#sorry redeye

[zombiecakes]

Did you create a playlist for your sole survivor?

The first thing I do once I realize I'm getting properly attached to a character is run over to Spotify and collect some shit that reminds me of them. It helps me stay in their headspace.

I found a bunch of new shit I don’t usually listen to when I was looking for stuff for Zirk. I think my top two favs for him are...

Do You Kiss Your Mama with That Mouth by Euringer

American Trash by Innerpartysystem

If y’all had to pick two songs to fit your sole, what would they be??

[katsu28]

welcome to miami

pairing: lando norris x reader

summary: lando wins miami, and you're there to see it happen (2.1k)

a/n: had to crank this one out for lando's first win 🧡 i'm still buzzing with excitement and pride omg

You’d decided to fly out to Miami on a whim, really. 

The last race you’d gone to had been a whole ordeal for you. The airline had nearly lost your luggage, Lando’s request for your paddock pass hadn’t gone through in time so you had to sit outside for hours until things got sorted out, just a few of the many things that definitely weren’t great.

But all things aside, Lando had done great in the race and you were there to witness him in his element—something you’d always love to see.

With all the chaos that seemed to come with the Miami Grand Prix, Lando assured you he’d understand if you wanted to sit this one out. You really were planning to stay behind, honest to god. But when you’d wished him luck and kissed him goodbye before he left for Miami, something in you shifted. 

Something was telling you to go, to be there for him in the flesh, even though it could get crazy and it was definitely a little bit out of your comfort zone. But your love for your boyfriend spanned far and beyond, so you did it. 

The unfortunate thing about the last minute planning was that your flight landed at the same time the race began. Between the mad scramble to make your redeye and confirm things like your pass and credentials when you got to the track, you’d forgotten to actually tell Lando you were coming. 

By the time you’d touched down in Miami, it was far too late. You’d have to settle for surprising him afterwards. 

You arrived at the paddock a little over halfway through the race, collapsing into an armchair at McLaren hospitality with the biggest sigh known to man. Your neck ached, your feet were killing you, you were starving and it was too damn hot here in Miami.

Maybe you could go grab some food in a second, but right now you were so exhausted you wouldn’t have been surprised if you’d fallen asleep right there and then.

“Y/N?” A familiar voice drew you out of your stupor a while later, and you looked up to see Oscar’s girlfriend Lily staring back, a mix of confused and glad to see you. “Oh my god, you’re here! Lando said you weren't coming, he’s going to be so happy to see you!” 

“Yeah, it was a last minute thing, honestly. Lando doesn't even know I’m here.” 

“You must be on the edge of your seat right now.”

“Sorry?” 

 Lily nodded over your shoulder. “He’s winning. Lando’s leading the race, look.”

Suddenly you were wide awake, previous fatigue gone and forgotten as you spun around to look at one of the big screens showing the race. Lo and behold, there Lando was, holding steady at the front of the pack a good few seconds ahead of Max’s RedBull. 

“Holy shit.” You blinked a few times in disbelief, because maybe you were seeing things, but nothing changed. Lando was still P1 with only a handful of laps to go. “Holy shit!” 

“He’s gonna do it, Y/N. Lando’s gonna win.” Lily promised, squeezing your hand tightly. 

And she was right. 

The entire McLaren portion of the paddock erupted into deafening cheers the moment Lando sped past the waving checkered flag, you included. You were cheering so loud you felt your ears start to ring.

People were jumping around with each other left and right, folks you didn’t know hugging you and congratulating you on Lando’s win. It was odd, because you weren’t the one who’d won, it was your boyfriend, but you accepted the praise nonetheless. 

He’d done it. For the first time in his career, Lando had won. All the hard work, all the long days and sleepless nights, all the time and energy and training the entire team had put in to make a dream a reality had finally paid off. 

It felt like a sort of out-of-body experience for you, watching Lando throw himself across the barrier into his team, seeing him up on the top step of the podium with his first P1 trophy. Part of it didn’t feel real, but it was. 

You could hardly sit still while you waited for Lando and the rest of the team to return to the paddock. Of course he had to do a couple post-race interviews, the podium press conference, all that stuff, but you could stick it out. All would be worth it to see the look on his face when he saw that you were here instead of back home. 

It was only fitting that you heard them all coming before you saw them. Cheering, chanting, you even heard some singing going on, and then there he was. He was nothing but smiles all around as you watched him break away from the others and pull out his phone. 

It took everything you had in you not to yell out his name. Instead, you video called him with shaky hands, waiting eagerly for him to pick up. He answered immediately, his gleefully smiling face filling your screen. 

“Hi, I won!” He exclaimed, beaming so big and bright his eyes crinkled at the corners. “I won Miami!”

“I know! I’m so proud of you, Lan!” 

“I really wish you were here to see it, but it’s alright. Everything is so crazy here, I—” He stopped in his tracks as soon as he glanced back down at his screen, bringing the phone so close to his face you could only see one of his eyes and the fading cut across his nose. 

“What’re you doing, bub?” You laughed, feigning cluelessness. 

“Where are you? It’s…” His nose scrunched adorably as he tried to calculate the time difference in his head. “Eleven at night back home, why is it bright out on your end?”

“Maybe I’m not at home.” You shrugged, angling your own phone towards the McLaren logo behind you casually. “Maybe I’m…”

“No. What the fuck? Are you—” He cut himself off a second time, squinting at his phone. It was funny, watching his head whip up both on your screen and from where you were standing, even funnier when he clocked you instantly and all but threw his phone off to the side as he broke out in a full on sprint towards you. “Holy fuck, you’re here! How—what—” Lando was so shocked he couldn’t even finish his sentence, but he didn’t need to.

You let him all but tackle you around the waist, clinging onto his shoulders for dear life as he spun you around a few times. He was hot and sticky with champagne and smelled like sweat and gasoline, but you didn’t care. You were so beyond proud of him you couldn’t even put it into words. Not bursting into tears of pride was all you could do. 

It turned out you couldn’t even do that, because as soon as your feet touched the ground again and he pulled back to look at you with stars in his eyes, the tears started to gather in yours. 

“Oh my god, are you crying?” He laughed, big hands coming up to cup your face tenderly. His thumb swiped over your cheek, catching a lone tear that had managed to escape. “Don’t cry, woman, or else I’ll start crying again.” 

“Of course I’m crying, you dick!” You exclaimed, sniffling a few times in hopes of keeping the waterworks at bay. “I’m happy, I’m proud, I’m really fucking jet lagged right now, I don’t know what I’m doing!” 

“So this is why you weren’t answering my texts!” He exclaimed, holding you at arms length. Even that only lasted a fleeting moment before he was bringing you right back in for another bone-crushing hug. “I knew you weren’t ignoring me! Oscar was being a dickhead, he said I was being clingy.”

“I’m sorry, I was twenty thousand feet in the air at the time.” You gave a watery chuckle, tightening your arms around his neck. “I’m so, so fucking proud of you, baby. Never had a doubt in my mind that you’d be a Grand Prix winner one day. Kinda wish that day was one where I could’ve put on a cuter outfit, ‘cause I can already picture all the god awful photos of this moment right now, but whatever.” 

“Thank you. Thank you for standing by me, thank you for loving me—thank you for everything. I love you. I love you so much.” Lando said, lips pressed to the crown of your head. “I’m beyond fucking lucky to have you, darling. And you always look cute, what’re you even talking about?” 

“You may be a winner now but you’re still a god awful liar, Lando Norris.” 

“Shut up and c’mere,” He murmured, tugging you flush against him with a hand splayed across your back. Before you could say a word, he tilted your chin up with his thumb and pointer finger and he kissed you, finally.

It wasn’t a graceful kiss by any means, but it didn’t matter. He tasted sweet like champagne and victory as he kissed you with his whole soul, nearly knocking you backwards had he not been keeping you firmly in place. 

He pulled away far too early, but pressed one more, much shorter kiss to your lips before he gave you a not-so-subtle once over. Concern bloomed across his face, and instantly you readied yourself for the barrage of questions coming your way in three, two, one. 

“How was your flight? Are you tired? I still can’t believe you forgot to tell me you were coming. Do you want to head to the hotel? I think I've got some more media stuff to do, but I can send for a car to take you back now and I’ll meet you later?” 

“I’m fine, you muppet! Stop fussing over me.” You griped playfully, nudging him with your elbow. “Do what you have to do, I’ll wait here for you.” 

Lando tutted, pressing close to murmur into your ear, breath hot. “What I want to do and what I have to do are two very different things. One involves you, and I can’t do it with all these people around, but—” 

“Lando.” 

“What?” He pouted. You reached up to tug at his earlobe, to which he huffed out a sigh. “Fine. We’ll discuss it later then. I was actually supposed to fly home tonight to get back to you, if you wanted to know.” 

“Really?” Warmth bloomed in your chest at his words. He could’ve done anything he wanted the night following the race, but he’d booked a flight to go home to you. 

“Of course. No matter what the outcome could’ve been, I wanted to see you.” He replied, smiling warmly at you. You turned your head towards him, puckering your lips for a kiss that he happily planted on you. “But since you’re here and not thousands of miles away…how ‘bout we celebrate? Dinner out, maybe go clubbing? Miami’s got a killer party scene, I’ve heard. Unless you’re tired from your flight, we could always just stay in.” 

“My winner wants to go clubbing, then we go clubbing.” You said firmly. Good thing you’d thrown that dress Lando loved on you into your bag, just in case. (Though you suspected he wouldn't have minded buying you a brand new one if you asked.) 

“Your winner, huh?” Lando beamed. “I like the sound of that.” 

“Formula 1 winner Lando Norris takes on Miami! To the clubs we go!” 

-------

“We shouldn't have gone clubbing.” 

You glanced up from where your face had been buried in Lando’s shoulder since the plane had taken off, squinting at your boyfriend through bleary eyes. Even the dim light of the cabin was almost too much for the throbbing in your head, making you wince. “Huh?” 

“Last night. We should’ve just ordered takeaway. Watched a movie or something.” 

“You wanted to go out though?” 

He let out a pained groan, shifting in his seat gingerly. “Yeah, and look where that got me.” 

“What’re you even—oh.” You blinked a few times, and when your vision cleared, you saw it. A ugly looking bruise right above his eyebrow, darkening the surrounding skin. “Did you get that last night?” Lando nodded, prodding at the area gently before you had the sense to swat his hand away. “Stop touching it. I don’t even remember how you did that. I don’t really remember a lot of last night, really.” 

“Me neither.” He snuggled deeper into you, letting his cheek fall against the top of your head comfortably. “Next time I suggest something, tell me I’m being stupid.” 

“I love you even when you suggest stupid things.” 

Lando scowled, but not for long until it morphed into a wince. “I’m too hungover to even argue with that right now. I love you too.” 

“Lando Norris, Grand Prix winner, parties so hard he doesn’t know how he injured himself. Nice.” 

“Are you ever going to stop calling me that?” 

You dotted a kiss to his cheek, smiling bright as you could manage. “No. Do you want me to stop calling you that?” 

“...No.”

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[robinsegghead]

Danny's Daycare Part 10

[Master List]

The coffee shop was one he’d been to before, though Jason wasn’t much of a coffee drinker. It had grown a lot in popularity recently and Jason vaguely remembered Tim saying something about coming here regularly. Putting in his order (a redeye- which was a normal amount of caffeine to drink Tim), Jason found a booth in the corner and sat down.

He was a bit early so he’d have to wait for Danny. He’d been surprised when he hadn’t gotten a text canceling their meeting after the night Danny and Miguel had had. Jason had almost texted Danny with an excuse to cancel just to make sure the man wasn’t pushing himself too hard but that felt a bit ridiculous.

Danny was a grown man, he could take care of himself just fine. If he didn’t want to cancel, he didn’t have to cancel.

Jason sipped his coffee and watched the entrance out of the corner of his eye. Danny arrived a couple of minutes late, his hair was sticking up in multiple directions like he’d just rolled out of bed, his shirt was inside out, and his jeans were wrinkled. Had he just woken up? 

Eyes landing on Jason, the man made his way to the table with a smile. “Sorry I’m late, I’m gonna grab a coffee and then I’ll join you.”

The barista at the front counter greeted him by name and they started chatting. Did they know each other? Was Danny a regular here as well? He waited for the man’s drink to be made (holy shit how many shots of espresso did they just put into his drink? That had to be a mistake) and thought about what he knew about the man.

He was somehow incredibly strong for his small build and short stature, probably a meta with super strength given his accidental murder of the Joker and easy take down of almost twenty-five men the night before- which. Jesus christ. Jason had learned some things about himself recently. Namely that he liked twinks who could easily pin him down or throw him around. 

Shaking his head, he dismissed those thoughts. Now was so not the time or place.

Danny ran a daycare and seemed to genuinely care about the kids he took care of, he’d taken in two street kids and was helping get them into school again, when Jason insinuated the kids weren’t worth the effort Danny almost snapped his head off, and the man went berserk when someone threatened ‘his’ kid last night.

He and his sister, Jazz Nightingale, had no other known family and their history was locked down behind an encrypted wall neither Tim nor Barbie were able to get through. Which was suspicious but… Jason hadn’t really cared much. He only knew Tim was looking into Danny because of last night.

Tim had blown up a bit when he realized Red Hood and Danny had met on a few occasions. Jason couldn’t exactly explain how they’d met and had instead dodged all of his questions before ditching him and the rest of the bats to go home and implode.

Why implode? Because Danny taking down a bunch of goons that had hurt his kid without holding back (once he’d learned they were child traffickers) was probably the hottest thing he’d seen since the very same guy killed Jason’s murderer. So. Yeah. He’d gone home and had a bit of a crisis thinking about how in under twelve hours he was supposed to meet with the guy to discuss tutoring ‘his kids’.

“Sorry about that.” Danny said, taking the seat across from Jason and startling him out of his thoughts. “Long night. Hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long.”

Jason shrugged. “I like to be early if I can help it so it’s not really your fault I waited.”

He grinned and Jason decided he was a big fan of Danny’s smile. “So you’re good at English?” 

Snorting, Jason nodded. “It was one of the only things I was good at in school.”

“It was my worst subject. My high school English teacher had it out for me- though,” Danny blushed and Jason forced himself to continue eye contact instead of noting how pink his cheeks had grown. “I did fall asleep in his class most days.”

“Looks like not getting enough sleep didn’t stop after high school.” Jason noted. The man had bags under his eyes that rivaled Tim’s. And ever since Tim and Conner got together he’d been sleeping a bit more- mostly because Connor made him, but still. 

Danny groaned and took a swig of his coffee. “There’s a reason my drink has seven shots in it. You know how much time running a daycare, taking care of two teenage boys, and helping my sister get her GED takes up? Talk about burning the candle at both ends. I might as well have thrown the candle into the fire.” He chuckled as if what he’d just said wasn’t insanely worrying.

Also, Jason was pretty sure Danny’s sister was already attending college- why would he be helping her get her GED if that were the case? 

“So what I’m hearing is, you’re desperate for someone to help?” Danny nodded reluctantly. “Well, I thrived in English throughout high school and still read regularly, but you should know, I never finished high school or got my GED. So, technically, I don’t have any qualifications.”

Why the hell did he say that? He could have forged qualifications if he needed to! What if Danny didn’t want somebody who’d never even graduated to teach his kids! What was he thinking-

“That doesn’t really matter to me. I almost didn’t graduate high school.” Oh? “And like I said, my younger sister is working on her GED at the moment. We’re both plenty smart, a degree doesn’t determine someone’s intelligence, just their situation.” Younger sister? Wasn’t Jazz older than him?

