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misstheground :
Shoya simply grumbled back for a moment, forcing out some mocking noises in an imitation of Gag-Arm’s tone, then finally, “Fiiiiiiiiine.” She did her best to hold still, though she still had a death grip on the other’s shirt. (There weren’t many people she trusted to carry her. Gag-Arm was decidedly not one of them.)
“I might throw up on you. Especially if you are not gentle,” she warned.
“An’ you won’t be the fifth-worse thing to git grody on me today,” she answered, smirking around the little corners of her mouth, smug like that was a badge-of-honor. ( Or mightbe there was a chance she was glad not to have’t sit on and useless about while Shoya went an’ ... kissed off.
Not as though they were chummy, or any’it, not friends, but like she had enough holes already in her life where people used-t’-be —
Like if she was gonna be anything but bottle right now, she hadda slam t h a t barrel’a thoughts closed. )
"’S plain-eyed insultin’ you think I cain’t carry some’n as light as you ‘gentle.’” Her stomach still felt heavy but she forced her face to lighten up and grin again.
“Not half far, any’ow. What’ve you got f’r a meddy kitch?”
Chop and Change - The Black Keys
skymade :
“Yeah.” A code does mean something. Or it’s supposed to, anyway. Codes can still be broken.
Promises can still be broken.
Anything in this realm – of the living and breathing and shit – can and will be broken, and, y’know, she’s not too sure how she feels about all of that. Not great. But not like she can do anything to change it, either.
“Oh. Mitt. Okay. But no. It’s – Gag-Arm.” The words mean something that doesn’t quite make sense, but isn’t that all names? Isn’t that just the way they fucking go? “Gag-Arm. Gag-Arm. Wow! I got it first try! Are you proud of me? You totally should be proud of me. That’s usually, like, last try stuff, y’know? Super last, bottom try.”
“Gag-Arm,” she says back again and gives her head a bob, t’show they have the works. “It ain’t true,” —waggles her fingers, snickering through her nose,— “but it’s funny, hey?”
Funny largely on account a’ the leg, which Willow won’t be able’t make sight of under her snapper shroud, she reconnoiters anomolater. Ah well.
“Works out there’s a certain kind’a style in only learnin’ names when you’re on guh-bye.” That makes her laugh, too. Can’t say how serious Willow is or ain’t, like whether she’s joshin’ on her, but mightbe it doesn’t matter.
“So, you been...” ( It takes her a mo to work out how to say it clear, but she hits on a word she figures lilac will get the measure of: ) “ free f’r long, then, Willow?”
My first altar was the night sky—wide and mine and still it belonged to no one at all.
Desireé Dallagiacomo, "My First Altar" (via buttonpoetry)
doll of the mun, doll of the muse
stolen from / tagged by: @ltbroccoli & @skymade
tagging: you
misstheground:
Sometimes, Shoya wondered if the pair of them even spoke the same language at all. She tried to be respectful of other dialects and ways of speaking, but… sometimes trying to parse together Gag-Arm’s speech felt like flying against the wind currents.
“Unfortunately, your concern is my concern,” Shoya explained. “The nearest station is not a station you want to be stuck at without transportation. Unless you want to be stranded there with a group of thugs, I would recommend staying with me.” She sighed. She didn’t like Gag-Arm, not exactly, but she didn’t dislike her enough to subject her to that.
Well, that stopped her up real short.
When was the last time her concern had been somebody’s else’s? Asides from the vague sucky of the floatin’ fraternity. ( Rhetorical ask: She knew god-damned well who was the last person who’d thought she was worth their spit. Diuneilomo, she missed Danny like a hole in her—)
“D’you mean’t’say you’d worry about li’l ole meeee?” she crowed instead of following along after that thought, hands leaping up to cup her cheeks like an excited dolly. “Awwww, Shaya! An’ all this time I reckoned you didn’ care!”
skymade:
“What if I wanna one-chump it?” She’s opening her maw wide, again, now hooking a finger on one side. C’mon, she can totally get it in… totally, right?
“Aah oong–” Releases her mouth, wipes her thumb off on her pants, and tries again. “I don’t have a – a cutty-thingie. Y’know? I mean. Sometimes I just use a sharp, like. Corner or something, if I gotta cut something off, but… That’ll probably just…” She mimes squishing the cake, with a hand come hard above it, stopping just before it meets frosting.
Clock’s still tickin’ by, and Gag-Arm’s gathering flies, saucery-round eyes fixated on Willow’s mouth where she’d had her finger in it. “Wh—...” Her face turns a great old cherry-light carmine as her brain turns itself back into working order and she realizes what a zooker she must looklike.
