! For sure.” Mona could have said she was proud of him but LOL. Her ebullient praise of him would be already forgotten for all timesaved into the tiniest part of her brain that loved it for him and wanted him to be happy that he’d just become the belle of the ball (Dashcon ballpit, that was) for a brief and shining moment in time.
“Um, this is a crazy question to ask, but. Are the two of you…?”
Whoa. Brazen.
Mona said nothing. Hunter could answer for himself, she decided. She shot him a look as he got back. Transitive property, transmitted the giga-doomed question Miss Frieren had just asked his way with a silent two eyebrow salute. His call. Mona already knew how to deflect all kinds of guys and girls' weird propositions, but did Hunter? Maybe Mr. Perfect had kinks in his armor too. Maybe even as many as the weird kinks he probably had in the bedroom, etc.
Anyways. The room became Hunter plus a vaguely breathing backdrop with people shaped shadows. The song hit.
No okay, but seriouslyMona had to unironically give Hunter his flowers. Compromise, she'd give him soon-to-wilt clearance sale ones. The room immediately tensed upon recognizing the opening riff. A few folks cheered. JJK, mainstream, many such casesMona liked it too, she wasn't above being normal. Occasionally. Pretty much everyone in the audience, Mona included, envisioned the pan down the hall with frame-for-frame accuracy. The title logo in spindly black kanji.
And then Hunter actually started to sing.
No okay, but seriously there was just no way that Mona, at least in the sanctity of her mind, couldn't recognize peak. Much as she wanted tobut there was just no part of her primal brain she could compartmentalize Hunter's actual skill and talent away into. Small as she tried to make the thought it resisted being ignored. Mona knew how Hunter worked when it came to his sang-ing craft, the long hours, the throat strain, the painkillers, the constant nomming on his own lip, and more importantly she knew it always paid the fuck off for him. But like, in the abstract. Every new upload she begrudgingly checked outand even more grudgingly added to her background music playlist oh hey she could still pretend she didn't like and respect him and everything he did to some capacity, as it turned out, was the tiniest drop of sand on the beach with more sand than the universe or whatever the saying was.
Hunter’s control. Perfectly timed breaths. Gentle melismas. Barely there but evocative dynamics, capturing how the singer of the original was fairly mellow but with the showboat twist Hunter needed to, well. Light up the room. Mona had gotten the crowd dancing and clapping. Hunter got the crowd straight up jumping, wildly cheering, reenacting dropping out of the skyscraper and flying through the air like in the OP, like, almost unironically. Bring on the lightglow sticks, so on.
Especially for the girls. Good lord, the girls. Dori was completely losing it. Mona almost didn’t want to glance sidelong at Frieren, yes she would admit out loud (in her own head (which was not a safe space by any means) ) that she was that enraptured by watching Hunter kill it on the karaoke floor call that first-degree. But she did glance. Oh jeez. Love in that girl’s eyes.
Would it kill him to look a little more energetic thoughMona understood. Focusing purely on his vocals, no need to throw in smiling and dancing around like Mona had to to make up for being an amateur. That said. Reading the audience wrong. He was lucky he was THAT talented?
The song ended. Hunter’s ongoing standing ovation got its own standing ovation. So many people in the audience that looked like they wanted to get to know him all of a sudden, congratulate him, try to get some of Hunter’s talent to rub off on them by proximity. Same amount of people who would be totally ignored.
“Um.”
Minus, apparently, one. While Hunter was still making his way back with whatever amount of ego boost he now had following him like a comet tail, Mona glanced sidelong at the Frieren in all her ‘seriously it’s going to fall off before Dealers Hall closes please let me fix it’ glory. Mona smiled at her the same way girls smiled at girls they didn’t care about. Thick like Nutella and bright like her nonexistent future.
“He’s really good. Like. God. Really really good.”
Points to her, she had a cute voice. Mona nodded, still smiling her best non-Duchenne.
“Yeah! For sure.” Mona could have said she was proud of him but LOL. Her ebullient praise of him would be already forgotten for all timesaved into the tiniest part of her brain that loved it for him and wanted him to be happy that he’d just become the belle of the ball (Dashcon ballpit, that was) for a brief and shining moment in time.
“Um, this is a crazy question to ask, but. Are the two of you…?”