“That’s… good to hear.” Jason admitted.

Danny finished his drink- what the fuck was with this guy? “Do you mind me asking why you didn’t finish school? You don’t have to answer, just curious honestly.” 

Make up a lie- “I died.”

What the ever-loving fuck Jason Todd? Aren’t you supposed to be good at keeping secrets? Fucking fuck- not only will Danny not believe him, but he’ll probably rescind his offer of hiring Jason- which- well, he didn’t need the money. He just wanted the opportunity to get to know the guy. But with a mouth as big as his it’s a shock he’s hidden his secret identity as long as he has-

“Oh.” Danny furrowed his brows and stared at Jason seriously. “Okay, yeah, same.”

Wait- What? Did Danny think he was making a joke? But he seemed serious still, something about the way he was looking at Jason was different from before, like he understood, like he meant it when he said ‘same’. “...Same..?” Jason asked, cautiously.

Clearing his throat, Danny looked away. “Yeah. Although, dying wasn’t what almost stopped me from graduating,” he chuckled. “That was more…. Everything else going on. But, uh, yeah- weird conversation to have with someone I don’t really know but-”

“You’re saying you died? Like actually died?” Jason cut in, still not believing what he was hearing. There was literally nothing about Daniel Nightingale online, no records he’d been able to find since he’d first found him a month ago- shouldn’t there be hospital records if he died?

“Yeah, look, I don’t like to talk about it much but yes. I understand. I,” He hesitated, nervously picking at the skin around his fingernails while speaking. “I died. Fully dead, came back… wrong. Different. So I’m not too worried about whether you graduated or not, as long as you can teach the subject.”

Right. The reason they were both here. Not whatever the hell else that was just now (which Jason was one thousand percent looking into when he got home today). “What are you thinking?”

“I suck at everything English except speaking it. The boys need to learn about grammar, how to read and analyze something, how to write papers, essays, etc.” Danny stopped picking at his fingers. “They’ve been out of school for three years now so they have a lot to catch up on. Not only that, Miguel will be going into his senior year and Santiago will be starting freshman year.”

Jason nodded along. “Yeah I can teach all of that. I’ve helped a few of my younger siblings throughout the years, none of them are really great at the subject.”

“I’d obviously pay you. There’s two of them and I’m asking a lot, so name a price and I’ll make it happen.”

“Name a price?” Jason repeated. “You sure about that, doll?” He smirked at Danny’s surprised look. “I could be some schmuck down on his luck trying to take advantage of you right now and you say ‘name a price’?”

Shrugging, Danny rubbed his temple. Did he have a headache? “I mean, you probably couldn’t name a price I couldn’t meet but I guess, hows $150 an hour sound? Wait- should I double it because there’s two of them?” He looked at the ceiling contemplatively while Jason stared in shock. “Okay yeah, $300 an hour good?”

“That’s… way more than necessary.” Jason managed, taken completely off guard.

Danny, who seemed to get some confidence from Jason’s shocked state, leaned forward and smirked. “I can go higher if you’d like, darling. $500 an hour? $750?” He’d lowered his voice and raised an eyebrow. “Ah hell, might as well make it a solid $1,000, I am asking a lot of you, huh sweetheart?”

Where. Had. That. Come. From?

All Jason could think about was how incredibly sexy that confidence was. Jason swallowed, Danny’s eyes followed the action, slowly trailing back up his face and- had Jason imagined the way the man’s eyes paused over his lips? Had the cafe always been this warm? “$150 is plenty.” Jason finally managed.

Leaning back and returning to his former air of laid back and slightly frazzled, Danny smiled. “Sounds good! We usually work in the evenings and weekends, what days and times work for you?”

“Any time on Saturdays is fine, any time after twelve on Sunday’s is fine,” Alfred always gave him the disappointed look when Jason missed a brunch these days. “And week nights… I could probably do seven to nine? Not sure how often you need me to work with them though.”

Danny nodded, thoughtfully. “Two or three times a week would be good. The boys don’t have a lot to entertain them at the moment so they’re trying to get a bunch of the school stuff out of the way. The latest entrance exam for Gotham Academy is the first week of August so they have almost two months but well- that’s not much time. We’re trying to expedite it as much as possible.”

“What if they don’t get in?” Jason asked.

“Then I’ll homeschool them.” Danny shrugged. “I want them to get into Gotham Academy for the social aspects and-” he paused, looking at Jason seriously. “And because I want them to prove to themselves that they’re capable of it. They don’t think they can get in, but I know they can.”

Jason wondered what it would have been like, to have someone believe in him that much when he was younger. Bruce had… he’d done his best, and sometimes Jason thought if there had never been Batman, never been Robin, things would have probably been completely different. If even a fraction of Gotham cared about others the way Danny did, it would change completely.

“They’ll get into Gotham Academy, we’ll make sure of it.”

~~~

Who. The Fuck. Was Dani Nightingale?

Tim had been looking into Danny Nightingale for months- learning everything he could about the man and his past which was, admittedly, not a lot, but he knew a few things. Daniel Nightingale had a bachelor’s in bio chemistry, he was super wealthy, he liked helping people, and he had one sister. ONE. Jasmine (Jazz) Nightingale, a student at Gotham U and intern at Arkham Asylum. 

So why was there suddenly evidence of a second sister, one younger than Danny, whose name was ALSO Danny but with an ‘i’? Where did she come from? Who was she? Why did she look so much like Danny but neither looked like Jazz? 

And another thing? Why was the only thing proving her existence, a social security number, birth certificate, and driver’s license? Where were the social media posts? The email accounts? Literally anything?! She hadn’t existed yesterday, and today- BAM! She’s a whole real person! 

“Tim, I think it’s time for bed.” Connor suggested.

Shaking his head, Tim continued to stare at the exact same information he’d spent the last forty minutes staring at. “I don’t need sleep, I need answers.”

“I will drag you to bed.”

“Kon-”

“Nope, too slow.” Connor grabbed him around the waist and dragged him out of the cave to get his first proper night of sleep in almost a week.

~~~

The meeting with Jason had gone well and they’d settled on him coming over to tutor the boys on Monday’s, Wednesday’s, and Saturdays every week. The boys had asked him how it’d gone when he got home and he tried not to remember the way Jason had called him ‘doll’ or how Danny had snapped back, calling him ‘darling’ and ‘sweetheart’ and checking him out the entire time- what the fuck Danny? The man was looking for a job and Danny had openly checked him out and clearly made him uncomfortable- Jason probably called lots of people doll- it wasn’t flirtatious.

So no. He hadn’t told the boys much about the meeting. Just that Jason would be helping with English from here on out. They’d also talked about Miguel’s outburst. The boy had tried to apologize but Danny wasn’t having it. Everything the boys were doing was hard, and he knew that; they didn’t deserve to feel guilt over getting emotional through the hard days.

The difficult stuff was for Danny to shoulder.

They had pancakes for dinner and the boys spent the night in his place again. Miguel was clearly quite shaken by what had happened but wasn’t ready to discuss it. Life had gotten in the way recently, but he’d promised Miguel a cat, and he thought the kid might need it now more than ever.

Nightingale: Hey, would you be willing to teach a friend of mine about cats? 

Nightingale: … You changed my name again.

Dami: It is your name.

Dami: …You changed my name again.

‘Nightingale’ has changed ‘Nightingale’s’ name to ‘Danny’

‘Dami’ has changed ‘Dami’s’ name to ‘Damian’

Danny: Anyways- will you? I can pay you if you want

Damian: I do not need financial compensation. When were you hoping I could teach your friend?

Danny: As soon as possible? He’s had a rough couple of days and I think the cat will help him. He’s already shown a lot of responsibility towards them.

Damian: This is acceptable. Tomorrow after noon I am free.

Danny: You can come by anytime after noon! Thanks Dami!

Damian: I did not give you permission to call me that, Nightingale.

Danny: I didn’t give you permission to call me that, Dami.

Damian: Touche. 

It seemed they were at a stalemate. The boy didn’t text him back after that which was fine, he’d be coming over tomorrow and Danny could tease him then. Shooting a text to Damian with his home address, Danny paused. Had he ever texted Tim? 

Shit. He was such a bad friend. How long ago had that been anyways? A month? Ancients fuck- Putting in the number he’d hastily typed into an empty memo on his phone, Danny shot out a text.

Danny: Hey Tim, it’s Danny. Sorry it took so long to message, things have been crazy.

He hadn’t seen Tim at the coffee shop since the last time- he didn’t really have the time to go anymore- and wasn’t even sure if Tim really wanted to be his friend or had given Danny his number out of boredom or something. Although, didn’t he say he didn’t get much free time? Plus, it was kind of rude to have waited so long to text.

Collapsing into the couch with a sigh, Danny decided to stop overthinking things (easier said than done) and go to sleep intentionally for once. He’d just closed his eyes when he heard the sound of a window sliding open. Whoever thought it was a good idea to break into the ghost king’s apartment especially after one of his kids was kidnapped was crazy. Before he could get too angry he was met by the sight of Red Hood squeezing through the window with a plastic bag in one hand.

“Wh- you know what, I’m not gonna ask.” Danny rubbed a hand across his eyes.

Red Hood looked startled when he realized Danny was there. It’s his apartment, why wouldn’t Danny be there? “Uh, sorry, you’re usually not here when I bring food.”

“Usually not where? In my own apartment? In the apartment building that I own?” Danny snarked. “Sorry, that was rude.” He stood up feeling the blood rush to his head quickly. “To what do I owe the-” 

He wasn’t quite sure what had happened. One second he was looking at Hood while approaching him, he blinked, and then he was looking up at Hood. They were also much closer than they’d ever been aside from the time the vigilante had taken him home via grappling hook.

Blinking hard, Danny pulled away. “What just happened?”

“You blacked out. Are you okay?”

Danny rubbed the back of his head which usually hurt after his power naps but felt completely fine at the moment. “Yeah,” he sighed, pushing himself to stand up despite Hood’s attempted protest. “Just my body trying to take a power nap. Anyways, thanks for the food- you really don’t have to keep doing that.”

“I want to.” Hood said almost automatically. “What the hell do you mean by power nap? That was a fainting spell if I’ve ever seen one- and believe me, I have.”

Finding a place for the food in the fridge was easy considering Danny hadn’t exactly had time to go to the grocery store in the last few days. “You know- a power nap? When your body tries to overpower you into napping? Happens a lot.”

“Danny- what the- that is NOT normal- you should see a doctor or-”

“Awwww.” Danny chuckled. “The Red Hood is worried for me?” He teased.

The vigilante went silent for a moment, staring at Danny like he was an idiot. “Yes! Jesus fucking Christ man, passing out is not normal and you should most certainly see a doctor about it!”

“Nah, I’m fine.”

Red Hood put his hands on his hips and tilted his head. It was kind of adorable how put-off he seemed. “It’s not fine. How long has this been going on?”

Danny pretended to think about it. He didn’t have to. He knew the exact date he’d started having this issue. He wasn’t keen on telling the Red Hood that he was a baby who couldn’t handle a little murder. “I dunno- a while.”

“Give me an estimate.” Hood countered.

“How long’s it been since we met?” Danny asked (as if he didn’t have the date memorized or hadn’t recounted the events that led to him being casually acquainted with his favorite vigilante). “About that long. You know- after I killed someone?”

Hood froze, his body tense in a way Danny hadn’t personally seen before. “Oh.”

“Yeah oh.” Danny scoffed, closing the fridge and leaning against the counter for support. “Look, the Joker deserved to die and I don’t regret killing him. I couldn’t sleep for a couple of days because of it, but I didn’t regret it. And then… life got crazy. Vigilantes were breaking into my apartment, the daycare was getting busier, the Red Hood was leaving me meals,” he gave the vigilante a pointed look. “Suddenly I’d taken in a couple of teenage boys and also my younger sister all of whom need an education I’m not qualified to provide but am somehow the only one able to do it- it’s a lot, man.”

Hood nodded in understanding. “That is a lot. You don’t have any… friends or family who could help you? Parents?”

Danny’s face darkened. “No. Look, this isn’t the first time I’ve dealt with this. Basically all of high school I got zero sleep and was expected to keep up grades and protect the town- I’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, about that. You wanna tell me how you were a teenage vigilante?”

Shaking his hand, Danny huffed. “You want my origin story? Man, I’m retired. And you’ve probably never even heard of me.”

Hood didn’t budge.

“I’ll tell you what- you take off the helmet, and I’ll tell you my origin story.” 

“Not gonna happen.” Hood responded quickly.

With a smug look, Danny crossed his arms. “That’s what I thought. Thanks for the food, the boys always appreciate it, but I think we’re done here.” He moved to show Hood out (through the window) but the man didn’t move, staring at Danny intently. “What?” He sighed.

Hood lifted his arms and though Danny’s danger sense didn’t go off, he worried he’d offended the man. Although he thought very highly of the vigilante, he didn’t really know much about him. But instead of losing his temper or pushing Danny for more, Hood unlatched his helmet.

Danny gasped slightly as the man pulled it away and revealed- a domino.

“Oh you sneaky motherfucker!” He barked out, laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation. When he was done laughing, he took in the man’s face. His black hair was messy, probably from the helmet, some of his hair looked… white? But what he noticed the most was the scar on the side of his face. It was a J. Although Danny wasn’t always the best at putting things together, he could extrapolate who’d left that there without needing to ask.

He sucked in a breath. “Okay, I take it back, I think I’m actually going to start sleeping better now that that fucker’s dead.”

Hood pursed his lips. Danny tried not to look too closely at his lips but Ancients damn he was failing miserably. The man was hot. Danny liked men. He liked men so much.

The vigilante cleared his throat and Danny snapped out of it. “Sorry. I guess a deal is a deal. You want tea? Coffee? Something to eat? It’s kind of a long story.”

It seemed that Hood was going to refuse his offer but thought better of it. Maybe he noticed the way Danny’s voice shook a bit when he spoke or the haunted look he tried to cover up with a smile. “Tea would be great. Anything black.”

Nodding, Danny set to making them each a cup of tea immediately. He had a simple decaf black tea that he liked in the evenings and set to making them each a cup. “Milk? Sugar?” 

“A little of each.” Came the vigilantes' response. He sounded farther away than he had a moment ago and when Danny looked over to see why he found the man looking at pictures of him with his fraid. 

When the tea was ready he brought it to the couch and set the cups down. “Those are my friends.” He said, startling Hood out of his apparently deep thoughts. Even with the domino covering his eyes, Danny could tell the man was thinking deeply about something. 

Instead of asking whatever questions he had, the man picked up the mug meant for him and took a sip. “Thank you.”

Danny grabbed his own mug and sat on one side of the couch, Hood followed suit and sat on the other end. There was a lot of room between them. 

“Anyway,” Danny took a sip of his tea to put off telling the story a bit more. “My… parents, Jack and Maddie, are what you might call mad scientists.” He noted the way Hood tensed. “They had a fascination with ghosts and proving their existence and studying them. When I was a kid Jack and Maddie began constructing a portal to what they called ‘the Ghost Zone’. It took years. When they were done- it didn’t work.

“They were pissed, but my friends and I thought it looked pretty cool. So they dared me to go inside and take a picture. And- well- I wanted to look cool for my friends. So I went inside.” He paused, taking a sip. “Jack and Mddie are idiots and put a switch on the inside of the portal, and as a certified klutz, I tripped into it.”

Hood scrunched his brows together clearly tempted to interrupt but aware that he shouldn’t. It was cute. 

