#Sorry; I have no principles

[eloquentsisyphianturmoil]

freaks me out that people call celeborn teleporno for many reasons

It sounds stupid

there’s linguistic inconsistencies with ‘silver’ as ‘telep’ in quenya and as ‘telpe’ (ex. tyelkormo, tyelperinquar, telperion)

he’s Moriquendi so he has no quenyan name

Did I mention it sounds stupid

[galatoma]

The gay marriage was actually tommy's 30-day free trial (received several times over) for lgbt and now he's thought about turning it into a full membership

[hanzajesthanza]

witcher netflix: [drops]

henry cavill fans: honestly, i don’t really care about the story, i’m just here because hcav is hot asf

me: wtf? how shallow is this… only there because the titular witcher is hot? talk about missing the point…

witcher 4 trailer: [drops]

✨ciri✨: 😡

me: … i understanded.

[charlottcharles]

heather do three more seconds of research and tell me you think you could convince frank castle to talk to 1. a therapist 2. about his psyche as a vigilante 3. for a pop psychology book

[mothmanavenue]

can i confess something else that will absolutely get me stoned in the town square since im dropping my unpopular opinions. I don’t like altean broadsword Lance. i already disliked red paladin Lance. the broadsword was like rubbing salt in the wound. why couldn’t he have his own niche. why was his character development just making him keith. i understand that it was like “he accepts that he doesn’t have to be a leader and excels as a co-leader and you can find happiness that way yada yada yada”. but you could’ve done that without making him keith. also now give him something unique, cool, that falls in line with his sniper bit. i’m not saying just give him another gun, im saying give him something quiet and lethal. like a garotte. yeah i want garotte lance.

i yap a lot more in my notes by the way if you were interested in other unpopular opinions. don’t send me hate messages or comments i won’t read it and will block viciously i also will not be debating this this is my hill to die on <3

[whampersan]

@murdertramp25 is correct about them being besties

[queenangst]

one of the things i love about wha is how clearly the magic and ideas the girls learn and have build on top of each other over time. the continuing theme of magic as solutions, and your own spells can be made by adapting what you know into something new.

in one of her first uses of magic, coco uses fabric to sail through the air at the dagda mountains; she later creates the mantle of flight. the air twisting seal she learns to use to pick fruit becomes part of a spell to create rain underneath the sea. agott uses a bird of light to distract people at the river; later, we learn her love for the decorative seals, and her knowledge comes in use to bring people joy, and to help with the curtain leech. every person has their own magic, and everyone's magic connects together to create new things.

no magic is useless; no magic is too small or too basic. no magic is unloved.

[poissond-avril]

the problem with knowing hans romance is possible in kcd2 is its making me not want to romance theresa in kcd bc it feels like im cheating on him

[ancha-aus]

New Age AU Drabble - Feelings Above Duty

Heya @spotaus Spot!!

I swear new Age Ccino gives me brainworms. He is my Blorbo <3 So here we are! back at it again!

Timeline? We are right after Dream invaded the castle and got away. The group is hard at work at returning everything to normal, or as normal as they can.

So. 5 hours and 4750 words later and here we are! As always. No editing as always as it is a drabble but i am VERY happy wiht how it turned out! <3

*---------------------------*

It still feels wrong.

Everything feels wrong.

Even as things are calm. Even when things are clean. Even when there is not a single mark on the floors or walls. Even if the meeting with the council went alright and no one was difficult about him taking them over for a short time again.

Then again... It is not the first time.

Abigail, or Abbee as she prefers to be called, is a member of one of the old noble families. The noble family who has been in the council for generations on end.

When Ccino had walked in some of the newer members had looked confused. Abbee however had looked up with a deep frown on her face. Before anyone could reject him being there however Abbee had flown over and given him a hug. Happily greeted him and asking if the king had send him to stand in for a little while again.

Ccino had confirmed it and gotten straight to the point. Memories and old hard learned lessons coming back easily. Ccino is very lucky for all the careful notes that Night... Night... Nighty...