Whoa. Brazen.
Mona said nothing. Hunter could answer for himself, she decided. She shot him a look as he got back. Transitive property, transmitted the giga-doomed question Miss Frieren had just asked his way with a silent two eyebrow salute. His call. Mona already knew how to deflect all kinds of guys and girls' weird propositions, but did Hunter? Maybe Mr. Perfect had kinks in his armor too. Maybe even as many as the weird kinks he probably had in the bedroom, etc.
For three minutes and thirteen seconds the room had been his and his alone, and he wasn’t there for most of it.
And then it was over.
Hunter was probably smiling, his jaw hurt, that usually meant smiling, the flick of strands of plastic behind his ear, the playful bow, blink blink god where was Mona had it been so fucking hot in here the whole time? The adulation was sugar sweet but it burned on the way down. Glancing through the crowdso many screaming nerd girls call that HUNTER’s official Discord server, basically indistinguishable, you’d think he’d be used to it, took a little while for his eyes to regain focus. The playful wave followed by the bravely-resisted urge to grimace at the fangirl screech that act producedoh Mona, ye of little faith, he could have played to the crowd if they deserved it, more scraps of him than this,he was not going to throw up.
Soul back in body, feet back on the ground, ground resolutely in a room full of fucking losers. That said fucking losers were now worshiping him did make the facts go down a little bit easier. Bask in it or something. Blink blink smile blink blink smile smile smile.
He was happyhe was so fucking tired forever. He won or something. Whateverrr. Stomach acid in his mouth againhe was not going to throw up in front of another living soul or he would die instantly!.
He’d kill and die for the vibe in this room and everyone knew it. Soooo what the fuck, whatever!! Suitcase to remain hastily packed, blurry eyes finally cleared enough to lock onto Mona, the less-than-confident step, he may have forgotten what he was doing, no one noticed or cared. Rows of people reaching out to touch him as he passed and he shuddered but no one could tell, smile still plastered on sticker-clean.
Mona, exactly where he left her, miles away. Frieren-thing, exactly where he left her, staring at him like she’d seen the face of god, understandableplease someone tell her to fix her wig it was driving him mad. Frieren-thing was speaking and Mona was looking at him like this was supposed to be like relevant to him in any way and he looked vacantly between the two of them for precisely five seconds.
Ah he was absolutely and completely going to vomit.
“The two of us arrrrre lateandwehavetogonowbyeeee—”
Practically dragged Mona to her feet, elbow locked with hers, walking just a little bit too fast out of the appropriately-christened Bad Place but not too too fast. Plaster smile, wave wave, cement his status as Him™ and then vanish mysteriously into the nightor the bathroom.
Hunter managed to resist looking back to see who might follow (pa-pa-pa-pa-paranoia) as he pulled him and Mona out of the room, letting the door slam shut dramatically behind him (might have been propped open before, who cared). The brief pause. The air let out of the balloon.
The manic giggle, apropos of nothing, the tugging of his shirt sleeves. The stomach acid.
“Okay, bathroom, be right back,” his voice still a touch too high, half-giggling still between words, let his death grip on Mona’s arm go for the moment. Peace sign, universal symbol of “everything is completely fine and also I’m extremely cute don’t forget that,” bathroom. Be right back. He’d be fineas soon as the uninvited demons crawled out of his stomach.
And then it was over.
Hunter was probably smiling, his jaw hurt, that usually meant smiling, the flick of strands of plastic behind his ear, the playful bow, blink blink god where was Mona had it been so fucking hot in here the whole time? The adulation was sugar sweet but it burned on the way down. Glancing through the crowdso many screaming nerd girls call that HUNTER’s official Discord server, basically indistinguishable, you’d think he’d be used to it, took a little while for his eyes to regain focus. The playful wave followed by the bravely-resisted urge to grimace at the fangirl screech that act producedoh Mona, ye of little faith, he could have played to the crowd if they deserved it, more scraps of him than this,he was not going to throw up.
Soul back in body, feet back on the ground, ground resolutely in a room full of fucking losers. That said fucking losers were now worshiping him did make the facts go down a little bit easier. Bask in it or something. Blink blink smile blink blink smile smile smile.