“No reason not’t squash it, I guess,” she mumbles, fumbling likewise in her bindle for the little knife what should be in it. “But y’can use this. Instead. ’F you figure y’don’t wanna waste all the elbow grease I put int’ that frosty.”
Show me my silver lining — I try to keep on 𝑘𝑒𝑒𝑝𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑜𝑛.
finnigankale:
Well. She certainly had a charming personality.
“And scuffle over the good stuff? What ever happened to a little honor among thieves? First come? First serve? …No?” When she showed no signs of acknowledging the childish rule, Kale huffed and looked around the wreckage. “ ‘Kay. Halfsies it is. You wanna split it top-bottom or back-front?”
“Who’s a thief?” Well: Her, clear-and-obviously, and him too, but neither of that wasto stop her from playacting some dignity. “No laws ’gainst making good use of whatsists left all’to waste anyhow.” Whole bully playbooks and reams of laws, morelike.
But she let go of a little-a the stress in her stance anyhow, on account of how no strongarm worth his weight would give her neither first serve or halfsies either. Might be this kid wasn’t a threat, a’least.
Gag-Arm gave him an abrupt catmoon like the sucker-up she was, all pie-eyes and smallness. “I o’nt need much, so I’ll be peaceable an’ give ya two-thirds of the lot if y’let me take up front!”
It was a back-hold type, anyway, all the gudge goodies in the back and the carryables and smallsie engine bits she could make any use of ’round the front by the pilot’s seats. All good and fair, huh? Nothin’ to pick a fight over?
Prosthetic leg massage
skymade:
“Oh, yeah!” If it’s funny or not, y’know, Willow’s not sure. She finds everything funny, though, so in a way, Gag’s already won. “Supes hilarious.”
Is supes a thing people say? Eh. Anyway…
“Is the style not learning names? Because I’m good at that. Or remembering the sounds as different than they are. It’s hard, when you have the little thing in your head.” She taps, briefly, at her temple – then beams, at the blessing of the question she’d been given. “I’ve always been free! But… Traveling, like… yeah! Uh. A while. A good while. What about you? You do it too, right? Did you already say that, or did I just like, feel it off you? I dunno, but it’s… there, y’know?”
Gag-Arm’s got less than an idea what the li’l thing in your head might be, but that’s Willow’s grind, she reconnoiters. Willow didn’ blanch at her chuckle over her gam, so’s she doesn’ ask over her head.
She does light up all moony and grinning at the idea Willow pinpoints down the stink of the floating fraternity onnher, though. It’s for sure that life on the skyline makes you sommat else —what gudge just don’t see,— and it’s aces to get made like that. Looks as she had the right read on Willow here.
“A good while. Me too,” Gag-Arm nods along. “Sommody-years, you know how it goes. Feels like longer.”
g*d gave me two grubby little hands and one grubby little mouth for the exclusive purposes of:
1. saying the fuck word
2. rude gestures at authority figures
misstheground:
“You should be… grateful… that all of my kind are small…” Gag-Arm was being fairly gentle, all things considered, but the slight sway of walking had Shoya rather nauseous again; she grit her teeth to force her way through it.
“I have… a medical kit… on my ship… p-painkillers and bandages… a dermal… regenerator…” She’d always tried her best to be self-sufficient, and only need to go to larger medical centers when absolutely necessary. “I do not know… if I have anything… for this… I do not know what this is…”
“I wake up every day an’ I praise to the stars how bitty y’are, Shoya.” They were hotta luck she was, to be frankish. On the regular Gag-Arm hauled around a snapper rig heavier than Shoya would be soppin’-and-soakedy wet, but with her leg acting kippy as it was, carrying her carefully was more work than she’d’ve liked.
“We’re easy close to your flyvver now. Gettin’ nearer. Pinky promise me you’ll let me take a good looksie once I lay you down, huh? That ’r faint away so’s I can see what’s what.” Gag-Arm only knew how not to use a regenerator, but few good narcotics and bandages —those and the stitchin’ kit in her rig— she could put to use.
el·o·quent
/ˈeləkwənt/
adjective fluent or persuasive in speaking or writing.
YOU FOOLS
momo on the side of angels is what’s stopping BNHA from ending right now.
appreciate the momo more.
I’ve seen the my hero academia boys in suits and stuff but what about the ladies? Fashionable bnha gals for ya!
archetype: the princess
“i like to think that the princess in the tower asked the stars outside her window for answers, and the told her, ‘they are already in you’”
-she realized she didn’t need to be rescued//@lhzthepoet