His hands shake as he drops the dish he had been holding. The plate clathers loudly on the counter and the sound seems to continue to bounce in his skull.

It feels too full. Everything is loud... Nothing makes sense.. He can't breath.

No.

No focus.

He looks down to pick up the plate. He spots it and reaches but-

Red... Red and silver and grey... Red liquid covering his hands... Two just barely different shades... lines of glittery silver swirling in it. Never mixing but there... Small grey particals. Starting to clump together.

He can't move. He can't breath. He can't-

"Ccino?" a hand on his shoulder and someone? he needs to... He needs to... soemthing...

"Ssh... Sshh it is okay. Breath. First you need to breath. First in. Hold it. Then out."

There is a hand. Pushing on his sternum when they say out. And releasing the pressure when saying in.

"Just follow my hand. Come on... Easy does it."

He fills the fake lungs. As he does the world becomes clearer again. His hands are white... covered with bubbles made of soap from the dishes... before him he sees the plate but it is broken and-

Red... there is red.

A hand pulls his hand away and a towel covers his hand "You were really out of it there Ccino... Easy..."

The ground is cold and hard but it pulls his attention. the arms around him as steady and secure and..

Oh...

"Sorry Robin... I don't know... I just..." He should be better at this. Even if that day when Nigh-... When he got taken is by far the worst day in his life... It is fine. He should be fine. He should be good at this. It is what he does. He manages.

He always manages.

Robin doesn't let go of him as she studies his hand "Lets agree to disagree... Ccino. What are you doing here?"

Ccino shoots her a look before sighing as he glances back at the dishes "Washing the dishes. After it I still need to prepare the meeting with the merchants. They should be here before the end of the week and if Ni-... I mean... our... Our..." Why can't he just say it! Why is his throat locking up?! Get it together! Just. Stop being a wreck. Stop being a burden! enough is going on. Get it together and do something useful!

Robin hums and with a flourish she finishes wrapping his small wound "Yeah I cna see that. Next question!" She looks at him questioning "Why are you here instead of where you want to be?"

Ccino feels called out a she glances back at his hand "I... I went by this morning..."

Robin nods "How is he?"

Ccino looks to the side "Still asleep... The healers say he is stable... Just resting... That he needs time to recover the lost blood, and mana... and energy... and... and... life-... lifeforce..." His hands had been covered... His clothes a mess. His whole bathroom had looked like a terrible murder had happened.

He had broken down again when he tried to clean it...

Robin had found him like that...

Robin ahd held him... much like this actually...

Heh... He is pathetic... So much for being worth all the trust Nightlight places in him... He can't even keep it together now.

The Knights are fine... Angry and worried but they can focus. They are working on locating Nightmare at this very moment.

Error is also helping. Crafting a sort of spell to track Ngihtmare's magic.

The are fine... They are managing...

He should be better.

Robin frowns at him "Sorry to hear that... It must be rough."

Ccino can't help but snort as he pulls his knees up and just lays on them "Harder for the Knights... I really have no right to be this undone by it all..." To hover as much as he is. To visit so often. Killer and him... They hadn't even been close... Ccino had... he had never truly tried to connect wiht Killer... Before because of Killer's own past... After that Ccino hadn't wanted to interfere with Killer's journey to self discovery... Shortly after that... Their small talk in the hallways and Ccino's few helping moments grew even smaller as Killer became a Knight.

The first Knight. The King's most trusted.

Then the others came around and Killer had his fellow Knights. His brothers in arms.

They still spoke... once or twice... When they came across one another in their own duties. Killer is always playful. Still that same smile as all those years ago...

They still dance...

At his brithday party... The Winter Ball...

Ccino had often wondered if Killer knew it was just Ccino under that mask. Ccino figures he knew. Killer is much more intelligent than he wants you to think he is.

But then it makes no sense that Killer still asks him for a dance... or six... and eating a plate of food on the balcony together...