He was happyhe was so fucking tired forever. He won or something. Whateverrr. Stomach acid in his mouth againhe was not going to throw up in front of another living soul or he would die instantly!.
He’d kill and die for the vibe in this room and everyone knew it. Soooo what the fuck, whatever!! Suitcase to remain hastily packed, blurry eyes finally cleared enough to lock onto Mona, the less-than-confident step, he may have forgotten what he was doing, no one noticed or cared. Rows of people reaching out to touch him as he passed and he shuddered but no one could tell, smile still plastered on sticker-clean.
Mona, exactly where he left her, miles away. Frieren-thing, exactly where he left her, staring at him like she’d seen the face of god, understandableplease someone tell her to fix her wig it was driving him mad. Frieren-thing was speaking and Mona was looking at him like this was supposed to be like relevant to him in any way and he looked vacantly between the two of them for precisely five seconds.
Ah he was absolutely and completely going to vomit.
“The two of us arrrrre lateandwehavetogonowbyeeee—”
Practically dragged Mona to her feet, elbow locked with hers, walking just a little bit too fast out of the appropriately-christened Bad Place but not too too fast. Plaster smile, wave wave, cement his status as Him™ and then vanish mysteriously into the nightor the bathroom.
Hunter managed to resist looking back to see who might follow (pa-pa-pa-pa-paranoia) as he pulled him and Mona out of the room, letting the door slam shut dramatically behind him (might have been propped open before, who cared). The brief pause. The air let out of the balloon.
The manic giggle, apropos of nothing, the tugging of his shirt sleeves. The stomach acid.
“Okay, bathroom, be right back,” his voice still a touch too high, half-giggling still between words, let his death grip on Mona’s arm go for the moment. Peace sign, universal symbol of “everything is completely fine and also I’m extremely cute don’t forget that,” bathroom. Be right back. He’d be fineas soon as the uninvited demons crawled out of his stomach.
And theeeeere it was.
She supposed that answered Frieren-sama’s (in her dreams) question, didn’t it? There had been an attempt? Something like that. Legit even Morty ‘Rizz but with a J’ Schaub could have slid into the DMs better. Mona wore contrails into the thin time rotten carpet of the Long Beach Convention Center’s absurdly out of the way upper floor room as Hunter dragged her along. Insistent much. The crowd just saw a friend (or heaven forbid, a boyfriend) dragging his better half along. They didn’t have the experience with the Hunter in a natural environment to realize it from the tension in his arm, the edge seven times folded into his voice.
He was spooked.
Fair, honestly. First time at a con was a world-shattering culture shock. The number of men who had undressed thirteen year old Mona with their eyes, with their awkward flapping lips rambling on about how they liked the quality of her costumes when, uh, no they didn’t because they barely knew the character?? No biggie though. She’d gotten used to it. Very common story (also check out the comments on this one jeez) Many such cases, so on.
And the more obviously mature she’d gotten, the less she’d been singled out. Uh. Et cetera. And damn, yeah. She was distractedly soap boxing about her own experiences when Hunter was going through some shit of his own. Right. Back to the future AKA the present.
Mona shot a peace sign back. With each hand. Superior tactics, et cetera.
Hunter didn't notice. He was gone,
and all of a sudden, the older sister in her— ordinarily reserved for a girl two three hundred some miles away currently (hopefully) buried nose first into her homework— breathed a single breath. Inhaled the early con ambiance, the vaguest traces of body odor that would become more acrid and sour as the days passed. Nearly died in consequence, et cetera.
This was the her that she rarely brought out. The Mona that Hunter maybe needed
Hunter needed a lot of things, but he never signaled that it was her, specifically. Or like, did he ever signal anything to anyone in particular? Mona was pretty sure Hunter hooked up with guys, like, in spite of himself and not because of. Wasn’t this moment as big a waste of time as anything else she could have come up with? It wasn’t like Hunter himself would appreciate or really, like, understand the gesture if Mona stepped above and beyond her… wasn’t even a comfort zone holding her back, really. Something more like being rusty, the Don’t Dead Open Inside of Mona’s mind stuck on its hinges by a fondant of razor-dull, gross colored tetanus. Why did he deserve her at her squint-and-you’ll-see it best
TBH fuck him. Reverse the positions and Hunter definitely would not have blinked twice
the impulse to emotional labor always felt like thorns and wax strips pat pressed into the softest squishiest part of her brain whenever it happened. Against her will. Something something social conditioning programming expectation signaling. Something something the uncertainty about whether it was really her feeling sympathy for something someone who, like. Maybe deserved it. Again, squint-and-you’ll-see-something. Some twink inches from a mental breakdown maybe
Hunter came back. He looked like he'd been on the wrong side of that crawling, 'am I going to puke' hyperawareness of the body that generally preceeds the actual efforts of the body to purge the substance that didn't belong.
