#see: my recent fic

[arcanegifs]

[ccircusclwn]

some intertwined doodles whilst im working on the next chapter^_^

+ some drawings i made for the fic that didnt make the cut!!

(respectively from chapter 3 and the prologue:3)

[crybaby-bkg]

cw: this got long sorry 😔 but creepy/perv bakugou, recording, film major bkg x art major reader, masturbation, coercion, dubcon before it just becomes con, voyeurism/exhibitionism

as an art major, you typically did some works for a few students on campus; for their plays, as background pieces while they danced, a cover for their released songs. it wasn’t out of the ordinary for people to ask you to create something for them, and you enjoyed it more often than not. but, you weren’t usually the art itself.

Bakugou is a friend’s friend that you’ve seen a few times, ran into at the library or at coffee shops. he’s a film major, and always looks so unhappy about the whole thing, as if he didn’t choose it himself. you joke to Mina that you think he’ll graduate and become one of those directors that hate everything and yell at the actors constantly and later on get sued for being a dickhead. you never say it to him though—you’ve never spoken more than a couple words to the man.

it’s why it shocks you when he approaches you one day. it’s after one of your painting classes, and he stands outside the door with a frown and his hands shoved in his pockets, his eyebrows scrunched as if pissed at the mere sight of you. he asks you, in that low and gruff tone of his, if you could star in his final project for the semester. says it’s supposed to be a film made with this criteria and that, but, you’ve kind of checked out on the conversation after the first sentence.

“You mean, you want me to create something and that be the star of your film?” you ask him, feeling so intimidated at his stature. he always seems to loom, his hair shadowing the lights above, creates a cast over a portion of his face, makes his eyes look…unsettling. like they’re looking straight through your flesh, can find the marrow in your bones. he scoffs like you’ve offended him, rolling his eyes into his skull, mouth pulled tight.

“No.” his voice is firm, gaze concentrated only on you, like the halls are empty and you’re the focus of his lens. “I want you to star in it.”

his words confuse you—you’ve never presented yourself as an actor before, never alluded to wanting to be in the spotlight if not for what you create with your hands. but he shuffles on his feet, looks desperate even. there’s some hemming and hawing for a minute or so—why not choose Mina?—she’s busy—why choose me?—‘cause you’d be perfect for my short film—what’s it about?��you’ll find out once you get the script.

and even after you hesitantly agree and get the script—you still don’t understand what you’re doing. why you’re here, why you’re the only person, why it has to be a solo film, why there’s damn near zero lines in the entirety of the have-to-be forty five minute film.

the scenes are all so long, and maybe it’s because movies aren’t your forte or chosen major, but you just don’t get it. one scene; you’re staring at yourself in the mirror while Bakugou holds a small, black camera over your shoulder. he’s eerily quiet behind you, whispers out a faint fuckin’ go when you have to wash your face in the sink, makes you do it over because your movements are too jerky and unnatural.

the rest of the scenes go that way; you doing regular at home activities, being put under a lens, quietly barked at to do this and move that way and fix your hair and remember to frown.

“Isn’t there another way to film this?” you ask him on the fifth day of shooting in his spacious loft. there’s a bubble bath scene coming up, one you dont understand the importance of, but Bakugou tells you it’s the most necessary part of the entire thing.

“No,” he grunts out, looking at you from under his lashes as he sits on the lid of the toilet. “But I’ll make it soapy, so the camera won’t see much.” the camera? much? you weren’t worried so much about what the camera captured as you were the man behind it. he looks at you with such intensity, you feel naked already despite the robe you wear that’s suspiciously already your size.

he leaves the bathroom when you sink in the hot water, returns before you can say it’s okay, hears the water splashing and thinks that’s good enough. he kneels on the floor beside you, camera pointed directly in your face, makes your chest hot and your skin feel prickly. the scene passes on regularly enough; you run the water over your arms, tilt your head back as you sigh, whisper the few lines scripted, lean back and close your eyes, sigh again. it’s almost relaxing, makes you forget about the friend of a friend recording you naked right now. almost.

“Touch yourself.” Bakugou suddenly demands, hushed and quiet behind the camera. your eyes immediately shoot open, looking to him in question, how he’s eerily still in his spot hovering over you.