“I’d say the amount of electricity that went through my body was a few thousand volts. I died. ” He let that sink in for a moment, Hood’s lips had parted in shock. Danny held up his hand and showed Hood his lichtenberg scars. “I died but Jack and Maddie weren’t completely crazy. They were right about the ghost zone- although it’s called the Infinite Realms to those who actually inhabit it and while the portal opened through my body it was flooded with something called ectoplasm.

“Ectoplasm is part of ghosts. They need it to exist, they produce it, it’s like blood… kind of. So the electricity killed me but the ectoplasm tried to keep me alive and I ended up half dead… half alive. You with me so far?”

Hood ran a hand through his hair. “There’s... more?”

Danny laughed. “So much. But we won’t get into all of that.” Hood didn’t need to know about every rogue he’d fought, the fact that he’d become king of the Infinite Realms at fifteen, or what happened after high school…

“How old were you?” Hood asked like it was important.

He guessed it was. “Fourteen.” He managed.

Hood cursed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

 “With the portal open, ghosts thought it was fair game for them to come through. Ghosts- and keep in mind, ‘ghost’ is a really generalized term, there are different kinds. Anyways, ghosts socialize through fighting and sparring so when they showed up and started attacking… I felt responsible.

“So I kicked their butts and threw them back into the Infinite Realms. They kept coming back and I kept dealing with them. Jack and Maddie, ever intent on catching a ghost to study, chased me for years not knowing I was their son. At one point the government got involved, it was a whole thing, eventually I was able to prevent the ghosts from coming back without permission and retired. Ta-da.”

Hood licked his lips and Danny knew- he knew Hood was trying to understand what Danny had just said but holy fuck why did he have to lick his lips? “So… You… died? And you… came back… wrong?” 

Something about the way he asked it struck Danny as strange. It sounded like a phrase he’d said before, something maybe he’d… heard others say? It wasn’t offensive, just… strange. “I guess you could look at it that way. I don’t know if ‘wrong’ is the best way to put it, just… different. Despite what Jack and Maddie will tell you- I’m still the same guy I was before I died. Well- as much the same as you can be after experiencing something like that.”

“This is…” Danny nodded encouragingly as the man tried to digest what he’d learned. “Okay. So- sure. Ghosts. Why not? How did you… deal with them?”

Danny had pointedly ignored telling Hood about his ghost form- it felt… too personal. But he did feel a need to explain a bit to the man- the Avenger of the Dead. “When I came back I had… powers. Like ghosts. I mean, I’m half ghost so… I can do the things they can do plus some other stuff.”

“And that’s how you accidentally killed the clown? Super strength?”

“Something like that, yeah.”

Hood stood up and began pacing- something he’d clearly been itching to do for a while but had held off for Danny’s sake. “So… when you died and came back- did you- were there like… side effects?”

“Like what?” Danny tilted his head.

“Uncontrollable rage.”

It was a strange question. The same way Hood asking if he ‘came back wrong’ was strange. Like he was drawing from personal experience rather than asking about Danny specifically. “Hood.” Danny stood slowly, no need for another fainting spell at such a fragile moment. “Why do you ask?”

There was only a moment of hesitation before the vigilante answered. “Because I died and came back wrong too.” 

Oh. Okay. Danny had never had this conversation before. He had to admit, something felt a bit off about Hood when they first met- but everyone felt a bit off in Gotham. It was in the air, buried under the streets built atop graveyards, it was embedded in every building and plant and person. The city reeked of that different feeling. So he’d brushed it off and learned to tune it out.

“Danny?”

Right, he was in the middle of an important conversation. “Sorry, I’ve just never… uh… There aren’t many people like me. Can you… tell me more about how you came back?”

Hood tensed.

“Or not!” Danny shouted. “Sorry! Ancients, Danny.” He sighed. “Look, I never had uncontrollable rage- although… Well…” Did he really want to go there? But the look on Hood’s face- even covered by a domino- told him the man needed answers. And Danny might have them. “There’s a… different version of me that has some pretty bad anger issues.”

“A different version of you?”

“An evil future me. He’s still around… somewhere.” Danny feigned nonchalance. Truth be told he didn’t know exactly where Dan was- he’d left that to Clockwork to handle, but last he heard his future self was getting therapy which- that was hilarious actually. Danny hadn’t worked up the courage to ask Clockwork about him. Not once.

Hood shook his head. “This is… crazy. You’re telling me-” He cut off, his head turned to the side slightly as if listening to something. “Fuck. Okay. I have to go- Spoiler needs backup- we are not done talking. This is crazy and I have a million questions, Jesus Christ- ghosts!” He rambled, looking for his helmet and taking his leave without so much as a goodbye.

Well. 

That went…

It went. That’s for sure.

Prev. Next

[rubytuezday]

Modern Eren Jäger headcannons

on the college soccer team

listens to 2016 frat party music (the Weekend, Kendrick Lamar, Drake, Childish Gambino) and also rock (Nirvana, Deaftones, Radiohead)

wears clear plastic frame glasses when he's too lazy to put in his contacts (saw someone else say this and I can't stop thinking about it)

loves piano - grew up listening to his mom play classical

tans so fast it's unfair

super flirty with everyone - he's a natural charmer

secretly listens to asmr when he can't sleep

got his tongue pierced when he turned 18

really good at doing accents (his favorite is Aussie)

fluent in German (raised bilingual)

wants to be an honorary uncle to his friends' future kids

frequent special guest on Connie's YouTube channel (like almost every gaming vid)

favorite movie is Return of the King (he cries at the ending every time but pretends like he doesn't)

really good at rolling blunts

coffee order is either the sugariest thing on the menu or a redeye (black coffee with a shot (or two) of espresso)

silver > gold

had a Creepypasta/Slenderman phase when he was 13 (still secretly rewatches Marble Hornets and EveryManHybrid)

read all the Percy Jackson books and liked to pretend that he was also a long lost son of Poseidon (main character syndrome to the max)

remembers everything anyone tells him. You mentioned your major? Eren remembers. You eat a specific food frequently? Eren knows that it's your favorite. Ordered a coffee around him exactly one time? Eren has that shit memorized

obsessed with mood-lighting

either super expressive or impossible to read, no in between

loves taking his mom to the symphony

knows how to cook exactly 3 meals (no I will not elaborate)

favorite sitcom is That '70s Show

so feral for him sorry not sorry

[suzukiblu]

Further adventures in "kidnapping your soulmate for fun and profit" for @twird96.

"You did good with that guy who wrecked the street," Tim says, putting on Smiling Normal Civilian Face #2, which is a little more reserved than #4. Superboy turns red again.

"Technically I also wrecked the street," he says, looking embarrassed.

"It was already a wreck when you got there," Tim snorts. Property doesn't mean shit next to people. "And this way nobody died or got hurt too bad."

"You helped with that part," Superboy says, still red-faced. "Made it a lot easier to keep everybody safe with somebody who was thinking straight about getting them all out of the way, like I said. It's hard to, uh–concentrate on that many at once, you know?"

"Keeping track of where all the civilians are has to be a pain in a fight," Tim agrees, though he tries to make it sound more like he's following Superboy's logic than already fully aware of the vitality of situational awareness from his own vigilante gig. Superboy blinks, cocking his head.

"Oh–no, that part's easy," he says. "I can feel everybody. It's just, uh . . . actively spreading my TTK out that much? I gotta concentrate a lot harder. So it's just way easier when nobody's in the line of fire."

Tim . . . pauses. Tilts his head. He is, technically, aware of how Superboy's tactile telekinesis works, but that sounded like . . .

"Sorry," he says. "You had everybody there in your TTK field?"

"Mostly," Superboy says. "Like I said, it's hard to concentrate on that many people, especially if they're running around in a panic."

"Why would you split your focus like that?" Tim asks, a little mystified. Though he guesses this explains how Superboy noticed what he was doing without ever actually looking at him, come to think. "Doesn't it weaken your powers?"

"Well, yeah, but that dude was blowing up the whole street, man," Superboy says, making a face. "Somebody could've gotten shrapneled or something."

It occurs to Tim, slowly, that the amount of injured civilians really wasn't as high as it should've been, and in fact most of the injuries he did see had most likely been caused in the initial attack. So that means . . .

Oh.

. . . huh.

"Huh," he says. "I didn't realize that was something you could do."

"I try not to advertise it," Superboy says sheepishly. "So, uh, bad guys won't start going after civilians harder when I'm fighting 'em. Or pick crowded areas to pick fights in."

"I was under the impression that you advertised most of what your powers can do," Tim says wryly, though again, he did get that impression from stolen files and cheap magazines.

"Well, yeah," Superboy says with an awkward shrug. "Otherwise people don't think I'm doing anything. Like, that I'm just punching stuff or whatever. Uh, so–how long are you in town for, then?"

"Just for the day," Tim says while making further mental re-evaluations of his soulmate. And it's an admittedly terrible cover, but–"I'm flying back to Gotham on a redeye. I just dropped in to get some time to myself, but I've got school on Monday and a paper to write for it. You know how it is."

"Not so much, man, I don't do that," Superboy says, and Tim . . . pauses, again.

"You don't . . . what, go to school?" he asks.

"Naw," Superboy says. "On account of supervillains attack it when I do."

"So you're home-schooled?" Tim assumes, trying not to cringe at the idea of Rex Leech teaching Superboy math or economics or anything even vaguely in that wheelhouse. That cannot possibly end well.

"Naw," Superboy repeats with another shrug. "Got superhero shit to do. And also, like, brand deals to do. Not really my thing anyway."

. . . Tim is reminded, again, that Superboy is not in fact legally a person and is therefore not in any way protected by labor laws, and Rex Leech and every single dodgy opportunist he's been selling Superboy's likeness to probably knows that. Not even the laws intended for civilians or metahumans or minors or animals would apply, in fact.

Fuck.

The next six months of this kidnapping plot are going to be an agonizing wait, Tim's already realizing.

Fuuuuuck.

[fulgurbugs]

Headcanon ask (I'm sorry the Pokemon SwSh thing made me think of this all of a sudden): Octopath / Pokemon -- gym leaders! Who would be a gym leader and what Pokemon type would they specialise in? (Alternatively if the main antagonist of each Octopath character's story was a gym leader what Pokemon type would each specialise in... you know for the characters who actually have a human antagonist for their story... I feel like Redeye would just be a corrupted legendary or something I don't know?)

alright, had another big brainstorm sesh with the bestie @snailcruncher for this one so here it goes

Here’s what we’re going with: everyone gets one type, 4 pokemon. we’re going to get everyone fully evolved versions of their team as if they’re like, the 8th gym leader, mostly so we had more to work with but also didn’t have to give a fuck about nfe mons

as for choosing the types, we basically went by choosing some who felt obvious first, then filling in with what we had left so nobody repeated a type. maybe some don’t fit perfect but yk. also shoutout to inherent class magic types for giving us some pokemon types to fall back on

also, i’m imagining in this scenario it’s probably like. the only example i can think of is cheren (i don’t watch the anime) where gym leaders clearly have gym teams that vary depending on challenge level, and personal teams for outside of the league, so that’s how we’re rationalizing this

anyways

Up first

Ophilia - Ice

Ace: Lapras

there’s not really a good equivalent to “light” in pokemon types, so we decided to go with the frostlands special on this one.

Abomasnow is here to set hail/snow. if any character has a team that benefits from a weather being set, we’ve usually included a setter in their team. so that’s what abomasnow does

ninetales is for aurora veil, which i think is a pretty good equivalent to the sheltering abilities of cleric

frosmoth was on her original team so decided to carry it over. same with lapras, which i think has a fun connection with guiding/carrying travelers on its back, which makes it a good ace for her.

Cyrus - Psychic

Ace: Alakazam

since scholar covers 3 types of magic, pigeonholing it into one is a little difficult. decided to go with psychic, since it is pretty magic-y and most of its mons are known for being very specially focused rather than physically

alakazam gets to be ace because, let’s face it, none of these other guys are sweeping. alakazam is known for being mega smart and also laser beam crater blasting everything, so i think it’s a pretty safe cyrus pick.

claydol is just something i think is pretty fun for vibes. what with its mysterious origins… feels very cyrus ch4 mural a la runerigus he has in his other team

Swoobat. with the ability. unaware.

Oranguru cuz it’s the instructor pokemon ^_^

Tressa - Water

Ace: Gyarados

Since tressa’s from a seaside town, she felt like the best pick for water types.

Gyarados is her ace because, well… magikarp starts out kind of wimpy but turns out it had the best potential of them all (tho tressa herself certainly has a less rocky start) anyways this thing is a dragon dance sweeper and will kill you.

Pelliper rain setter. plus, gulls feel on brand for her. Gastrodon (east) so that she has an electric immunity that this team sorely needs

Palafin for another zero to hero because tressa would not let you get off easy even if you get past one of her hard hitters. she’d have this thing in the back after flip turning it out of there.

Olberic - Steel

Ace: Aegislash

notable “unbending blade” of hornburg olberic gets steel types, clap if you are surprised. no one?

anyways, Aegislash for the ace. i’m sure it’s pretty self explanatory.

Aggron and steelix are pretty much in for the same reason. they’re big. they have high defense. and they’re steel types. escavalier just goes more in on the knight motif while bringing another dual type to the team

Primrose - Flying

Ace: Oricorio

there’s definitely a good argument to be made for something like dark primrose, but to be honest… i like flying for her, because i feel like it works with her kind of caged-bird motif. in addition, flying types cover a lot of dual types, which means i can pick pokemon that can use dance setups or support.

Oricorio is the picture perfect flying/dancer ace. obviously it gets top spot

Altaria as a dragon dance setup sweeper

Vivillion is a shitmon, admittedly, but it was that or butterfree for a quiver dancer, so i went with vivillion because honestly it doesn’t fucking matter they have the same shit basically. i guess this thing can also use sleep powder (and so can butterfree) but it comes in more pretty colorsssss

Swanna gets featherdance, just to cover one more dance. and you know. swans are like pretty and elegant or whatever. allegedly. anyways something something primrose is a beautiful swan.

Alfyn - Grass

Ace: Leavanny

Alfyn greengrass has grass types? this is shocking to nobody. anways, deciding between leavanny or meganium for the ace i eventually decided on leavanny because i say so. but they could both work

vileplume so that he has at least one grass/poison rep. i so rarely use the apothecary poisoning skills in OT but he can like. do that, so….

Sunflora is here because it would use sunny day and do fuck all except be a shitmon, because it is, but personally i think Alfyn wouldn’t gaf because it’s cute and he likes it, and it supports solarbeam/Clorophll for its team which is enough of a job to put it on here

Therion - Fire

Ace: Houndoom

the inherent fire magic of the thief class is here to bail me out in giving therion a gym type. thanks.

Anyways, i’m going with Houndoom as the Ace because he does have an image to uphold. it can’t all be fluffy arcanines or whatever.

ceruldege is here bc A) swords and B) it’s a little hater of a pokemon so it stays. centiskorch is here because it’s one of MY favs and i think it’s fun to put more interesting dual types into these teams, and as much as i love volcarona (my all time fave) it’s not really a therion mon… but i do think he’d be on board with a centiskorch.

then for a sun setter… it kind of had to be ninetales, tbh. i cannot really justify giving mr fastest speed stat in orsterra a turtle. so ninetales it is.

H’aanit - Electric

Ace: Luxray

another one where the inherent class magic gets to bail us out. if i’m being honestly, H’aanit is not much giving electric trainer, but we did our best.

Kilowatrells reasoning here is the same as it was in her original team. it’s a literal thunderbird. (also, no legends here but she deserves a zapdos)

Galvantula is a webs setter. holy shit guys, leghold trap reference.

and then Manectric and Linde are of course, dollar store Hägen and Linde. definitely an intimidate luxray, too.

next we can move onto the OT2 ones!