A hand covers his hand and holds it. Moments later Robin interlocks their fingers together. She is warm. Almost all humans are. He glances at her before looking away again. Her face doesn't have her usual smile as she just stares at him worried.

"It is... okay... I will be..." not fine. He doens't feel fine. He can't feel fine. He isn't allowed to lie... "I will manage." Managing. That he can do. He can manage.

"Ccino... If you could pick anywhere to be right now... where would it be?" Robin just asks.

Ccino can't help but let out a snort as his mental to do list stares down at him. "Probably in... in the office... I need to reread deals and contracts... Make sure everything is being send out and on its way to the places that need them." There are multiple rebuilding projects on their way. Promised goods and gold need to be spread. The plans should be all done but Ccino needs to check them just in case some spy broke in and messed with them when their defences had been done. That is what... what Nighty would ahve wnated...

Robin tugs on their joined hand "No... Ccino... I mean. Where do you want to be right now. Not where you think you should be or where your next chore is. Where do you want to be."

Ccino frowns as looks at the ground. The ground is nice. It has curves and looks like tightly intertwines branches. But still completely flat. Honestly he doesn't take enough time to admire the castle and oh it is warm here. He should open a window and let the air cool. On tha tnote. When was the last time the castle got aired out? Especially after the fighting and all the cleaning they will need to open up the windows to make sure not resident chemicals bother people.

Maybe the fresh air will also help with his warm feeling face and horrible headache and-

An arm is wrapped around him "I think we both know where you want to be."

Ccino feels called out... Then again... Robin knows him... Robin has been there with him since the start. ten years older and so much smarter but she had pulled him up and helped him along. While people were mean or forced him to run. She had been the one to show him little tricks. Little ways to make it easier. Where to stash food. Wehre he could safely rest. Which hours the guards wouldn't patrol certain areas.

Ccino leans against her. His sockets hurt... form the crying... maybe from the staring at his roof in his room. Maybe it is the headache. It just feels better to lean agianst her "I gotta work Robs..." He mutters as he just leans against her. Familiar and safe.

Robin snorts "I can do that stuff Ccino."

Ccino shoots her a look "robin... I can't ask you that."

Robin looks highly amused "What exactly? That I do my job, that i am handsomely and very well paid for may I add. And you focus on some personal stuff." Her amusement becomes gentle "Ccino. The reason why you always do it is because well. You are amazing at it and yes, thanks to that I have very little to do on average when it comes to management." She makes him lookat her "But I got this. I can and will manage stuff. Lessen your load."

Ccino frowns and mutters "I cna handle it... I did it before..."

Robin nods "I know... but you don't have to Ccino. At least not alone. Please let me help."

Ccino sighs and nods "Okay... I... Okay... You know?" He isn't sure what he is asking.

Robin grins "Got the schedule memorised. Now... What will you do?"

Ccino looks back to the ground as he tugs on his fingers... The wrapping stands out against his other white bones. "I... I am going to check on him... After that I go to bed..."

Robin nods as she gets up and pulls him back to his feet "That is the spirit! go make sure your boyfriend is okay!" she grins and rushes off with a wave.

"He isn't my..." But she is already gone.

Ccino sighs as he rubs his throbbing head... Just a bit longer.. That is all...

He walks through the halls. He nears a turn but just turns towards a wooden panel. Just a small push and the panel shifts aside as he climbs in and he rushes in. The tunnel is cramped but thankfully cool. There are quite a few spiderwebs... Ccino will have to check wiht some of the spider monsters if these are relatives or if they need to do a more throughout cleaning.

He exits the tunnel and feels his soul do little flips in his chest. No stop. Don't be weird. It is... Nothing changed. He is still the same. They are still the same. They are just colleagues... maybe friends if he really pushes the definition. And that is fine. It was what Ccino wanted after all. Helps him focus. Helps him stay on the job. Helps him not grow attached for when people leave again and-

"Ccino."

he stops and turns around. Horror is here? No stop. of course Horror is here. Killer is here which means one of the knights visits often to amke sure he is okay. Usually it is Dust but horror is not uncommon to see around.