“Huh?” you ask, unsure if you heard him correctly, looking around the rounded lens in your face, trying to ignore the red blinking light. but Bakugou only frowns.

“It’s a masturbation scene. Touch yourself.” he repeats, voice louder, more demanding this time. your stomach twists at the thought of doing something so intimate in front of him. he’s a handsome guy, for sure, even made you consider asking him out after this, figured he was just serious about his work and awkward about certain things. but…something had been off about this entire thing since the start.

“But—but I don’t, I’m not,” you stutter, sitting up a little, the bubbles covering your chest starting to disperse with your movements. but Bakugou only sits a little higher on his knees, finally pulling the camera away from his face for the first time since he’s asked you to do this for him.

“You want me to fail?” he asks, booming voice eerily quiet in the silent bathroom, carmine eyes dull, shaded over with something terrible. “Then do it.” he tells you when you shake your head quickly.

you stare at him until he gets back into position again, camera back pointed at you. when he doesn’t say anything else, you swallow thickly, wondering if the art that will come out of this will be worth it. so you listen, sneak a hand under the water, start touching yourself in a way you never have in front of anyone.

is it bad to say that it’s exhilarating? being watched and recorded by someone who breathes so heavily every time your voice hiccups? being directed to touch your chest next when the suds start to disappear and your nipples start to peek through? is it bad that you want him to send you this portion of his film, only, just so you can watch yourself again and again? make a portrait of yourself with your fingers on your nipples and your knees raising from the water and your head thrown back from the intensity in oil pastels?

“That’s a wrap.” Bakugou announces when you finish, head spinning and still panting. you look over to him, how he closes the camera, the obvious bulge in his pants. “I’ll get you a towel.”

you wonder when’s the next time he’ll need you. or better yet—maybe he could be the star in your final drawing project? you had finished it already but, what was the harm in starting over with him as your muse? as naked as you are? camera not blocking his face so you can paint the similarities of his blushing cheeks and eyes when you direct him to look at you? to touch his chest? to play with himself just like that?

[queerofthedagger]

i mean this in the like... nicest way possible, but there is no way to post your writing and/or art on the internet without running the very high risk of it getting scraped, whether you post it on tumblr, pillowfort, or ao3. sites being 'anti ai' does not mean your art cannot be scraped. it is simply almost impossible to prevent, much less guarantee that. I'm not saying this to be a pessimist or to stop people from being rightfully pissed about this. it sucks. massively so! but if the idea does in fact bother you that much, you should know that moving sites won't fix the issue. ao3, as far as we know, has been scraped/is getting scraped. you can set your fics so that only logged in users can access them, but it only makes scraping one step more difficult, and by no means impossible and the otw has stated this clearly.

which, again, this sucks! i don't have a great solution either!! but tumblr is relatively honest, at least, when it tells you that it cannot prevent, only discourage it. ao3 said the same thing. any site promising you otherwise is, to the best of my knowledge, lying to you.

[fuumiku]

Chilcille huh... ngl I was a little suspicious. like why would you do that, huh... hope youre not mischaracterizing anyone in your weird and wacky ship. a little weird. but then you said they both had flat asses and you know what? I salute you and your perfect characterization

The fact you seem to think you managed to not make this ask insulting is baffling. What the hell. Fuck off.

If you actually care to be open minded about the ship, I talk about marchil on my sideblog 24/7. Funnily enough I’m currently 4k words deep into an analysis of their character arc together in canon, but that’ll take some more days to get done. Some notable posts:

Of course without counting the analyses of Chilchuck on his own I’ve made, like my masterpost on his family situation. Or better yet you could also read my fics for them, see how weird and wacky they are here.

Wanna talk about mischaracterisation? They’re literally a comedic duo who interacts 24/7. Marchil is crazy bc ppl are like "did those shipper read with their eyes CLOSED?? They have no chemistry!" Meanwhile canon is like: "She’s obsessed with knowing everything she can about him and she reads him like a book." In her eyes he’s like that extra rare and hard and shiny unlockable dating sim character, that brooding mysterious character trope that’s thrilling to crack open and typically is at the center of the plot. The wife roleplay???? "Hey, did you know his type is blondes. Hey did you know he likes his women pretty and blonde. Hey did you know he likes her hair. Hey did you know that he teases her 24/7 and it’s one of the few things that consistently gets him grinning because he finds her reactions cute." Like a schoolyard bully pulling on the pigtails of the girl he likes.