Ochette - Dragon

Ace: Noivern

ochette… she’s giving 8th gym dragon gym leader. i think her emphasis on finding legends basically tailors her to the dragon trainer for me. as for her mons, i’ve given her three dragons whose secondary types match up with Acta, Terra, and Glacis, while noivern is… honestly it’s just vibes i think noivern is cool and she would like it.

i didn’t really wanna make one of the three legends her ace over the other, so i’ll just say noivern is the ace.

Castti - Poison

Ace: Roserade

now, for Castti, we decided to bend the gym leader rules a bit, so she doesn’t have all poison types, though she does have an entirely poison-based team still. Breloom has poison heal, so we’ve elected to give it a spot, considering it also gets spore and is a fighting type that can throw THESE HANDS.

Zangoose is here for a similar reason, posssing the ability toxic boost, upping its damage when poisoned.

Glimmora of course has two poison based abilities in corrosion and toxic debris, though i’d say castti’d do toxic debris/venoshock shenanigans.

For the mandatory Apothecary Grass/Poison type, i’ve given her roserade. it’s like uh. the flower malaya gave her.

Throné - Dark

Ace: Bisharp

tho throné herself maybe wouldn’t like to be the dark type leader, or at least would wish she wouldn’t get a bad rap for using them, they still fit her (and OT2’s theif inherent magic), so that’s what we’re going with.

Absol: maybe this one is on loan from temenos lol.

liepard is a very evil team-grunt pokemon so i’m giving it to her also it’s purple.

weavile is a little less of a shitmon and also gets the ability pickpocket, plus brings some dual typing to this team. tho she would get her shit so rocked by a fighting type let’s be real

Bisharp: ok so… what if… the blacksnakes… are like a bunch of pawniards. and only the best ones can be bisharps. that’s throne. or something. also, it’s kind of referencing that she’s distantly related to notable kingambit haver hikari. bonus!

Osvald - Normal

Ace: Drampa

hear me out… Osvald normal type trainer. but he uses only dual types, and he also likes to play a lot less straightforward than your average trainer. Ursaluna (for the teddiursa in his original team) makes an appearance, while Farigaraf can set trick room and other fun psychic pokemon shenanigans. Hisui-Zoroark is here to throw another wrench in the mix, being able to throw off incoming fighting type attacks and hit back while making you readjust your strategy. the whole time, the threat of this thing makes you always have to consider if you know what you’re fighting first.

and drampa. this thing is just such an osvald pokemon to me. thank god it’s half normal. he should have it. make it the ace too.

Partitio - Rock

Ace: Coalossal

partitio was a bit of an odd one to pick a type for, but we settled on rock for a few reasons. honestly…. started with the ace and worked backwards, and therion’s already hogging the fire slot. besides, even though he’s looking towards the future, partitio’s definitely a little behind the times initially, so some good old fashioned rock types seem like a good fit.

anyways the coalossal is the ace because he’s ability is. steam engine. lol

lycanroc because. i think partitio would like a awesome doggy and then we went dusk form bc i don’t think he would have the evil one and dusk sucks less than the midday one lol.

gigalith sand setter

and then crustle is cuz we wanted to give him it as a shell smash sweeper. and i dunno they probably have dwebbles around oresrush.

Agnea - Fairy

Ace: Togekiss

Agnea feels like a pretty good fit for the fairy type, tho she does get less dancer-move user options than primrose does using flying types.

Togekiss i feel like is a shoe-in for her ace. it’s a pokemon associated with peace and kindness… i feel like agnea is definitely the kind of person to be able to actually acquire a togepi. also, it gets serene grace, which is a very agnea-ability title. i think she should get to paraflinch people too.

Ribombee is a much better quiver dance user than vivillion, and it’s half fairy, so agnea gets it. i love this thing. it can be so scary if it gets set up.

gardevoir: in our original teams, hikari had this due to its association with loyalty to its trainer/friends. so i think agnea also fits it very well too! since hikari (⬇️down there later ) has been swapped to a gallade to fit his type i’ve given it to her. awesome matching time.

whimsicott is here because she is fun and whimsical. this thing would set tailwinds probably.

Temenos - Ghost

Ace: Houndstone

i’m so sorry temenos but i think it’s really really funny to make you a ghost trainer. like really super funny.

anyways, yamask was on his original team, so we’ve upgraded to cofagrigus here. chandelure is vaguely sacred flame-esque while also being ghost type, tho it’s kind of. ominous but whatever. Sableye is a silly little guy who kind of vaguely references the mirror shard crossed paths. i guess if he mega evolved it i could do that even more with magic bounce but we didn’t really work w megas or regional gimmicks or whatever

and then houndstone comes out last to spam last respects after you’ve killed all this other pokemon just like all the EVERYONE HE KNEW IN REAL LIFE died too you monster.

like i said i think ghost trainer temenos is really funny

Hikari - Fighting

Ace: Gallade

Hikari nabbed fighting type right out of the gate. as compared to olberic who is very definsive brick wall of a guy, hikari feels more versatile in a way that fits fighting types to a T.

I’ve given him heracross because the heracross i caught in my nuzlocke is named after him so i think he should have one.

Lucario is here for a fun friendship evo, while scrafty is here to rep a more “dirty fighter” type of pokemon on the team being fighting/dark.

then gallade gets to be the ace because i feel like it’s the most ace material tbh.

as for your second part we did pick villian types (but not teams), here’s that much more briefly

Mattias: Dark (i feel like this is self explanatory. maybe malamar ace?)

Lucia: Psychic (this seems to must be the type we’re going with for most scholars)

Esmerelda: Poison (because the wound may prove fatal)

Werner: Fighting (idrgaf but i guess he used to run a merc company so i guess or whatever)

Simeon: Normal (hes the least normal guy you’ll ever meet but you’d never guess it from his pokemon team)

Ogre eagle: Iron valiant. 6 iron valiant.

Darius: Ground

i’m just. uh.

Redeye: Iron valiant. also entire team of 6 iron valiants (lore accurate)

Darkling: you never guess this but 6 Iron Valiants

Trousseau: Poison but for real this time

Claude: Dark (feel like that’s also self explanatory)

Harvey: Psychic (specifically, this guy has a hypno.)

Roque: Steel ⬇️

Dolcinea: Fairy mirror match/Tiernos Dancer only team she’s based like that. either or

Kaldena: Ghost (another mirror match)

Mugen: typeless but every one of his mons knows swords dance

ok that’s basically it hope that’s enough of an answer ok byeeee

[underoossss]

the way you move - s.h. - part 4

pairing: ballerina!reader x jock!steve harrington

warnings: none, just two pining idiots

1.6 words

an: sorry this took longer than I thought but we’re getting so close to the ending I’m so excited for lol these two need to stop dancing around each other and KISS but we’ll get there soon enough.

part 3

✶✶✶✶

The sound of conversation and scraping cutlery floats around you along with the classic smell of fresh fries. The booth’s leather is shiny under the fluorescent lights and the cozy spot at the far side of the diner gives you the perfect view of the street outside through chilled glass and the customers talking by the register to the left. It’s warm, lively, and comfortable; you couldn’t have asked for a more perfect evening. Especially with your friends around you and the setting sun outside. Steve’s basketball team won their game tonight against the visitor team, so naturally you’re celebrating his victory with a greasy dinner before going to the cinema.

Robin and Nancy sit close to each other in the booth in front of you, looking happy and excited as they ask question after question. Steve sits next to you, his arm above your shoulder as it rests on the booth behind you, drawing you closer to him by the maddening yet fain smell of his cologne. As if your feelings aren’t enough, he had to flood your senses by proximity too.

To anyone walking by it, the scene at the table would look like a double date, but you know in your heart that it’s not. The reality is simple, no matter how much you want him to be, Steve isn’t your boyfriend. Lately you don’t really know what he is exactly, with how much affection he shows you and the way it has increased in doses since last Saturday. Friends don’t hold each other like he did, maybe best friends do, but they definitely don’t wipe your tears away or kiss your forehead as tenderly as Steve had. Yet he hasn’t said anything that may hint he wants to be something more, leaving you wondering if it’s all in your head. You really hope not.

Robin’s laughter makes your mind go back to the present, and if you subconsciously lean closer to Steve you pretend to not notice. Your two friends in front of you arrived from New York in the morning to visit their family and see Steve’s basketball game, and to show they are the epitome of a perfect couple. They balance each other out, and together they’ve become the best version of themselves; not to mention their new life in the city has suited them well. They don’t want to talk much about that yet though, instead asking question after question about Steve’s certificate, your university classes, and ballet. They want to catch up as much as they can before they leave on a redeye tomorrow, which seems fair as you’re now many miles away.

When you first met Robin and Nancy, you’d been apprehensive and frankly very scared. You knew how much Steve cared about them, so you wanted to get along with them because you cared so much about Steve. It’s something they seemed to notice right away, and all the pieces fell perfectly into place. You built a good dynamic before they left for New York shortly after you met them, and it’s been only you and Steve in Indianapolis ever since –except for the long phone calls the four of you share now and then.

“So, practice for the play is going well?” Nancy asks, stealing some of Robin’s strawberry milkshake. “We haven’t heard anything new since you told us auditions would be opening soon for the Nutcracker.”

You inevitably get teary-eyed but shake your head and the bittersweet feeling away. No reason to still be hung up about that. “I didn’t get the part I wanted but it’s going really well.”

“Oh no,” Robin’s shoulders sag as a shocked look comes across her face. Her and Steve exchange a look that can only mean Is she okay, so you hurry to speak again. The last thing you want is to rehash the ugly feelings from last week.

“It’s all good though, the girls that I’m dancing with are really nice.” You stress, hoping to reassure Robin. “I’m getting the costume fitted tomorrow, I’m excited.”

Nancy frowns and looks at Robin, like they know your optimism isn’t 100% genuine. “We’re sorry you didn’t get to be the lead, though.” She says reaching out and squeezing you hand. “We’ll try to come see the play, I think some of our classmates are driving through here for Christmas.”

“Who got it instead.” Robin asks, not helping herself and looking around. But there are no ballet dancers around you, so you shrug and give her the name.

“Ugh, Agatha.” Steve says with distaste. “Not only is she rude to you, she got the role.”

You chuckle at Steve’s petty tone and look up at him briefly, love bubbling under your skin. “Stevie, it’s okay.” He rubs your arm up and down in response and pulls you close to his side as you turn towards Nancy and Robin again. “Thanks guys but I’ve made peace with it. Stevie says he’s gonna tell everyone I’m the lead.”

Robin snorts and Nancy rolls her eyes, “Yeah, that sounds like you, dingus.”

“She’s gonna be so good they’ll think she’s the lead anyway. We have to cheer really loud and everyone will believe us.” Steve’s voice is so full of confidence you can image the beautiful smile on his face as his eyes burn the side of your face.

Nancy shakes her head, trying to understand Steve’s logic and it makes you laugh, which seems to be what Steve was aiming for. You look up at him in wonder for a second, feeling affection run through your veins and flooding you whole body just by looking at him. Even in the fluorescent lights his cheeks have their characteristic rosy color, and his eyes look as beautiful as ever, especially with the dark green sweater he’s wearing that makes them pop. Then he goes and makes the feeling worse by smiling and sending a knee weakening wink your way.

You’re grateful when he looks away after a second, glad that he gives your heart a time out. There’s only so much yearning it can take. A moment later of staring at his profile, you risk a look back at your friends only to regret it instantly. Nancy is giving you a knowing look that you don’t have time to ignore because a server arrives with your orders. Thankful beyond words for the interruption, you say “Okay, we can officially celebrate Stevie’s win.”

The four of you keep talking between mouthfuls of burgers and chicken strips you make everyone swear not to tell Madame Laverne about. Nancy and Robin finally start answering your own questions about their journaling and creative writing programs in the big city. They indulge you with funny stories their roommates have dragged them into, retelling their hunt for the best yet cheapest coffee shop, and all the odd places where they’ve found rats. Food gone and sky darkening 45 minutes later, Steve stands up and insists on paying the bill.

You knew it would happen but startle anyway when Robin leans close and ambushes you with questions. “What is going on here? Do you have some news you have to tell us?”

 “No?” Your answer sounds more like a question to your ears after you urge Robin to keep quiet.

Nancy rolls her eyes in both exasperation and fondness. “Honey you both look like lovesick puppies, it’s like you’re going to kiss any second now.”

“You’re one to talk, when I met you both…”

“We were already together, which is why I need to know if you’ve told Steve yet!” Robin whispers, eyebrows doing acrobatics in anticipation to your answer. “I swear he looks like he’ll die if he can’t kiss you soon.”

You look away and chuckle awkwardly as your entire body lights up at the idea. “I mean you know how I feel so I wouldn’t complain if that happened. But no, I haven’t told him.” Your two friends had spotted you crush on Steve from miles away upon your first meeting. The teasing is incessant but you’re grateful for their support –and discretion.

“But if you feel that way, why don’t you make it happen?” Robin insists, sinking back into the red booth in defeat. “It’s so clear that Steve’s in love with you.”

You go to deny her statement but stop short when you see Steve approach. He smiles at you when he catches your eye and makes your heart stall inside your chest then start back up ten times quicker than before. Still, despite the nervous frenzy you’re in, you smile inevitably because… Steve makes you happy beyond words and you know how worried he’s been ever since you didn’t get your dream role, there’s nothing you want more than to put him at ease. You’re with him, of course you’re okay.

“Ready to go, beautiful?” Steve asks you then looks at his friends, “We’re going to miss the movie if we don’t leave.”

When all of you nod to agree he extends his hands and helps you out of the booth, his warm touch making electricity course from your point of contact to your heart. Even more so when he pulls you close to his side once outside in the winter night. “You sure you don’t want my jacket? It’s colder than usual tonight.”

You look up at Steve, smiling softly at his ever-present caring nature. “Everything’s perfect right now.” Your voice is light and gives away your emotion, and it makes Steve smile once more.

“Let me know, though.” He says and you can only nod, leaning your head on his shoulder until you get to his car.

 What if Robin is right? What if you can just lean up and kiss Steve and feel him kiss you back immediately? But what if you’re all wrong and it ends your friendship? No, you can’t do that until you’re certain Steve feels the same way. But how will you know?

✶✶✶✶

part 5

reblogs are super appreciated

masterlist

[captain-hawks]

Hello Dee!! I am sending you a care package full of soup and soft tissues and home made cookies in the hopes you get well soon!! 💙💙

And in the meantime, may I request Iwaizumi + red?

(thank you nonnie you're so sweet<3!!)

hajime iwaizumi x reader

c: fluff, angst, pining, childhood friends

“I think you should stay.”

Nearly lulled to sleep in the late hour by the dark, quiet highway you’ve been travelling on, you jump slightly from where you’re leaning against the cool surface of the window at the sound of Iwaizumi’s voice. The car rolls to a stop at the foot of the exit ramp, the traffic light overhead casting the interior of the car in a dull shade of red interspersed with the shadows of the raindrops sliding down the windshield. 

When you turn, his eyes are trained on the empty road ahead, his brown hair mussed like he’s been running his hands through it repeatedly while you were dozing in the passenger seat. For a moment, you wonder if you were just hearing things, but as if he can feel you looking at him, he briefly turns to meet your gaze.

“Sorry,” he gruffly adds, inhaling once before turning away, the car rolling forward as the light turns green. “It’s none of my business.”

You booked a flight back home on a whim three days ago, a redeye with nothing but a backpack and weary eyes that had done far too much crying—that, and a phone full of missed texts and calls from your fiancé. 