Ccino nods and gives the small half bow. Muscle memory kicking in "Sir Lion. What can I be of help with?" and he rises again.

Horror looks around before answering "Error's spell managed to get a signal. We are grabbing our supplies and leaving."

Shock.

He hadn't... He thought. He had thought the spell was still in the development stage-

Or it was two days ago... Something about it not being powerful enough... Did they figure it out? Had they had a plan? why dind't they tell him-

No stop. doens't matter. it doesn't matter. You got no plac ein this. Don't make it about you.

Ccino nods "That is well. Are you in need of any supplies?"

Horror shakes his skull "Dust is grabbing the few things we need and preparing the horses. Cross is talking with the Captain and sharing the location together with Error. Captain Rogers will be able to follow us with the reinforcements later."

Ccino nods. That had been the plan. The Knights move out to secure Nightmare. The guard moves out to capture those who attacked to begin with. The Knights strike hard and fast to enable success.

They don't care if this rebel group escapes and tries again. They know about them now and they will be better prepared to defend.

Getting Ngihtmare back takes priority.

Though.

Ccino frowns as he looks at Horror "You mean Sir Cross will go as well? Shouldn't he still be resting?" It is still ahrd to not call Cross Snow Leopart. Ccino had sat with Nightmare as Nightmare went over so many different animals that may fit and than later the list the mask maker had given him. Nightmare had been so proud to manage to settle on Snow Leopart. But the mask is still being made and so it is not exactly known just yet.

horror chuckles as he looks back up fondly "There is no stopping him. He did swear he will rest and not move out of the medical area for a full week when he is back"

Ccino knows he is frowning "Well... I do think it is unwise and risky but you three will know better if he will be able to help." He waits for a moment before speaking "However... if there is nothing I can help you with..." and he looks pointedly at Horror. He doesn't want to ask it ouright but why did Horror search him out.

Horror looks much more bothered as he rubs his neck "It is just... We wanted to... Ask you... We know you are busy." He looks down with guilt before looking back at him "Can you make sure Killer is fine? We know he is healing and he needs to just sleep but... It would be a load of our mind if you could check on him." He looks so troubled. Guilty as if he is asking for a terrible thing.

Ccino is... surprised... They just want him to check up on Killer? That... "That will be no problem. I will make sure to check in on him."

Horror just looks more troubled "It is just that... Dust seems convinced that Killer cna hear us you know... it would be nice if you could... tell him some stuff. Just small stuff... Nothing too long or bothersome it is just... Dust seems sure that Killer takes comfort in hearing us."

Ccino frowns but nods "If Sir Panther is sure." It wouldn't be the strangest thing. Ccino knows he has seen stranger stuff. One of which was Killer returning to life in matter of fact. He nods again as he speaks his answer in more words "I will make sure to talk to him." And if Dust really is right. Ccino likes the idea of bringing a bit of comfort to him. Even if it is just to talk about some of the boring days as servant.

Pure relieve covers his face "Thank you Ccino. It... It means a lot." He sighs and chuckles "When all of this is over we will need a break."

Ccino can't help but agree easily "I am sure our... king." he only paused for a second "Will be ready to give all three of you time off to spend time recovering."

Horror nods and sighs "It would be nice... Thanks again Ccino." a more boyish and mischivious grin "Finally get why they call you miracle worker." and he leaves.

Ccino sighs as he rubs his head "I am not... I don't..." He doesn't really make miracles happen... He is just creative in his solutions. He watches the hallway for a moment longer but it is quiet.

So very quiet.

He turns back around and continues his path. He gets to the wing with the healing bay easily but he stops. His mind spinning.

They will leave soon.

They will find Nightmare.

Oh how Ccino wishes he could go wiht them. To get to Nightmare. To hold him close and tell him it is okay. That he is safe again. But he would just get in the way. He would just be someone they would ahve to keep an eye on and be in danger.