On the contrary, repay evil with blessing.
Mona’s tone came out soft as a pillow, the most feminine tone Hunter had ever heard from her ever in history.
“Y’all alright, babe?”
Mona’s hands stayed by her side, empty. Quickdraw, flourish of a wrist. A soft touch, a hug, the hotel keycard. Anything Hunter needed and would never hear the end of.
She supposed that answered Frieren-sama’s (in her dreams) question, didn’t it? There had been an attempt? Something like that. Legit even Morty ‘Rizz but with a J’ Schaub could have slid into the DMs better. Mona wore contrails into the thin time rotten carpet of the Long Beach Convention Center’s absurdly out of the way upper floor room as Hunter dragged her along. Insistent much. The crowd just saw a friend (or heaven forbid, a boyfriend) dragging his better half along. They didn’t have the experience with the Hunter in a natural environment to realize it from the tension in his arm, the edge seven times folded into his voice.
He was spooked.
Fair, honestly. First time at a con was a world-shattering culture shock. The number of men who had undressed thirteen year old Mona with their eyes, with their awkward flapping lips rambling on about how they liked the quality of her costumes when, uh, no they didn’t because they barely knew the character?? No biggie though. She’d gotten used to it. Very common story (also check out the comments on this one jeez) Many such cases, so on.
And the more obviously mature she’d gotten, the less she’d been singled out. Uh. Et cetera. And damn, yeah. She was distractedly soap boxing about her own experiences when Hunter was going through some shit of his own. Right. Back to the future AKA the present.
Mona shot a peace sign back. With each hand. Superior tactics, et cetera.
Hunter didn't notice. He was gone,
and all of a sudden, the older sister in her— ordinarily reserved for a girl two three hundred some miles away currently (hopefully) buried nose first into her homework— breathed a single breath. Inhaled the early con ambiance, the vaguest traces of body odor that would become more acrid and sour as the days passed. Nearly died in consequence, et cetera.
This was the her that she rarely brought out. The Mona that Hunter maybe needed
Hunter needed a lot of things, but he never signaled that it was her, specifically. Or like, did he ever signal anything to anyone in particular? Mona was pretty sure Hunter hooked up with guys, like, in spite of himself and not because of. Wasn’t this moment as big a waste of time as anything else she could have come up with? It wasn’t like Hunter himself would appreciate or really, like, understand the gesture if Mona stepped above and beyond her… wasn’t even a comfort zone holding her back, really. Something more like being rusty, the Don’t Dead Open Inside of Mona’s mind stuck on its hinges by a fondant of razor-dull, gross colored tetanus. Why did he deserve her at her squint-and-you’ll-see it best
TBH fuck him. Reverse the positions and Hunter definitely would not have blinked twice
the impulse to emotional labor always felt like thorns and wax strips pat pressed into the softest squishiest part of her brain whenever it happened. Against her will. Something something social conditioning programming expectation signaling. Something something the uncertainty about whether it was really her feeling sympathy for something someone who, like. Maybe deserved it. Again, squint-and-you’ll-see-something. Some twink inches from a mental breakdown maybe
Hunter came back. He looked like he'd been on the wrong side of that crawling, 'am I going to puke' hyperawareness of the body that generally preceeds the actual efforts of the body to purge the substance that didn't belong.
On the contrary, repay evil with blessing.
Mona’s tone came out soft as a pillow, the most feminine tone Hunter had ever heard from her ever in history.
“Y’all alright, babe?”
Mona’s hands stayed by her side, empty. Quickdraw, flourish of a wrist. A soft touch, a hug, the hotel keycard. Anything Hunter needed and would never hear the end of.