When you texted Iwaizumi that surprise, you were coming home for a surprise visit with absolutely no notice at all and landing at three o’clock in the morning, your childhood friend smelled your bullshit from a mile away. 

And subsequently was waiting at the airport for you upon your arrival, despite the fact that he’d been working all day. Despite the fact that he had an early morning ahead. Despite the fact that you insisted you could find a rideshare service to your parents’ house.

“You’re not taking an Uber by yourself in the middle of the night, I’m picking you up. Don’t argue.”

He knew something was terribly wrong the moment you approached his car. But he didn’t pry—not yet. Rather, he immediately wrapped you in a warm, reassuring embrace that felt like home and trust and safety and other things that were far too complicated to think too hard about out there on the cold airport sidewalk in your hometown.

The edge of the diamond nestled on your finger pricks uncomfortably at your skin as you idly spin the ring with your thumb, the gem weakly reflecting off of the street lights—dim in comparison to the small, bright green digits on the dash that read 1:32.

He has no idea that you fell a little bit in love with him the day that he picked up your soccer ball when it rolled across the street into his yard when you were eight years old, a shy grin on his face as he traversed the expanse of blacktop that separated his house from yours to bring it back to you. 

He has no idea how many times you nearly confessed to him in high school, hasn’t the slightest clue how wrong he was all the times he rolled his eyes as he assumed you were always at his house because you had a crush on Oikawa.

He doesn’t know how badly a stupid, immature, traitorous part of you wanted to hear those words when you told him you were moving across the country with your college boyfriend Daisuke. 

Stay.

He doesn’t know that your heart fumbled when Daisuke got down on one knee, the way the first goddamn thing you thought of was him. 

Hajime Iwaizumi has no idea how much of your heart belongs to him.

Even now.

After all this time.

“I don’t want to marry Daisuke,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself.

Your body rocks forward as the car comes jolting to a sudden stop in the middle of a deserted street, your momentum halted by Iwaizumi’s arm that quickly shoots out to brace the impact. He stares over at you with wide eyes, and raindrops drum a soft, lazy rhythm atop the roof as his chest rises and falls. 

“What?”

Glancing down at the ring on your finger and subsequently back up at the man sitting beside you again, you nod, as if you’re not currently parked in the middle of the street on your way back to the airport for a flight back to your fiancé that’s leaving very soon.

“I don’t want to marry him,” you repeat, staring down at your hands as you fold them in your lap. You tug down the sleeves of the sweatshirt you’re wearing—Iwaizumi’s old Seijoh volleyball hoodie—covering your palms up to the base of your thumb.

Iwaizumi’s quiet for a beat, and you hear the sound of his head falling back against the headrest. 

“I don’t want you to marry him either,” he breathes out, quietly, his voice a little rough, a bit uncertain—like he doesn’t think he’s allowed to be saying it.

There’s so much you want to say right now, so many things you want to know.

A million words you can feel hovering on the tip of Iwaizumi’s tongue, words pressed into his grip on the steering wheel, caught somewhere between the gearshift and the glove compartment and your lone little backpack sagging sideways in the backseat. 

Reaching out, you take Iwaizumi hand in yours, carefully lacing your fingers together. 

He turns his head, face tilted sideways against the headrest. And though it’s dark inside his old sedan, your heart tumbles against your ribcage at the way he’s looking at you.

“This is still none of my business,” he murmurs, thumb tentatively running over the back of your hand.

“Then tell me you want it to be your business,” you whisper.

“I do.”

A car passes by in the opposite lane, the headlights washing over both of you, and you’ve never wanted to kiss him so badly in your life.

Your cheeks feel wet as you ask him, “Will you pick me up from the airport when I get back? I might have a lot of stuff with me.”

Iwaizumi lifts your tangled hands, gently kissing the place where your thumbs overlap as he nods before bringing them both to the gearshift to put the car back in drive.

"Of course."

[suddencolds]

Foreign Home | [1/1]

hello!! I am back after 8 months of not-really-writing with an 8k word fic (which I cut down from 9k words). this is another OC fic w/ Vincent and Yves, who were introduced here!

anyways, this is very character-centric and establishes some things I wanted to establish about them / their world... I hope the little detour into character-development territory is okay.

Summary: Yves has told all of his friends that he's dating Vincent, so it's going to look increasingly suspicious if Vincent never shows up. Good thing Vincent is compellingly good at lying. Anyways, what could go wrong at a housewarming party? (ft. banter, fake dating, cat allergies)

—

Yves spends three weeks turning down invitations.

It’s lucky, he thinks, that he’s been able to stay in contact with so many friends from university—that so many of them have settled here, in New York. It’s less lucky considering his current circumstances:

Out of the people who made it to Margot’s New Year’s party, almost all of them remember Vincent. And—even more inconveniently—many of them seem set on inviting Yves and Vincent places.

Yves thinks up a dozen excuses. No, Vincent can’t join on our coffee outing—he’s got an important, un-reschedulable meeting with a client that Saturday. Sunday? His Sunday’s booked through until 5pm. I know, busy season is the worst to plan around. Or, I think Vincent’s going to be out for a business conference that weekend. The 22nd? I can check with him, but he’s taking a redeye flight the night before—I think he’ll be jet lagged.

The number of excuses he is capable of coming up with is unfortunately finite. Perhaps sorry, I think Vincent has an optometrist’s appointment that afternoon isn’t Yves’s best work, but he has to say something.

Really, it’s just more work to invite Vincent elsewhere—to explain that they’ve played their role as a couple a little too convincingly. That his friends all want to meet Vincent, now.

Back during his days of rowing crew, Yves has given out his fair share of relationship advice to the underclassmen, which has unfortunately—according to Margot—“cultivated an air of mystery about his personal love life.” It was always him and Erika, until it wasn’t. (Ex-matchmaker Yves and his mysterious, highly coveted new boyfriend, Leon says, when Yves complains, which is how Yves decides he will no longer be consulting Leon on the matter.)

“My friends really like you,” Yves says to Vincent, offhandedly, when he runs into him on the way back from lunch.

Vincent blinks at him. 

“You’re saying that like it’s a bad thing.”

“They really like you,” Yves says. “They want to meet you. They think we’re an interesting couple, and they keep pestering me for double dates and inviting you out to a whole bunch of events. I’m running out of excuses as to why you can’t come.”

“Oh,” Vincent says, deadpan, but there’s a slight twitch to his lips, as if he’s trying not to laugh.

“I’m dead serious,” Yves says. “I told Nora that you couldn’t make it to dinner because of an eye appointment. Now if I want to keep this up I’ll need to photoshop you with new glasses.”

“I am a little overdue for new glasses,” Vincent says.

“Not the point. Regardless, I need to keep this up until we stage a breakup.”

“A breakup?”

“A fake breakup. To our fake relationship.”

“Is there someone else you’re interested in?”

“No,” Yves says. “But I’m preemptively saving you the stress.”

“The stress of playing your boyfriend?” Vincent says. “Last time, that just entailed going to a well-organized New Year’s party. I wouldn’t consider that exceptionally stressful.”

“That’s just the beginning. Don’t tell me you want to be dragged along to every dinner party and every downtown outing and every birthday I go to in the foreseeable future,” Yves says. “On top of working 60 hours a week, you’ll have to say goodbye to your weekends.”

“So that’s why you’re plotting our breakup.”

“Yes,” Yves says. “I’d need to explain to everyone how I dropped the ball.”

“I’m sure those new glasses must’ve been the dealbreaker.”

Yves laughs. Truthfully, Vincent could wear the most terrible, unflattering glasses in the world and still manage to look like someone whom Yves wouldn’t bat an eye at upon spotting at a photoshoot. The fact that his current glasses actually complement him very well, and the fact that he knows how to dress himself is just salt to the wound. “Yes, that’s the entire reason why I dated you in the first place. The glasses.”

“If you wanted to keep our false relationship up for a couple months,” Vincent says, “I wouldn’t mind.”

Yves—who, until now, has been walking in the opposite direction of the floor on which he works—stops walking. “Pardon?”

“I like your friends,” Vincent says. “And more importantly, I don’t think it proves a point to Erika if you’ve just gotten into a relationship you couldn’t keep. So if you wanted to keep this arrangement for a little longer, I would be fine with it.”

Yves considers this.

He’s asked more than enough of Vincent already. But Vincent is right. He’s sure Erika must have her fair share of doubts about all of this—about Vincent, about their fake relationship, about its longevity. She seemed skeptical, when he’d last seen her, that Yves could’ve moved on so quickly. The worst thing about it is that he can’t blame her for that doubt. The worst thing about it is that he’d spent so much time accounting for his future with Erika that he hadn’t seen her start to slip away, hadn’t noticed the first sign of inadequacy, the first time her gaze lingered on someone else, the first time he ceased to be all that she wanted. He hadn’t steeled himself for a future without her, and now, half the time, it feels like he’s still playing catch-up.

If he wants to commit to this fake relationship, he’ll need more than one outing to show for it.

And, despite all odds, Vincent is offering just that.

“Okay,” Yves says, before he can think about how bad of an idea this is. It is really, really inadvisable. He’s sure if he weighs his options for more than a few seconds, he will come to the conclusion that he should be shutting his mouth. “If you’re sure—and only if you’re actually sure—what are your plans after work next Tuesday evening?”

“Nothing as of now,” Vincent says. 

“Great. If you can make it, there’s a potluck. Joel’s hosting. He recently finished moving into a new apartment, so I think it’s something of a housewarming party. He lives a little North, past the stadium, so I think I’ll head there right after work—I can drive you.” 

“That works,” Vincent says. “What kind of food does he like?”

“I’m not actually too sure,” Yves says. “I think he’s a fan of spicy food. But honestly, I think he’ll be grateful if you bring anything at all—which you don’t have to, by the way. You’re the esteemed guest, here.”

“I’m sure Joel’s new apartment is technically the esteemed guest,” Vincent says. “But I’ll be there.”

“Okay,” Yves says. “It’s a date. I’ll make it up to you in any way you want, by the way—if there’s ever an instance where you need me to lie for you, I’ll do it.”

“Duly noted,” Vincent says. For what Vincent would ever have to lie about, Yves can’t guess.

More importantly, he has a date for next Tuesday. Something about it is more exciting, even in its dishonesty, than it has any right to be.

—

It’s only a few moments after Yves presses the doorbell that Vincent emerges, holding a couple plates covered meticulously with aluminum foil.

“I haven’t cooked for anyone in awhile,” he says, a little sheepishly. “I hope this doesn’t make a bad impression on your friends.” “Are you kidding? It smells really good,” Yves says, and it does—from the doorway, he can make out the scent of sesame oil, roasted garlic, ginger. “They’ll definitely like it.”

Vincent looks off to the side. “We’ll see.” It takes a moment for Yves to properly parse his expression for what it is.

It never occurred to Yves that Vincent might actually be nervous. At work, it’s rare to see Vincent even remotely out of his element—he always volunteers to take on their more difficult clients, and even on the rare occasion that something falls out of his expertise, he picks things up quickly. Yves has seen him give presentations at conferences without a sweat, articulate as ever. 

If Vincent had been nervous, those times—over prestigious conferences, over negotiations with major clients, over other difficult points of contention—it hadn’t shown. Either he wasn’t nervous at all, or he was just good at hiding it. But he’s nervous now, Yves realizes, which means— 

Vincent wants to make a good impression on his friends. It won’t be his first time meeting Joel, but it’ll be his first time talking to Cherie, Joel’s fiancé, or Giselle, one of Cherie’s friends from work. Mikhail and Nora will be there too. All in all, it’s a decently sized group, but Vincent has talked to larger groups of people before without so much as a shaky voice.

Something about it—about the seriousness with which Vincent regards this whole arrangement—is strangely endearing.

“You have nothing to worry about,” Yves says, and means it in more ways than one.

—

Joel’s new apartment, as it turns out, is already decently furnished, even though Joel had sent out the invitation with the disclaimer that everything is a mess, please bear with us.

“When you said everything would be a mess,” Yves says, leaving his shoes in a line at the door, “I thought your apartment would actually be something other than spotlessly clean and well arranged.”

“It’s easy to make things look neat if you move all of the clutter into the closets,” Joel says.

“It’s just a few boxes,” Cherie says. “But it was tricky to figure out how to place things. It’s a lot more spacious than the apartment we had in college.”

“No kidding,” Yves says. “It’s a seriously nice place.” Back in their last two years of university, Joel and Cherie had gotten an apartment just a few buildings down from the apartment which Yves picked out with Mikhail—they had similar floor plans. Yves distinctly remembers the space: creaky floorboards, space heaters lined up against the walls to last them the winter; decent natural lighting, and never enough kitchen space.

Back then, he and Mikhail had had separate rooms, so their apartment became a spot in which Erika became a frequent visitor, and then, at one point, stopped visiting at all. 

But that’s not the point. The point is, the apartment Joel and Cherie have picked out is much nicer than the one they’d had in college—for one, it’s more spacious, and the entire building has nice facilities and looks newer—and Cherie’s eye for interior design has only helped their cause.

“I’m glad you were able to come!” Cherie says, turning to Vincent. “Yves is always telling me about how busy you are with work.”

“He’s the one putting out all the fires,” Yves says. 

Vincent smiles, extending a hand for her to shake. “Cherie, right? It’s nice to meet you. And you’re—” He turns to Joel, with a slight sniffle. “Joel. I think we met last time.”

Cherie squeezes his hand. Joel laughs and says, “I’m surprised you remember my name.”

“He’s good with names,” Yves says. An acquired skill from all the hours of networking, probably.

“That’s a useful skill to have, especially if you’re dating Yves,” Joel says. “I swear he knows everyone.” He goes on to tell a story about how, back in university, Yves almost accidentally got elected as vice president for a business club he’d only shown up to once.

At some point into the conversation, Yves ducks into the kitchen to help with setup. He sets out the dish he’s brought—salmon sliders with mango salsa—and the beef skewers that Vincent made earlier (he’s not sure why Vincent was worried in the first place, because the skewers look very competently made). After that, he busies himself with finding a way to keep everything temporarily covered until they eat.

Something soft and fuzzy winds around his ankles.

He looks down, and the soft and fuzzy thing looks back at him with pointy triangular ears. This is news to Yves.

“You guys have a cat?!” He shouts from the kitchen, vaguely in the direction where Joel and Cherie should still be standing. “Since when?”

“Since a month ago,” Joel shouts back.

“Her name is Gingersnap,” Cherie adds. “Gin for short.”

“Oh,” Yves says, kneeling down to scratch her behind the ears. His hands are a little calloused from all the snow he’s been shoveling lately, but Gingersnap purrs anyways, evidently unbothered. “What the hell, guys, now I’m never going to be able to leave your apartment. Consider me a permanent resident.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” Cherie says.

At some point, Gingersnap gets up, mewing, and heads out of the kitchen, and Yves resumes life as an active contributor to the potluck’s success. When he finishes reheating everything up, setting the table, arranging the dishes, and filling up two pitchers with iced water, he wanders back out into the living room. Vincent is there, alone, except he’s not really alone, because…

Oh.

God.

He’s kneeling down, unmoving, speaking to Gingersnap in a soft, low voice, holding out a hand for her.

She approaches him, a little tentatively, and then nuzzles her orange head into the crook of his hand. Vincent smiles—a soft, private smile. “Hi, Gin,” he says.

There’s the low, lawnmower hum of a purr as Gingersnap rolls onto the ground to let Vincent continue petting her. It’s a heartwarming sight—Vincent, from the office, crouched down to pet a cat that’s smaller than his hand. Yves thinks he might cry.