It’s not like they have any thematic narratives or relevance. It’s not like she’ll live to 1000 and has existential dread about it while he’s logically gonna be her next friend to die at 50 and wether it’s romantic or platonic it’ll terrify her to lose him. It’s not like it’s fear of death x fear of rejection so they’re both obsessed with the thought of loss looming, past and ongoing. It’s not like it’s half-elf x half-foot and there’s an inherent journey that was and still is to dispel prejudices and truly come to see each other. It’s not like he’s painfully real and raw and flawed but still a good man, that he’s not the figure of prince charming that she’s always dreamed of while still being virtuous and worth fighting for. Or you know, her hair being golden and it being the epitome of beauty to him, and his hair turning silver and it being Marcille’s worst nightmare.

Just a weird wacky ship who means nothing but shallow things to people who have weirdo reasons for liking it. Like can you not. If you’re not imaginative enough to think of reasons why this ship may have an appealing dynamic that’s not my issue. But yes, yes, they’re both flat asses to me, thanks.

[blondiest]

i tire of posts complaining about the quality of other people's writing. a) this discourages new writers from sharing their work. b) fanfiction is free. c) you're killing the vibe and the whimsy. d) go do it yourself if everyone sucks so bad. bitchass

[blorbocedes]

fernando/guanyu, hero worship, movie star fernando au

Guanyu justifies spending his sizeable allowance on booking a Saturday night private booth at Flavio Briatore's club with: if he wasn't spending it here, he would've been using it to buy Balenciaga to wear to class. Well, he does wear Balenciaga in the halls of UCLA, but still.

Zhou Guanyu would like everyone to know he is not a stalker.

All of this is publicly available information, such as Fernando's jet landing in LA on Friday, and Guanyu's bookmarked gossip boards confirming Fernando and his girlfriend are well and truly over.

And the Michelin star sushi bar Fernando posted on Instagram story that is impossible to get a booking into, and Guanyu had to beg his father's secretary to use his name.

It's just a hobby, LA is full of celebrity sighting.

Guanyu was five when he first saw Fernando, on a Chinese dubbed telenovela playing a young heartthrob. He was instantly a fan. Over the years, he followed Fernando's career diligently watching him break into Hollywood, and then critically acclaimed movies. Those movies taught him English better than the expensive tutors his parents hired. He remembers staying up late to watch the Oscar's, only to go on a very angry rant on Weibo when Fernando was brutally snubbed. He had posters of Fernando on his wall, followed his career even as it careened to a few disappointing cash-grabs the last few years after a successful stint at directing a one man play. Word on the street is Fernando's producer, Flavio, was using his production company for illegal tax writeoffs.

Guanyu waits, sparkling water in hand and a keen eye scanning the floor; the music slightly muted in his private room with an unopened champagne bottle on melting ice, glittering square table and uncomfortable lounge seats. Maybe Fernando isn't coming, maybe Guanyu's in the club all alone. Maybe he can invite Logan and Oscar next time, and opt out of the private booth in case they're uncomfortable with that. He still remembers the look on their face when they found out he has a personal cleaner come to his dorm.

Just as Guanyu was about to call it quits around midnight, a celebrity entourage with the DJ announcing his welcome -- Fernando walked in.

Even after all this time, Guanyu still feels a little starstruck, like the wind knocked out of him. It's not even the first time he's seen him in person, but the feeling is still the same. Fernando is so handsome, and whatever cosmetic work he's done is tasteful, looking older but striking. Guanyu waits at the bar on the upper floor and sneaks glances at Fernando when he can get away with it, watching him hug Flavio.

Fernando seems to catch his eye, and Guanyu looks away fast - fast, ears burning hot. He knows he's well dressed in his Chanel boots, two older ladies try to approach him and he politely declines, and when he turns around this time Fernando is gone from his seat.

Guanyu tries not to feel disappointment. He stares at his melting ice sparkling water.

"You are my favourite type of fan." The Spanish lilt of the voice by his ear makes Guanyu jump, Fernando Alonso right there beside him. "Beautiful, rich, groupie. Makes the experience rewarding for both of us, no?"

