Tahereh Ma

Warner is probably right, that profanity is probably a failure of the mind, that only idiots need to rely on foul language to express themselves properly—or whatever stupid shit he said to Adam that one time

“That wasn’t altogether disappointing. But just because your body can heal itself at an extraordinary rate doesn’t make you invincible. Stop showing off. You spend too much time with Kishimoto. Next time, don’t bleed all over everything like an idiot. Don’t let your enemy know what you’re capable of. Unless, of course, it is your intention to be swiftly murdered in your youth.”

Warner is pretty much never wrong

Aaron Warner Anderson is a living legend.

“A cold-blooded mercenary—loyal to The Reestablishment—is essentially imprisoned in a rehabilitation facility, where she’s forced against her will to participate in excruciating group therapy sessions followed by hours of invasive questioning, and you’re hoping I’m going to tell you that her silent, unyielding stare is an indication that she’s in love with you?”

Growing up with these two has ruined me for regular relationships. I want what they have.

I thought he was impressive at twenty; at thirty years old he radiates the kind of quiet, effortless power I find aspirational.

“I think I’m dying. Did she get more beautiful? How did she get more beautiful?”

“Then what do you know?”
“I know that she’s right-handed? She recently discovered she doesn’t like tomatoes?

My pants were getting tight over a serial killer. Kenji is going to love this.