Then Vincent withdraws his hand, reaches up with an arm to swipe at his eyes. Something jolts through his shoulders, a tremor so slight that Yves wouldn’t have noticed it if he hadn’t already been watching—

“—nGkt-!”

Gingersnap mews at him, perplexed but undeterred. “Sorry,” Vincent says to her, quietly, “I’m not trying— to—” It’s all he can get out before he’s veering away again, this time with both hands tightly steepled over his nose for—

“hhIH’—GKKtt-!”

He sniffles softly, though the sniffle is immediately followed by a small, quiet cough. He reaches up with one hand to rub his nose. Yves watches his expression draw uneven, his eyebrows furrowing. 

“hhIH…”

Whatever sneeze he’s fighting seems terribly indecisive—but terribly irritating—for the way he rubs his nose again, his eyes squeezing shut in ticklish anticipation.

“HhIH… hh… HH-hhH-hHIHh—”

 He cups a hand over his mouth to muffle the sound, and not a moment too early—

“—hIHh’iiIKKTSHh-!”His shoulders jolt forwards with the force of it, though it gives him barely a moment’s reprieve before his breath hitches again, sharply, urgently. “IiI’DSZCHuuhh-!”

“Bless you,” Yves says.

Vincent turns to blink at him. His eyes are a little red-rimmed and watering. There’s a thin flush over the bridge of his nose.

“You didn’t tell me you were allergic to cats,” Yves says, rounding the corner to close the distance between them.

“Slightly allergic,” Vincent admits, turning aside with a liquid sniffle. “It’s ndot - hhIHH-! - a big deal.”

“I didn’t know Joel and Cherie had a cat,” Yves says. “I’m sorry. I would’ve told you if they did.”

“It’s fine,” Vincent says, with a laugh. “I like her.”

“You might like her, but your body doesn’t seem to be a fan.”

“It’s a good thing that I have a consciousness, so I can codtinue petting her.” Vincent sniffles again, lifting one hand to rub his nose with his index finger. Yves does not know how to even begin to tell him what an inadvisable idea that is, but either way, he doesn’t have a chance to before Vincent’s eyes graze shut, and he turns to face away from Gingersnap before he jerks forward, catching a muffled - “Hh’GKK-t!” - into a clenched fist.

“Bless you,” Yves says. “You know, you’re really not going to make the situation any better if you keep on—”

“nNGKT-!!”

“—bless you!”

“hh—hHhih’iiKKsHHhUH!” The last sneeze is noticeably harsher than the others—it sounds loud enough to scrape against his throat, which seems to be further evidenced by the small cough that succeeds it.

“I’ll ask Joel if he has any antihistamines,” Yves says. 

“It’s fide,” Vincent says. 

“If you insist on spending time with Gingersnap, wouldn’t it be better to spend it without having to sneeze?”

“I would still have to sdeeze,” Vincent says, as if he’s already experienced in the matter—briefly, Yves wonders how many cats he inadvisably plays with on a frequent basis. “Just less.”

“That would be an improvement.”

Vincent looks away. “Antihistamines mbake me tired,” he says, after a little hesitation. 

“It’s a good time to be tired,” Yves says. “It’s not like you have any pressing work to get done.”

“I want to make a good ibpression on your friends,” Vincent says, wiping at his eyes with the edge of his sleeve. “That’s ndot going to happen if I fall asleep halfway through dinner.”

“If you did, I’m sure no one would fault you for it.”

“I’ll take something after we finish eating,” Vincent says. “If things haved’t improved by then. ”

“Okay,” Yves relents, and—since it doesn’t seem like Vincent is leaving anytime soon—takes a seat next to him on the rug. It’s a compromise he can accept.

—

Nora gets there next, followed by Mikhail and then Giselle. It’s Yves’s first time formally meeting Giselle, who turns out to be very tall and a little intimidating—she’s come straight from work, so she’s dressed accordingly, and she talks with the sort of quiet authority that Yves knows is usually indicative of years of experience. Right before they sit down for dinner, Vincent ducks out into the bathroom—‘I need to look at least marginally presentable,’ he’d said, seeming like he was in a rush—so Yves saves him a seat at the table. 

“Yves,” Giselle says, taking another salmon slider. “You made these entirely from scratch? This is delicious.” 

“Thanks,” Yves says. “To be honest, it was a bit of a gamble. I wasn’t sure if the sauce was going to pair well with it.”

“Yves is really good at cooking,” Mikhail says. “That’s half the reason why I roomed with him in college.”

“So what’s the other half?” Cherie says. 

“The other half is that he lets me eat his food,” Mikhail says.

Yves laughs. “For a second, I thought you’d have something nice to say about my personality.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Mikhail says. 

“Yves is very good at cooking,” Vincent says, emerging from the hallway. Yves blinks at him. Whatever he’d done in the bathroom has done wonders—he looks remarkably put together. Not a strand of his hair is out of place. His eyes are dry, not red, not teary, not irritated, his collar crisply upright, his voice devoid of congestion. The only telltale sign about his ailment is the slight bit of redness to his nose, but it’s winter—that could easily be chalked up to the cold.

He slips easily into the seat next to Yves, his posture impeccable. Yves does everything in his power not to stare. 

“I think he’s responsible for some of the best hot chocolate I’ve had,” Vincent continues. That remark is surprising, too—repurposed from a memory as it is, it seems almost like something that could be genuine.

But Yves remembers how easily Vincent had lied, back on New Year’s—how easily he’d drawn the fictitious threads between them, almost thoughtlessly, as if they had always existed. 

I could make better hot chocolate, Yves thinks, before he can stop himself. I could really make the best hot chocolate you’ve ever tasted, if I just had time. It’s an absurd thought, and one that he doesn’t have much grounds for. He had been pressed for time, back then—he hadn’t known when Vincent’s ride was going to be arriving—but even if he’d really, properly tried, even if he’d succeeded in making the best hot chocolate he’s capable of making, there’s no guarantee that Vincent would’ve liked it.

He’s surprised by the pang in his chest, now, the desire to make true something that he knows to be false, to be worthy of the compliments that Vincent’s so easily spoken about.

“That’s definitely an exaggeration,” Yves says. “Technically, Mikhail didn’t even know that I knew how to cook when we signed the lease. The real reason why we roomed together is much more interesting.”

It’s a story he’s told before, though Cherie and Giselle haven’t heard it before. It’s easy to fall into it again: Mikhail and Yves met in their first year, over a group project in an intro to finance class. The two other members of their team had been dead weight, and at the time, Yves had thought—incorrectly—that Mikhail was just as bad as the rest of them.

It’s practically a comedy of errors—a series of miscommunications had led them to each finish the project independently. Yves remembers the all-nighters he’d pulled for that, nervous and over-caffeinated, until the day before the presentation, where he found that Mikhail had not—unlike the other members of their group—spent the last few weeks slacking off. 

Beside him, Vincent goes still.

When Yves chances a quick look at him, he sees: a slight, almost imperceptible ripple to his expression, before it smooths out again.

He nearly backtracks—his first thought is that perhaps something he’s said is the source of Vincent’s irritation—but then Vincent turns his face away. There’s the slightest disturbance to the line of his shoulders, and then—

“—gkT-!”

The sneeze is barely audible, stifled as it is into a half-closed palm, though the gesture is subtle, too—easily mistaken as Vincent simply looking away, resting his chin on his hand.

“I can’t believe you guys are still friends after all of that,” Nora says.

“Right,” Yves says. “I was so ready to never talk to him again. But obviously, we still had to give the presentation.”

He talks about how, in a half-asleep effort to salvage the project work, he and Mikhail had found some way to relate their findings to each other, to loosely bind the disparate subjects into a coherent thesis. Mikhail talks, too, about how they’d manipulated their presentation to get their combined work to seem sufficiently on topic.

Mikhail is halfway through his story when Yves sees Vincent jolt forward beside him.

He looks up just in time to catch the tail end of a sneeze—expertly stifled, just like the others—into a clenched fist. This one’s a little more forceful, even in its quietness—it leaves Vincent hunched over for just a moment, his shoulders slightly slumped, before he straightens again, covertly lowering his hand.

There’s a slightly hazy, distant look to his features, as if whatever’s been bothering him hasn’t begun to let up yet.

Yves nudges him with his arm. Vincent doesn’t exactly jump at the contact, but he does freeze, his shoulders stiffening.

“Hey,” Yves says, quietly enough that he doesn’t think anyone else should be able to hear. “You okay?”

Vincent nods.

“You sure you don’t want to take anything?”

Another nod. 

“I can’t tell you how little either of us proofread that paper,” Mikhail is saying.

“I reread it three months later,” Yves admits. “And he’s right. We really didn’t proofread it.” 

But it was a winning proposal, even though they’d both been too tired to realize it then. And still, Mikhail had still managed to hold a grudge against him for two long months. And then Mikhail had run into last-minute problems with his upcoming lease arrangement, and Yves had happened to find a decently priced two-bedroom apartment with no roommate, and he’d reached out half as a joke.

“You know those friends who say they can never room together?” Mikhail is saying. “Like, they hang out all the time, or they’ve been friends for years, or they trust each other with their lives, or whatever. But the second you put their living habits in close proximity, everything goes to shit? I think we were the opposite.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t just because you two never had a good enough relationship to ruin in the first place?” Nora says jokingly.

She has a point. Yves is starting to think that all of the formative relationships in his life have all happened by accident.

—

Vincent and Giselle get along very well, Yves notes, listening to the two of them talk. Halfway through dinner, they get into a heated discussion about the more outward-facing expectations at work, as Joel and Cherie exchange knowing glances. Giselle talks about feeling accountable for the team she manages—for knowing that if they don’t perform, she’ll take the fall for them; for being careful not to disperse the stress from higher ups unevenly, for constantly feeling her way through how much work is reasonable to expect of them. Vincent talks about the stress of apportioning work to others—the knowledge in his own competence and the knowledge gap when it comes to how others will handle things, the desire to take on more work alone to make sure everything is accounted for.

Nora, who’d had an internship at a different firm after each year in college, weighs in too on the management styles she’d been under, to what extent the expectations from leadership affected the dynamic between her coworkers.

It’s interesting, Yves thinks, that they all have their own subset of worries, even when they come across as people who are so certain of themselves.

As the others speak, Vincent stops periodically to rub his nose with the knuckle of his index finger—an action that always seems to keep the irritation at bay, but never seems to mitigate it entirely. For a moment, his expression goes hazy, his eyes watering ever so slightly, but it always lasts only a moment.

When Mikhail cracks a joke that has the entire table laughing, Vincent takes the opportunity to cough quietly into an upheld fist. When Cherie talks about her and Joel’s extremely mathematical efforts to fit everything into the car before moving, Vincent turns aside, raising a napkin to his face with a quiet, well-contained sniffle.

It’s difficult to tell, at first. But his attempts to keep quiet, to succumb to his symptoms as inconspicuously as possible, take their toll on him. Every time he jerks forward with a near-silent stifle, Yves can tell, by Vincent’s expression when he emerges, that it’s just short of relieving.  Every sniffle seems to only add on to the mounting congestion, in the long run. It’s a slow, almost imperceptible unraveling.

And yet, when Yves asks about it—when he offers to ask the others for antihistamines, or when he offers to make the drive to a convenience store himself; when he suggests that they go out to get some fresh air—he’s always faced with the same nonanswer, the same dismissive, I’ll be fine. The same persistent, Don’t worry about it.

So Yves doesn’t worry about it, for now—at least, not outwardly.

—

At some point after dinner, they disperse. Yves talks to Joel and Cherie about the apartment, about the pains of moving in, about the other places they’d considered and about why this one had been at the top of the list. Then about the cat— “we had been talking about getting one,” Cherie says. “And then one day Joel was wandering around downtown, and one of the pet shops there was holding an adoption event, and then when I got home there was a cat in the living room.”

“He didn’t call you to come pick out a cat with him?”

“Have you ever heard of ‘ask for forgiveness, not permission?’” Joel says. 

“He texted me before he brought her home,” Cherie says, and scrolls through her phone until she finds a text that says: Would you kill me if I brought home a cat. Just asking for a friend. And hypothetically if we extended this thought experiment it would be an orange cat that’s 2 months old.

“That sounds like a text from someone who’s absolutely decided already,” Yves says. “Ask for forgiveness, huh? So how’s the forgiveness going?”

“I let her name her,” Joel says.

“He’s on litter box duty for the next six months,” Cherie says.

On the other side of the room, Mikhail and Vincent are having a conversation—it could be because Vincent is the person in the room that Mikhail has talked to least, to date, but Yves has a feeling that it’s so that Mikhail can gain embarrassing intel on what Yves has been doing for the past few months.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Vincent turn away, his eyebrows drawing together, raising both his hands to his face to catch a sneeze into steepled hands. Then, not a moment later, his shoulders shudder forward with another.

“Totally off topic,” Yves says, to Joel and Cherie. “Do you guys have any antihistamines?”

“I think we have some Benadryl,” Cherie says. “It should be in the bathroom cabinet, behind the mirror.”

He does find it there, eventually—next to a box of band-aids and a small cylindrical container of cotton swabs. Perhaps he’ll hand it to Vincent, discreetly, when he’s done talking to Mikhail. Vincent had said antihistamines made him tired, but now that dinner is over, it shouldn’t be an issue—Yves suspects people will start heading out soon, and he’ll be the one driving, anyways.

When he steps out into the hallway, Mikhail and Vincent are in the middle of a conversation. It’s a conversation Yves has every intention of interrupting, and no intention of eavesdropping on, until he overhears—

“So,” Mikhail says, “When you first started dating Yves, what was it that you saw in him?”

Yves winces. That’s certainly not an easy question to answer—he and Vincent don’t know each other all that well, and any planning they have done on the basis of their fake relationship has been almost entirely centered around logistics—events, important dates, flagship moments in the relationship, trivia-worthy personal details. Not… this.

But Vincent just laughs, seemingly unfazed. “Honestly, if I told you everything I liked about Yves, you’d want to date him too.”

“That’s a tall claim,” Mikhail says. Yves is positively certain that no permutation of words in the universe could make Mikhail want to date him. “You can’t just say that and not give any examples.”

“I guess Yves is a very considerate person,” Vincent says, with a sniffle. “It actually confused me, at first. When I was growing up, after I moved here from Korea, I was brought up in the sort of environment where there was always an expectation for self-sufficiency. It didn’t matter how young I was, I guess—there were certain things I was expected to know, and certain things I was expected to teach myself.”

Something about his expression looks wistful, if not a little sad. But perhaps this is a trick of the light; perhaps his eyes are just watering from earlier. “My parents trusted me with a lot of things, but it was the kind of trust where they weren’t planning on filling in the gaps for me if I fell short.” 

“I know what you mean,” Mikhail says. “That must’ve been difficult.”

“It wasn’t easy,” Vincent says. “But I’m not telling you this because it was a burden to me, or anything. Back then, it was all that I had ever known. It was normal to me, then, because it was inevitable.”

“Yves is a very different person than I am,” Vincent says. “At times, when I was growing up, it felt like kindness was always something that had to be calculated.”

He pauses, sniffling again, before he raises his arm to his face with a forceful—

“hIhh’GKT-! Hh… hh-HHih’NGKktshH!”

“Bless you,” Mikhail says reflexively.

“Thadk you,” Vincent says, sniffling. He lowers his arm. “I was always taught that if you lend a hand to someone else, you have to make sure their success is not the thing that robs you of your spot—that sort of thing. But Yves is kind even without thinking about it. He’s kind even when there’s nothing in it for him.”