Guanyu wants to protest he's not a groupie but he's stuck on the beautiful, a blush rising from his neck, and Fernando is grinning wolfishly at him. This close, Guanyu feels a little dizzy. He can see his pores, like an HD Getty Image. He actually had a 10 step plan of how Fernando would fall in slowburn romance with him eventually after a carefully planned coffee shop meetcute but this was jumping several steps.

"I keep seeing you, and I don't forget pretty face. What's your name?" Fernando's arm goes around Guanyu's shoulder.

"Zhou Guanyu--Joe, my friends here call me Joe."

"Guanyu," Fernando butchers the pronunciation. "Zodiac sign?" He must've picked it up when he starred in Dragon Warrior: Unleashed in Beijing.

"Bunny." Guanyu momentarily forgets the English word for rabbit.

"Ah. Year of the Rabbit. I remember, from my time filming in Beijing. You are old enough, I will buy you a drink."

Guanyu finds himself being led to Fernando's table, legs walking on autopilot, heart throbbing out of his chest.

"Tell me, bunny, have you ever had a flaming whiskey shot?"

Fernando's grin is shark-like, hand on his shoulder sliding down to Guanyu's waist when he shakes his head no, signalling to his private server.

The rest of the night goes like this: Guanyu's lips close around the rim of his glass, and then it closes around the rim of Fernando's cock.

The sex is an out of body experience. Guanyu is going to compare it to Fernando's sex scenes he has bookmarked when he gets home.

"So, what are you, big Mclaren Heroes fan?" Fernando asks after, referencing his most popular movie that most people know him from, mostly because it was also the film that launched 7x Oscar winner Lewis Hamilton onto the scene. Otherwise, Fernando has just been on the film scene forever, but without the huge blockbuster hits. Guanyu actually thinks the first one is a little overrated, and then the decline in quality in the cashgrab sequels years later that never quite caught the charm of the first one.

Guanyu shakes his head. "I loved you in Minardi. I had a poster. I was 5."

"Jesus, don't remind me, kid." Fernando shudders, getting up. "It was a good run."

Guanyu has a million photos saved of it, but Fernando's back tattoo is still immaculate in person stretching from his nape all the way resting above the dimples of his lower back. He remembers when it was freshly inked and Fernando had posted it on his now abandoned Facebook. There's probably things about Fernando that he himself has forgotten that Guanyu remembers.

"You like?"

Guanyu blushes again, caught. He nods. "It's so cool."

Fernando smiles, maybe a real one this whole evening. "You have to be brave in life, like a samurai."

Fernando puts on a robe, heading to the en-suite bathroom.

Guanyu bolts over to where Fernando's phone is, unlocking it: 3314. He saw Fernando type it before, and it opens. Going to the phonebook, Guanyu saves his number as 🌸🪷💖Bunny🌸🪷💖 (Joe from the club) (Minardi fan Zhou Guanyu); before leaving it back where Fernando kept it.

If he were some lowlife stalker he would've called himself to save Fernando's number, but he's not. He hopes the emoji associations remind Fernando of the good times they had.

The next time Guanyu sees Fernando at the club, he's there with Logan and Oscar, who had invited their friends along too so the private perks and the membership card hadn't been awkward at all -- everyone calling him Joe The Man.

Logan, drunk, collapses on his shoulder with an inconspicuous whisper yell over the music. "Is that, that dude from Heroes?"

He locks eyes with Fernando across the dance hall. This time, Guanyu doesn't look away.

His phone buzzes with a text.

[sorenphelps]

muse

a quick sketch inspired by a very old fanfic about Remus writing poems about Sirius' bits i just randomly remembered today... unfortunately the fic (more like a poem collection) was in Hungarian only and it's so old that it's now lost forever🤷🏻‍♀️

also tagging @plecotusauritus to help her preach the freckled Sirius agenda

[brigittttoo]

WIP wedsnedsdeay

I've finally been able to work on the codywan "tomb raider" fic but the current section I'm writing is too full of spoilers for WIP wed. So here is a bit from the beginning!

“Shall we pretend not to know each other, then?” Obi-Wan asks quietly. “No, I just—” Cody starts without thinking, and then he really looks at Obi-Wan. There’s more grey in his, well, everywhere. Even his eyes look less blue, and he has more wrinkles around them, creases at the corners. He looks somehow both less and more put-together than he did during the war. Like he’s more worn but has found a more thorough mask for it. “Didn’t know you’d be the one they sent,” he finishes.