He would endanger the mission.

His mind calls Ngihtmare to the front. So scared and alone... Would he even be allowed to keep his things? Would he be all alone without anything to bring him comfort? would they have taken his cloak? he has had his cloak since his crowning. It was meant to just make him look the part but for some reason it was a source of comfort for Nightmare.

Ccino wants to believe they wouldn't take his things. That they would look at Nightmare and see that young teen that he is. That they would at least be gentle and try their best to take care of him.

But he knows not everyone is nice to children. No matter how young they are. His own back aches with the memory.

No... It is unlikely that nightmare will have something to hold close to comfort him. To help calm him down. Exposed to everyone as his mask got broken and-

Ccino looks up and looks back the way he came. If he is fast. He walks away from the healing bay. He is two steps further when a few branches wihtin the walls, the very wall that looks like solid stone, moves and seem to wave in an nonexisting wind.

Ccino doesn't think as he mutters "My room please... Than the Knights." The wall shudders and caves inwards. A tunnel appears right before his eyes and he walks in, the walls behind him melt shut again and he walks through darkness. Just like always there is nothing to trip him. It is smooth and straight forwards. There is no rough incline or ramp. There is no sudden twist. There is nothing in his way.

The wall opens and the light floats his vision for a moment. It blind shim aside from these bright flashes as his skull throbs again. Right... No sleep.

He rushes to his bed and careully kneels beside it. He reaches under it and pulls out a small wooden box. He clicks it open adn inside lays it. The White Cat mask. On a velvet pillow, dark green in colour. A protective pillow on the top of the case as well.

He takes it out and the silver coloured ribbons are still as soft as ever.

He stares at the hollow eyes of the cat for a moment before getting up again. He turns towards a wall and a new tunnel is already ready for him.

He follows it and leaves the wall near the courtyard. Dust stands with his three horses, ccino beleives it are Basalt, Pearl and Limestone, each one being one of their personal horses.

Dust is already on Pearl's back and sees to be staring right ahead. A look of pure concentration on his face. Ccino never could feel the other's magic, but from what Nightmar ehad told him it was often overwhelming and the pressure got very high. Ccino has no doubt the other was planning to use that same power against those who stood against them.

He does however also see Error sitting behind Dust. focussing on the spell up in the sky as he seems to tug on a few strings. He wishes he understood magic better...

Doesn't matter.

His sight finds Horror and he marches over.

horror is tyign a small pack to the horse when he looks over worry covers his face "is something..." he seems scares to speak the last word for his question.

Ccino knows however what he is asking "Nothing is wrong. I just..." He hesitates for a moment before taking out his mask and hadning it to Horror. Hroror stares at it in awe and shock.

Ccino is honestly surprised is voice is even when he speaks "For our king. He lost his mask when he was taken. He will find comfort in not being exposed." and hopefully the familiar mask will bring him some comfort as well.

Horror nods and tugs it away in his armour "I... Yes... thank you... We will rbing him back"

He doesn't understnad why he thanks him. Instead he nods "Just bring him home..." Wiht that he turns and returns to the castle. He still.. He still needs...

The wall opens as soon as he turns a corner. Ccino walks in wihtout hesitation.

He exists right by the healing bay. His hand shakes when he opens the door.

Two different monsters look up. They smile as one stands up. A small monster, a red panda to be precise, smiles brightly at him "Mister Ccino Sir!" they immediantly blush in embarrassement. They are still very new to their position. Honestly the fact they remained after the fight is a good sign.

Ccino gives a small smile and small bow "Good day to all of you. I hope you have been well?"

The red panda monster, they never did introduce themselves fully, mutters and tugs on their clothes. Somethign about it being nice and calm and finally quiet again. By then the muttering gets so quiet that even Ccino can't figure it out anymore.

Laura, a peacock monster, looks at the other fondly as she walks over "Happy to have you sir! I am happy to report that we fired most of our patients. They are now on normal best rest schedules and will start up their training routine slowly." she looks very proud.