“So that was what made you develop feelings for him?” Mikhail asks.

“Eventually, yes,” Vincent says. “At first, I thought that we were irreconcilably different.”

“What changed?”

“Yves is an easy person to like, romantically or otherwise,” Vincent says. “It’s a little disarming to be on the receiving end of his type of kindness. And I think that’s ultimately what made me start liking him. He’s just the sort of selfless person you can’t help but admire, if that makes sense. It’s like—when someone does so much for you out of sheer selflessness, at some point, you start wanting to be a part of their happiness too.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Yves sees a small orange blur—mostly fluff, on four short white legs, with two pointy ears—bound from the kitchen into the living room.

“I get it,” Mikhail says. “That’s an interesting answer. It makes me hopeful that Yves might’ve stumbled into a relationship that will be very good for him.”

That’s a statement he’ll have to revise, Yves thinks wryly, in a few months, whenever it stops being practical for Vincent to keep up this act.

“Oh,” Vincent says, blinking. “What makes you say that?”

“When he and Erika broke up, he was—” Mikhail pauses, briefly, and Yves is thinking about the many embarrassing—but completely, verifiably true—ways he could finish off that sentence. “—he was pretty upset,” Mikhail says, instead, which Yves decides is suitably merciful.

“Look, what’s between them is between them—I’m not going to claim I know all the ins and outs of their relationship. But given that Yves was living with me for much of the time that he and Erika were dating, I’ve seen them interact more times than I can count.”

“I don’t think Erika is a bad person,” he continues. “She’s very ambitious, which I think was good for Yves back when they first started dating. But I don’t think she recognized those things about him—how much he cares for others, how much he gives people the benefit of the doubt, how much he… well, frankly, how much bullshit he’s willing to endure on his end. I think she took his kindness for granted, a little bit, and she certainly didn’t go out of her way to reciprocate.”

“What I’m saying is, I’m glad he met you,” Mikhail says. Beside him, something small and orange hops onto the couch they’re standing next to. “I can tell that what you said was sincere.” 

If even Mikhail thought he was being sincere, perhaps Vincent is a little too good of an actor.

“Obviously, it’s early for me to be saying this, so you can take it with a grain of salt,” Mikhail continues. “But I think you could be kind to him in the way he deserves.”

The sentence feels like a punch to the stomach.

And—well.

I’m glad he met you. I think you could be kind to him in the way he deserves.

Yves has really dug himself into this hole, hasn’t he?

Mikhail thinks that Vincent is good for him—Mikhail, one of Yves’s closest friends, someone who is by no means quick to express his approval over whoever Yves is seeing—which means that when they inevitably stage their breakup, Yves is never going to hear the end of it.

Is it cruel to be taking Vincent to all of these events, to be introducing him to all of his friends, when—after the impending breakup—Vincent might never see any of them again? Is it cruel that Mikhail likes Vincent enough to be hopeful that this is going to last?

Yves doesn’t have time to contemplate it more when three things happen.

One—Gingersnap, who is still perched at the very top of the couch, nudges her face against Vincent’s arm and mews softly at him.

Two—Vincent stops what he’s doing to reach out slowly, cautiously, to scratch gently at the fur under her chin. Gingersnap purrs, leaning her head into his hand.

Three—Vincent withdraws his hand, suddenly, as if he’s been burned, twisting away reflexively. He lifts his hand—the same hand he’s been petting Gingersnap with (probably inadvisably) to his face, to cover a resounding—

“hh—hiHH-hHihh’iIZSChHH-uhh! snf-!”

The sneeze sounds ticklish and barely relieving, as if he’s been holding it in all afternoon. 

It’s only a few moments later that Vincent’s jerking forward with another ticklish, wrenching, “hh… hhiHH… NgKT-!—hh’hiiIIIK’TSCHhuhH! snf-! hiIh… hIIIH-IITSCHh’yyue!”

“Oh,” Mikhail says, finally comprehending. “You’re allergic to cats?”

“Just slightly— hIh… hH- Hiih—hhH’nNGkT-!” Vincent sniffles wetly, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand. “Sorry to - hh-! - cut our codversatiod short - hH… I… hhiHh’IiKSHhuh! Excuse mbe… hH… Hhh-! I’mb going to rund to the bathroom… hh… hhiIh… hh-HIih’iiIK’SHhUHhh!”

Yves ducks out into the kitchen before Vincent has a chance to head his way. He busies himself with removing a glass from the cabinet and filling it with water, Somewhere behind him, he hears the bathroom door click shut, hears the slightly muffled sound of a sneeze, then another.

He shuts his eyes.

Vincent had said that it was fine. Should Yves have insisted? It’s Yves’s fault, again, that Vincent is in this situation, but then again, he couldn’t have known—both that Joel and Cherie would have a cat, and that Vincent would like her so much. Either way, Yves can’t help but feel partially responsible.

But would it be strange, now, to offer Vincent something to take for it, to openly acknowledge his affliction? Should he have done something earlier? Or should he wait to acknowledge it after they leave?

Against all doubt, he finds himself outside of the bathroom door.

Yves knocks.

There’s the sound of water running, inside, and then the sound of the faucet being turned to shut. Then there’s a brief pause. Yves is contemplating knocking again when the door opens just a crack.

There, Vincent stands, his eyes a little watery still, his nose just slightly redder than usual, his hair slightly out of place—he’s just washed his face, then.

“Yves,” Vincent says.

“Um,” Yves says, holding out the glass of water and, next to it, the bottle of Benadryl. “Thought you could use these.”

Vincent takes the cup, a little hesitantly, and sets it on the bathroom counter. Then he takes the bottle of allergy medicine, unscrews the cap, and removes two small pink pills.

“Thank you,” he says. Yves thinks he’s about to take a sip when he twists to the side suddenly, his eyes squeezing shut, snapping forward with a loud—

“hIIH’IIKKSHh’hUh!”

The hand he’s holding the cup with trembles a bit with the action, but the water inside doesn’t spill. 

“Bless you,” Yves says, taking the cup from him, before—

“hIHH… hh-Hhih’iISCHhh’Uhh!”

“Bless you!”

The only acknowledgment Vincent gives him is to take the cup back from him, sniffling, and down the pills in one quick, decisive sip.

“They’ll take some time to take effect,” Yves says, though he’s sure that Vincent knows that already, for the way he knew to take two, even without reading the label on the bottle. “Are you okay?”

“It’s been awhile since my last edcounter with a cat,” Vincent says, sniffling. 

“You forgot how bad it was?”

“It gets better with exposure,” he says. And worse without.

Yves says, “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I really didn’t know they’d have a cat.”

“Even if you’d known, I ndever told you I was allergic,” Vincent says. “It’s fine.”

“I should’ve thought to check. Seriously, a housewarming party—”

“I told you, snf, I like cats,” Vincent says, clearing his throat. “So it’s fine.”

Yves looks around—at the bathroom, which looks just as pristine as he’d left it earlier, except that the tissue box on the bathroom counter is a little askew. At the slight tiredness to Vincent’s posture, even as he looks off to the side, tilting his glasses up to his forehead to swipe at his eyes with his sleeve.

“Do you want to get out of here?“ Yves says.

“I cad stay,” Vincent says, as if he really is willing to, despite the side effects. “Do you want to stay longer?”

I want you to be comfortable, Yves wants to say. 

Instead, he says, “I think I’ve just about caught up with everyone. Besides, we have work tomorrow, and I think Cherie and Joel do too, so I don’t want to stay too late, you know?”

“Okay,” Vincent says. 

“I’m happy you came,” Yves says, stepping past Vincent to put the bottle of Benadryl back into its original spot, where he found it. He snags the glass from the counter on his way out.

“Your friends are a fun crowd,” Vincent says, following him out.

Yves laughs. “I think just between you and me, Mikhail has been dying to interrogate you about this relationship.”

“He did idterrogate me,” Vincent says. “How much of it did you overhear?”

“What?”

“When you were standing out in the hallway.”

Oh. Well, perhaps he hadn’t been as discreet about eavesdropping as he’d thought. Yves says, “Okay, you got me. I heard a good amount.”

“I don’t think Mikhail noticed you there, if you’re worried,” Vincent says. “In any case, it doesd’t matter if you overheard. It was just the same story.”

They step out into the hallway. Giselle has left, already, to be home in time for a cross-timezone call with a team that works somewhere halfway across the world. Yves bids everyone else a goodbye (Cherie and Joel thank him for coming, and Cherie hugs him and Vincent both on the way out; Nora asks Vincent to send her a recipe to his beef skewers, to which Vincent admits sheepishly that he stole from a cookbook, to which Nora says “making it successfully is half the work;” Mikhail says, “If you and Vincent get a place too, I want to be invited to your housewarming party.”)

On the way out, Yves grabs both of their coats off from where they’re hanging in a closet next to the front door, and hands Vincent’s coat to him. There’s never much street parking by the apartment, so the car is parked a couple blocks down, and it’s cold enough to be worth bundling up.

“You’re very good at lying,” Yves says, when he’s sure that the door is shut behind them.

Outside, it’s snowing just a little. Snow falls from the sky in thick white flakes. Vincent pulls his hood over his shoulders, sniffling a little—though whether that’s from the cold or from the allergies, Yves can’t be sure. “Is that a compliment or an insult?”

“Definitely a compliment. I just mean, you play the part really well.”

“So instead of being a good boyfriend, I’m a good fake boyfriend,” Vincent says, lifting his sleeve to his face to muffle a cough into it. “Somehow, that seems much less impressive.”

“It’s arguably more impressive,” Yves says. “It definitely requires a different subset of skills.”

Vincent is quiet for a moment. When Yves looks over, he sees Vincent raise both hands to his face, steepling them over his nose, his eyes fluttering shut.

“hHh… hHh’iiiIKKSshh’uhh!”

“Bless you,” Yves says. 

“Ndot— hh… hHh… done — hH-hhIh’nGKKTsHuuh! hHh-hH’IIZSCHHhhuh!”

“Bless you! Cats, huh?”

Vincent hums. It’s snowed all through dinner—the snow under their feet coats the sidewalk, powdery and untouched. Their shoes sink into it while they walk.

“I didn’t know you used to live in Korea,” Yves says.

“It’s not a secret, snf-!,” Vincent says. “But I ndever found an occasion to bring it up.” 

Yves can think of a hundred things to say—how it’s strange only learning this information secondhand; it’s strange to play the part of someone who knows Vincent and knows him intimately, and to know so little about him, at the core of it. Isn’t it like that, with coworkers? The only window he has to Vincent’s life is made up of the things Vincent has chosen to share with him—over small talk in the break room, or conversationally over their outings, or during longer drives.

He knows an assortment of trivia, like Vincent’s favorite color (green) or Vincent’s birthday (March 15th) or the number of siblings Vincent has (one), or when he had his first kiss (during his first year in university) or his least favorite chore (vacuuming) or how he spends his weekends (generally at the library downtown, catching up on work or working on his personal projects). But even that was only for the sake of having something to say if his friends asked him—of having a basic understanding of his supposed partner that Vincent could later corroborate.

“Was it very different there?”

“I moved here when I was pretty young,” Vincent says. “But it was very different.”

When Yves looks over, there’s something complicated to Vincent’s expression that gives him pause. “Back then, I was young enough that everything was new to me. So the cultural shift wasn’t as pronounced for me as it was for the rest of the family. I think that’s why they moved back, eventually.”

“Did that happen recently?”

“They moved back just six years after we came here,” he says. “I was in high school at the time, so I stayed with my aunt to continue my education here.”

“Was it difficult living here on your own?”

“Is this useful to you?”

Yves blinks, taken aback. “Sorry?”

“Is this information useful to you?” Vincent says, looking over at him. His glasses have fogged up a little in the cold.  “Do you think your friends are going to ask about it?”

“It’s—not exactly useful in that sense,” Yves says, backtracking. “I just wanted to know. But you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

That’s right, he reminds himself—he and Vincent are only doing this for appearances’ sake. 

“I got used to it,” Vincent says, finally, which isn’t exactly an answer. “It’s hard to say if—hold on, I— hh-!”

Yves sees him duck off to the side, raising his arm to his face.

“Bless you—!”

“hh-Hhiih’IIZSCHh’uhH!”

The sneeze is muffled slightly into his sleeve. Vincent sniffles, keeping his arm clamped to his face for a moment, in trepidation, before dropping it to his side.

“Apologies, snf-!,” he says, as if he has anything to apologize for. “It’s hard to say if things would’ve been better if I’d gone back with them to Korea. I just know things would’ve been different.”

Yves doesn’t know what to say to that. It feels like something that Vincent has thought about for years, something that Yves couldn’t even begin to comprehend—growing up here, alone. Away from his family, in a country foreign to him, with his family all the way on the other side of the Pacific ocean; staying with a stranger. To say that it had to have been difficult would be a vast understatement. 

Had he doubted himself, then? Had it been his idea to stay here, in the States? Had his parents told him it was for the best? Had he argued with them on the subject? Had they listened?

“Do you think you’re happy enough now to justify that decision?” Yves asks.

Vincent is quiet for a bit. Around them, the snow continues to fall, silent and slow, listing upwards on every updrift. “Sometimes,” he says.

—

When they get back to the car, Vincent is quiet. The car is frigid, the window panes cold enough to fog up when Yves puts his hand on them—he puts the heaters on to the highest setting. If anything, being out of the cold seems to make Vincent’s nose run even more—a fact which he carefully obscures, resting his face on the palm of his hand with a few muffled sniffles.

“Thanks again for coming,” Yves says. “I know I—and everyone else—already said that to you like a hundred times. But I mean it.”

“It’s ndo problem, snf,” Vincent says. “I’ll be sure to avoid putting you into contact with cats in the future,” Yves says.

“There’s ndo need for that.”

“While we’re at it, is there anything else you’re allergic to?”

“Not much,” Vincent says. “Unless you pland on getting rid of the entire season of spring.”

��That’s secretly why you chose an office job,” Yves says. “So you could avoid all the pollen by staying inside all day.”

“Busy season was - snf-! - idvented solely for that purpose,” Vincent says.

It’s barely a couple minutes into the drive when Vincent stifles a yawn into his fist.

“Are you tired?” Yves asks. “I mean, you did say that thing about antihistamines making you tired.”

“Wide awake,” Vincent says, before—moments later—hiding another yawn behind a cupped hand.

“Evidently,” Yves says, which earns him a quiet laugh.

“Tell me if you ndeed me,” Vincent says, leaning his head lightly on the passenger seat window. As if this is work, or something. As if Yves could have any conceivable reason to need him during the drive home.

“Not at all,” Yves says. “As a matter of fact, it’d probably be a good thing if you close your eyes. You wouldn’t have to look at all this traffic.” It’s a little past rush hour, but traffic is only just starting to clear up, and driving in the city at any hour has never been a particularly pleasant experience.

Vincent opens his eyes. “Do you wadt me to help navigate?”

“I want you to sleep,” Yves says. “I’m an expert at handling traffic.”

It’s as if all this time, Vincent was merely waiting for permission. Yves isn’t certain if he’s asleep, but he certainly looks to be—when Yves sneaks a glance at him, his eyes are shut, his shoulders slack, and his breathing has evened out. It’s an image Yves wants to thoroughly take in—the slow rise of his chest, his eyelashes fanned out over his cheeks. 

Instead, he drives. Instead, he stares hard at the rows and rows of cars before him, at every traffic light, and tries not to think about—

Vincent, at the housewarming party, kneeling down to pet a cat smaller than his hand, despite being well aware of the consequences.