[azaracyy]

✦ gods of mischief ✦ digimon survive week 2024 day 3: other digi- er, kemonogami

[compacflt]

The F-35 fuckup makes me wonder how Ice would deal with similar fuckups in the Navy. Or maybe when he sees Captain Mitchell's fuckups (like the darkstar) trending on twitter.

ahhh the f-35 fuck-up… someone asked me a similar question months ago about the f-22 balloon kills situation and i had a similar headcanon response which is, ice going “wow. hmm.” over their morning coffee and maverick groggily going “what. what happened.” and ice sliding his phone over with the CNN story pulled up, and mav goes, “huh. that’s not good.” and ice shrugs and sips his coffee and goes “well god help the poor fucker they draft to deal with it” and minds his own business and goes about his day. it’s the marine corps’ stupid autopilot stealth plane. not his problem.

(until it is, and then he goes scorched earth, ruthless fleet commander hours)

re: ice dealing with darkstar: i guess, number one, do we think the US military would memoryhole it? say some other military craft exploded & not give away the details of the program? “Air Force u-2 explodes over Rocky Mountains, one pilot ejects safely from 50k ft” or something. Twitter clowns on the air force & not mav. diversionary infosec tactics. number two, this is how ice deals with the darkstar issue

[manitapaleta]

Oh yeah I drew short haired lark the other day **shapeshifts into Itachi Uchiha** to measure my abilities

[chronurgy]

Playing a Durge romancing Gale adds some fun dimensions to his post-coronation reaction I think. There could easily an element of jealousy in his reaction, watching your partner get drawn in by this very charismatic stranger who they clearly have a past with, which could also play into his self esteem issues - sure, he's a bad guy, but why would they pick you over him, really? Then combine that with an uncomfortable moment of self awareness, namely that his goals and Gortash's goals are basically the same and that there are a fair few other similarities between the two of them. Which means that Durge has a type: charming, dark haired men who want to be gods. Or does it mean that you're just the closest substitute for him?

[realbeefman]

i'm a cis woman, but in the past few years i've developed a habit of headcanoning any male character i relate to as a trans women, beginning a fic trying to explore that, and then miserably falling short as i can never figure out how to end the story. i've recently joined a new fandom and started my most recent attempt at writing this ever-elusive character interpretation i've been trying to explain for years. and it occurs to me that maybe the reason i keep trying to interpret these characters i relate to as women and failing to, is because i'm trying to project the wrong experience. because i think that conclusion i can never fully bring myself to write isn't one about coming to terms with womanhood and embracing that identity, but about coming to terms with being a man.

so tldr im a trans man and this is a coming out post.

[dolotonglo]

while i think we all knew that this day was coming, i still chose, for seven years, not to give up hope. i put my faith in mappa and the yuri on ice team and while i'm not surprised by the cancellation, i'm still so dissapointed.

listen, i understand. there were a lot of factors that made production and release hard. it wasn't meant to be. i get it. but it still hurts. i still think we deserved clearer communication on this.

yuri on ice was a major part of my life for so long. that show opened my eyes to healthy queer relationships and made me realize that i was queer myself. watching the episodes as they came out and debriefing them with my friends was the highlight of my week. i have consumed fanworks from incredibly, astoundingly talented artists. i have created fanworks. i have talked to and connected with so many amazing people, all because of this show.

yuri on ice got me through the darkest points of my life. when shit hit the fan, i'd curl up in bed, wrapped in my blanket from hot topic, and loop the soundtrack to ground myself. yuri on ice has been there for every major turning point in my life, and comforted me through it.

although more recently i haven't been as involved in the fandom, it's still so, so dear to me. i'm sitting here, writing this, surrounded by yoi merch i've collected over the years. keychains, plushues, stickers. i'm blowing my nose with tissues from my makkachin tissue holder.

...it's just so surreal that the movie has finally been put to rest. but i'm happy to have known and loved this fandom, and i will carry these memories with me, always.

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

hold on ok i belted out a brief laughingstock Scene for possible future use that i Had to write down bc if i didn't, i'd never remember it. and why not share?

~

“Barnaby? Barnaby, old chap, are you with me?” 

Barnaby blinks, registering the green fingers snapping in front of his nose. He huffs a laugh and pushes Howdy’s hand away. “Yeah, yeah, I’m listenin’. You were saying?”

Howdy gives him an exasperated look, a fond look. “Thinking about running off to a farm again, were you?”

“Nah, just the clouds. They’re a lot less work.”

“Well I’d rather you didn’t. Who would I talk to during the long hours if you went and floated off?” Howdy winks before turning to his shelves, already yammering away about something or other.

Something or other that Barnaby is once again not listening to, because what was that? Barnaby quickly presses his cool paw-pads to his burning cheeks, feeling the bristling fur there. 

Has Howdy ever winked at him? Now that he’s noticed it, Barnaby can’t recall. If it’s new, then why? Why a wink of all things? What did that mean? And that look Howdy gave him… 

Barnaby adjusts his abruptly too-tight tie. It’s unusually warm in the store, isn’t it? Howdy must have forgotten to turn on the AC. 

Gosh, what is Howdy even saying? He’s still talking, but Barnaby hasn’t absorbed a word. He can’t even tell if Howdy is still speaking english. It’s all garbled.

There’s something wrong with Barnaby. He must be coming down with something… or he’s just overthinking it. Overworking the ol’ noggin. A good long nap should set him right. 

“Listen,” Barnaby interrupts, patting the counter, “I uh, I don’t know where my head’s at. I better go find it - I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Oh… alright, then,” Howdy says, a tinge of disappointment in his voice. 

Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking. Barnaby slaps that thought out of the park. He doesn’t want Howdy to be disappointed, that’s absurd. That’s something a bad friend would think. Barnaby may be many things, but a bad friend isn’t one of them.

“I’ll whip up a joke that’ll knock your socks off next time I see ya,” Barnaby promises. He smiles around the discomfort and the entirely new feeling squirming around each other in his chest. 

“Now you’ve gone and brought up my expectations,” Howdy says. He leans on the counter and grins. “Are you sure you can back up such a claim, Mr. Beagle?”

Another hot flush races under Barnaby’s fur, and to his growing mortification, his tail starts wagging at breakneck speed. He lets out an uncharacteristically nervous laugh and backs away from the counter. To both of their horror, his back hits a shelf, making it rattle and tip.

“Oh, sh-” Barnaby lunges to right it before it can topple. He whips around and laughs again. Howdy’s wide-eyed stare burns. “Sorry ‘bout that! Talk about a bulldog in a bugshop, geez.”

“When you find your head, make sure to screw it on nice and tight,” Howdy says, a strange look on his face to match his tone. “And check your temperature while you’re at it - it’s not like you to be off-balance.”

“I wouldn’t say I’m off-balance,” Barnaby says. He inches towards the door, willing his stupid tail to calm down. “I just have ears instead of rearview mirrors.”

“Uh-huh…” Howdy slides to the side, trying to peer around him. 

Barnaby fumbles for the door. The scrape and bang of his search for the handle echoes in the quiet store. One of Howdy’s eyebrows creeps higher the longer Barnaby stands there, making a complete fool of himself. 

Finally, the door clicks, and Barnaby nearly tumbles over backwards in his haste to get out. He stumbles down the steps and briskly walks away, adjusting his hat and tie. As soon as he’s out of sight, he slaps his paws to his face and sags against the bodega.

“Idiot,” he hisses to himself. He presses his back flat against the wall and slams the side of his fist against it. Normally, Barnaby would use a situation like this to his advantage. But Howdy wasn’t laughing, and Barnaby wasn’t being funny. “Bulldog in a - gah, idiot!”

Great. Now Howdy thinks he’s not only a clumsy oaf, but that he’s losing his touch too.

Barnaby growls in frustration, pushing off the wall and stomping away from the plaza on all fours. What does he care what Howdy thinks of him? Others’ opinions of Barnaby have never been anywhere near his list of top priorities - barring Wally’s, of course. If they were, he'd never tell another joke again.

Yes, Howdy is a good friend of Barnaby’s. A close friend, even. But since when has he had such a - such an effect? Barnaby shakes his head, growling again. 

There was no effect. Barnaby is just going insane. Or he’s getting sick, like Howdy implied. That would explain the sudden hot flash, the loss of typically impeccable coordination, and, oh yeah! Barnaby’s brain leaking out of his ears.