Vincent, calling Yves kind even without thinking about it, talking about him—about his best qualities—with near-artful dishonesty.

Vincent, walking beside him in the snow, talking candidly about growing up here; the unspoken understanding between them about how much he must’ve given up.

That Vincent, the same Vincent from work, asleep in Yves’s passenger seat, while Yves drives him home.

Yves can’t help but think that if he caught feelings for someone like Vincent, Erika would be the least of his problems.

[riepu10]

itvxofficial You're ONLY allowed to look at these photos if you've already watched episode 1 of Red Eye, sorry we don't make the rules 👀🛩️ #RedEye (x)

[omgtheywereawooomates]

Barista: Hi. Welcome to Beacon Coffee and Tea. What can I get you?

Stiles: How much is it to fill a 20oz with espresso?

Barista: I.....sorry???

Stiles: Your 20oz XXL redeye cup. How much to fill it with espresso.

Barista: Oh, uh...I guess..? I only have a button for a quad. I don't have a special pricing option for 20 oz of espresso in a...single drink.

Stiles: Price is the furthest thing from my mind right now. How many add shots is that?

Barista: *deep breath of fear*

Barista: That would be a quad with.......si-sixteen additional shots.

[digitalduckie]

I've been running around in Fallout 4 again and I put Redeye and Gage in matching summer shorts and well... No one is complaining, yeah?

No, sorry, there's no drawing of Redeye in the shorts. Yet.

Eta: Well look at that. There's a matching Redeye now.

[astronicht]

I am bad at faces and five hours into an 8 hour redeye and I saw a pic of one of the Young Royals guys and thought it was Sam Winchester. Sorry.

[haveyouseenthisskeleton]

I'm sorry but funny ideas come to me late at night so I have to send this ask rn or I'll forget about it. so imagined what if the skeleton's adopted child is basically those terrifying children from horror movies

Undertale Sans - It's 3 am and he tries to pretend so hard he's not seeing his child staring at him and S/O sleeping on the doorsteps. That's two hours they're doing this now and Sans thinks he will never be able to sleep again. He is freaking out and desperately try to shake his S/O awake because he swears to Asgore he is terrified.

Undertale Papyrus - "OH, HELLO CHILD. EVEN IF I APPRECIATE YOU NOT WALKING ON THE WET FLOOR, COULD YOU PLEASE NOT WALK ON THE CEILING EITHER?" The child doesn't answer and pass next to him, growling like an animal. Papyrus sighs. Ah, children. Aren't they cute? Undyne and Alphys are frozen in shock in the couch. What the hell.

Underswap Sans - He breaks into the room, pissed of. "TIMMY! STOP MAKING YOUR UNCLE DOG SPIN ON THE CEILING THIS MOMENT!" The child pouts and lets the dog goes back on the floor. The dog runs away in terror to join Honey. Blue starts lecturing his child about doing horrible things in the middle of the day. Please wait the middle of the night when no one can see you!

Underswap Papyrus - He looks up from his book. "what are you holding?" "A chainsaw, I'm going to use it on the neighbour." "oh, ok, have fun." The child leaves the room. Honey freezes for a moment, then jumps out of the couch. "oh shit, no, wait!" He runs after the kid.

Underfell Sans - He was looking himself in a mirror when you jumpscared him out of nowhere by making his reflection attacks him. Red screams bloody murder and crawls out of the bathroom, soul beating so fast it mights explode. That freaking kid. What the hell were you thinking when S/O wanted to adopt them specifically?!

Underfell Papyrus - He's in the middle of the shop. The kid is doing a litteral banshee scream because he said no to buy the last toy he saw on TV. The humans around are all on the floor, ears bleeding while Edge is simply lecturing the child, unaffected. It's not because you scream loud that you will have what you want! He can scream loud as well!

Horrortale Sans - Poor Oak is on the couch, head fills with wiggling worms. Willow is lecturing the child to death. "I KNOW THIS IS TEMPTING BUT YOU CAN'T FILL YOUR DAD HEAD HOLE WITH WORMS BECAUSE YOU WANTED HIM TO STOP HUGGING YOU. LOOK AT THAT MESS! MAKE THEM DISAPPEAR WITH YOUR DEMONIC POWERS THIS MOMENT YOUNG MAN! AND APOLOGIZE!" The kid sighs and obeys.

Horrortale Papyrus - Things are flying everywhere in the house. Willow sighs loudly and turns towards his kid. "WHAT DID I SAY ABOUT INVITING EVIL SPIRITS TO PARTY IN THE HOUSE? YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO ASK ME FIRST. YOU WILL CLEAN THE MESS." The child makes Willow's mouth disappear because they're angry. Willow frowns and lectures the kid with sign language instead.

Swapfell Sans - This is the worst possible timeline. Nox is hiding in his bunker, trembling in terror after his kid found out that sneaking on him and breathing in his neck makes him jump in terror everytime. Nox is having a mental breakdown. He hates this kid. He keeps asking S/O when the orphanage is taking them back. As he's finally calming down, he feels a cold breath on his neck. He screams and turns away, finding his kid upper half has crossed the wall somehow. He bangs on the scelled door to beg S/O for help.

Swapfell Papyrus - You're having dinner, trying to ignore all the animals with redeyes staring at you from every windows of the house, waiting for one of them to get out of the house to kill them. This is fine. Rus doesn't even need to get out ever again anyway. It's no use to say anything to the child, he could just open a window as a revenge.

Fellswap Gold Sans - "WHO ARE YOU TALKING TO?" "My friend." "...YOUR FRIEND? WHERE IS HE?" "Right next to you." "... SURE. WHAT DOES HE LOOK LIKE?" His kid gives him a drawing of a very scary clown holding a huge scythe. Oh nice. What the hell. Wine smiles, a bit tense, then says to his kid to not go to sleep to late. He is also locking the door of his room tonight.

Fellswap Gold Papyrus - He was going to the kitchen like every morning to make breakfast but can only find humans organs in the cupboard. Coffee tries to not panick, at least there is coffee. He high pitched screams when he serves himself a cup of coffee and finds a human eye floating in the drink. He begs his kid to stop doing this.

[hanquokkasgirl]

Will We Last?

Chapter 2

"Excuse me, Miss Hart. We're landing in 30 minutes." I felt a poke on my shoulder waking me up from my slumber. Whoever said that redeyes to anywhere were a good idea is lying.

I yawn. "Thanks. Could I get an iced coffee with two sugars and cream please?" I said while I adjusted my blanket and taking off my eye mask.

"For sure, in just a moment." She leaves through some curtains. I decide to go to the restroom, and do my skincare. And by skincare I mean moisturizer and cleanser because I forgot everything else. I also reapply deodorant and a bit of perfume. As I get out and walk back to my seat, the coffee was waiting for me. I chugged that motherfucker because man did I need it.

After a couple more minutes, the landing announcement came on and I started looking out the window. I still couldn't believe that I moved here, far away from everything. My anxiety was already a bit on overload but the excitement helped mask it. As I was taking in the beauty and being the cliche that films the plane landing, a million thoughts rushed into my head. What if I don't fit in? What if this whole deal was not actually legit? I mean, this whole thing sounded too good to be true, a great job straight out of college in a whole new country that pays my housing and a salary? What did I get myself into? And with that last thought, the plane landed.

I got off the plane and went to baggage claim. This airport looks amazing, so modern yet classic. Can I fall in love with an airport? I think I can. Once I was able to grab my bag and head to where I was supposed to get picked up, I saw a bunch of girls behind barriers with their phones and banners that said "Ateez", were they waiting for someone? Is that a singer's name? Well, anyway... I make my way to the door when they all start screaming and I see a bunch of camera people coming at me. Then because of the flashes and screams, I get dizzy and confused, I ended up crashing into someone and fall ass flat to the ground... great.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry" said the guy helping me up... right before a security guard pushed me out of the way. "Hey hey, let me help her. It's fine"

"Thanks. I'm sorry too. I was just trying to find my exit." I look up after getting my stuff and we kept walking outside. He was tall... like really tall. Wearing sunglasses *indoors well that's a fashion choice*, black leather shirt and a black tank underneath, a spiky silver necklace, and he smelled so amazing.

"Well, good luck, and sorry again." And he left outside some doors, right then its when I see someone holding a sign that read Ms. Y/N Hart.

"Annyeonhaseyo.  Jeoneun Y/n Hart-imnida" I tried my best with my korean... truth was that it was really rusty because I never get to practice it.

"Welcome Ms. Hart. I will be your driver today." okay english, good. Not embarrasing at all. "I'll be taking you to the company and then dropping your luggage off in your apartment." My driver said while opening the door. What a service. I feel like the queen of England... rip.

I get on the car, and he closes my door. But all I keep wondering is who was that guy? Even though with sunglasses, the vibe I felt was like nothing I felt before.

Okay one thing we gotta get straight, I don't believe in love at first sight, all that "I looked into his eyes and I just knew" bullshit, no I don't believe on it. Relationships take work and if one of the parts in not willing to put in the work, then that relationship is over. That's why my parents split up, they didn't work. They always talked about love at first sight, until my dad fell in love with his secretary. They still think I don't know, but I know. My family life all went to crap about a year ago, and my parents have been trying to keep it to themselves all this time... unsuccessfully. That bimbo that works as my dad's secretary is even younger than I am... about a year younger but its still significant to the implications and consecuences this brings to all of us. I was, and still kind of am, pissed at my dad but until they decide to tell me there's nothing I can do. So that's why maybe I decided to take this job and get away from all that drama. I mean I am 23 years old, but still they are treating me like a 5 year old.

We arrived to a building that had the letter KQ posted at the entrance. New beginnings here I come. I was just about to open my door when my driver did it for me. "Thanks...uhm..."

"Mr. Kim, ma'am. I'm the one that mostly will drive you to important events with the rest of the crew."

"Thanks, Mr. Kim." I got off the car with just my purse and important stuff, meanwhile the rest left with Mr. Kim to my new apartment. I may be exhausted but it is like noon here in Korea so, gotta get some things started right away I guess.

I walk in into the building and I get greeted by the security guard at the reception. I walk up to him and he looks up from his phone. I was about to say something when he pressed somethings on the phone and called someone, something nim, that wasn't part of my vocabulary. I better get into some korean classes soon.

"Ah, Ms. Hart! Glad you arrived safe. I'm Ms. Jung, head of international relationships and your boss for the time being. Please follow me." Ms. Jung was very attractive. Like any guy could fall in love with her, I would be lying if I said I wasn't feeling self concious right now. I mean, to be a stylist and make up artist, I look like a homeless person with a slight better fragrance than most. I mean I have my Air Forces Ones and wearing the sweatpants from Louis Vuitton that my dad gave me last Christmas. Airpods Max and my Iphone... not an Android person... still not the looks for the future stylist of whoever they assign me to.

"Do you know who am I being assigned to yet? I liked to be prepared for whenever my first day starts." I tell her while we were in the elevator going to the last floor.

"Sure! You are being assigned to one of our most successful groups and with your designs and innovation of ideas, we feel here in KQ that you will be a great fit." She said letting me pass once we arrived to our floor. "Now we will go to our conference room and sign the last contracts, will get your ID badge information ready... do not worry your photo will be taken tomorrow once you go and pick it up from the reception." We stopped and she opened a door to let me in. "Then I'll give you the code to your new apartment." Code? What about the keys? "Korea uses a coding system instead of keys, its just safer that way." She reads minds too, wow. "Here's your new T-card. You'll use it to move around the city, we'll give you an assistant as well who will double as your roommate, and everything else you're schedule will be all set in this contract which of course you will have a copy of." Ms. Jung handed me a pile of papers that seemed like a million miles to read, but the excitement of this new city took over me and I was signing right away.

"All done, Ms. Jung. If its not an issue I would like to go get settled at the apartment now." I said standing up and grabbing my stuff from the table.

"No issue at all, Ms. Hart. We'll let Mr. Kim know to take you there so you don't get lost. Now take the elevator all the way to floor 1 and Mr. Kim will be waiting for you." Ms. Jung grabbed the stack of papers I just signed my life away to, and walked to one of the offices on this floor. I just made my way to the elevator and put on my headphones, it was a good idea to download some music before the trip. I put on my favorite song to date Lost in Japan by Shawn Mendes. There's something about that song that always makes me wanna dance, y'know.

I noticed after a bit that I had gotten to the first floor. I was about to get out when I crush into someone...again. I really do have to start looking up, at least this time I didn't fall. I looked up to apologize to whoever this person was... it was the same guy from the airport.

"Oh my god its you" Suddenly that thought slipped my lips and said it aloud.

"And it's you... you're here"

[scoonsalicious]

Hey pocket!! Whats the most ridiculous thing you’ve seem tony do?

Hi!

Wow, okay. First one's a fucking hard one, huh? I mean, to start, have you met Tony Stark? Everything the man does borders on some level of ridiculous, I swear. For the sake of this particular answer, I'll tell you the most ridiculous thing I've ever seen him do that doesn't involve sheep (that's a story for Chapter 19!). So, to misquote my Spirit Guide, Sophia Petrillo: Picture it, NYC, 2004. A young peasant girl is in her first or second year working for one of the greatest tech companies in the world, when she gets an urgent call from her boss out in Malibu. Tony's frantic on the phone, begging me to fly out there as soon as possible. Says he's got an emergency situation only I can fix. Me being young and dumb, and not fully realizing yet just how totally unprofessional Tony Fucking Stark is, I hop on a plane, thinking I'm off to solve, like, the energy crisis or some such bullshit, you know? Stupid fucking me, thinking it would be something rational. I show up to the beach house early the next morning after dragging my ass onto a redeye and let myself in, probably looking like stale leftovers, and there's this woman in Tony's kitchen, wearing a pair of his boxers, and literally nothing else, making French Toast. Like, tits on parade. We kind of stare at each other for a minute, and it's hella awkward, and I'm thinking "this is still Tony's house, right? He didn't move without telling me?" and this girl just looks at me and goes "Who the hell are you?" Fair enough-- Tony's got a new lady and she's surprised when a random chick with a suitcase just walks in, right? Makes perfect sense. I'm about to apologize and introduce myself when Tony comes slumping down the stairs, and that son of a bitch throws a huge-ass frown on his face and is all "Oh no! Honey, you weren't supposed to be home until the weekend! I'm so sorry! I'm scum! You weren't supposed to find out like this!" and I'm looking at him like "What the actual fuck, Boss?" and he just turns to this other girl and goes "This is my wife."

Obviously, the girl is pissed at Tony, but she's being all apologetic to me, so sorry for wrecking my home and shit, and I'm trying not to die laughing, which probably just makes me look like I'm about to fucking cry or something. So, she's collecting her things, calling Tony all kinds of names that I, as a lady, can not repeat ;) while telling me how sorry she is, and then she's out the door. Tony is fucking relieved-- apparently, he met her at some sort of fundraiser in LA, brought her back to the house for the night, which somehow turned into six nights?, because bitch just. wouldn't. leave. I'm so confused, because why not just ask her to go? Or, I dunno, call the cops or something, right? You have to make me fly all the way across the country to kick a girl out? Granted, this was before anyone really started talking about carbon footprints... but, I digress. His answer? He couldn't ask her to leave because he couldn't remember her fucking name. Men. We ended up having a decent laugh over the French Toast she made. I gotta say, it was fucking delicious. That chick's a senator, now, btw. We ran into her at a thing in DC a few years back, and she was so thrilled we'd managed to make our "marriage" work, after all these years. I made him buy me a beagle after that, lol. PS: Shout out to Pep for willingly taking on this man and his bullshit. She is a fucking saint, you have no idea.