Ccino smiles and gives a nod "Any long term injuries?"

Laura shakes her head "No deaths and no long term injuries. The system Captain Rogers put in to always have a group of at least three near each other ended up saving the lives of about seventeen different people. As they were able to stabilise their group members long enough for help to arrive." Her smile drops "Well... Almost no long term injuries."

Cold sweat on the back of his neck. His breathing goes abit faster. He digs his own nails into his palm. Stay in the here and now. Don't fall apart. "How is Sir Tiger?" his voice isn't as even as he would like... There is a small edge of panic in there and it shouldn't be. He needs to project calm and control to help others remain calm and relaxed. If he is freaking out others will freak out as well.

Laura sighs "It isn't going better."

The red panda holds up their hands "Not worse either!! Just... No real progress. Everything is still stable but well.. there is nothing we can do except wait..." and they look down.

Ccino's throat feels blocked. It is hard to find his voice. To get it to speak "I see. We will have to be patient in that case. Keep supplies on hand for when he wakes up and can tell us how he feels." Please... "Could I see him?" please. Please just a moment.

Laura nods "That is alright. Not like you are bothering anyone now that it is just our Knight here with us." she looks relaxed as hse stretches "I am going to work on my files. Ria?" She looks at the red panda.

They shoot upright "Yes Ma'am?"

Laura nods towards the shelves "Can you make sure to fill everything up again and check the inventory?" Ria, so that is their name, nods and rushes off.

Ccino frowns as he looks at Laura "I thought Solus usually did that?"

Laura nods "He would. but he spend the whole night helping patients. He is catching up wiht lost sleep." she walks towards the office "You know where to find me for questions!" and she walks away.

He is left alone.

It isn't that he... dislikes them... They are nice. all three of them are.

It is just...

He hates being near anything medical or healers.

He walks over towards the private room. He knocks on the door before opening it "It is just me."

Killer is laying in the bed. Completely still. His mask next to him on his nightstand. There are different things conencted to him. Something about measuring his health and magic levels. Ccino isn't sure. He knows it got explained but he hadn't been all there for the explanation.

He pulls over the chair near the bed and sits in it by Killer ".... They are going... They will probably have left by now... They are going to get him back..." That is the most important part. Make sure Killer, if he can hear him, knows that.

Ccino doesn't know if he wants Killer to be able to hear them. Maybe it would be better if Killer didn't. If Killer was in a sleep deep enough that he doens't fully notice anythng around him. That for him it will truly be like blinking and falling asleep before being present again.

It would also be better for Ccino. Because otherwise Killer would know how often Ccino is here. How often he visits him.

At least he ahdn't done something as stupid and selfish as confessing.

Imagine.

Killer only just waking up? Hearing that Ccino managed to keep him alive until the healers could help him. Killer will probably always feel like he owns ccino something when he doesn't. And then hearing Ccino has a crush on him? Ccino doens't want to think that Killer would jsut... Try to... make it up or pay his debt or seomthign stupid...

There is nothing there. There can not be anything there. Killer is one of Ngihtmare's most trusted and precious people. Nightmare himself said as much once. Ccino is just the manager of the castle adn at most Nightmare's old babysitter.

Even if it felt as so much more. Even if he loves both those twins so much. Ccino isn't stupid or naive enough to forget his place.

He crosses his arms as he leans on the bed. Next to the other. He is breathing even. In and out. In and Out. in and Out. No hurry. No stuttering. No gasps and groans.

He is much too quiet.

His soul at least regained its colour. It is bright and red and... in a circle.

A bulleye shape.

It makes Ccino nervous. Killer's soul isn't that shape. Well it is sometimes. But every time Ccino saw him it was always in this more soul shaped shape. The characteristic upside down heartshape. Sure it wobbles and moves and shivers but Ccino just thought that was part of Killer. Killer who is energetic and always moving and always talking and laughing and experiencing life. Part of him being loud and having fun.

His soul is so still now. So even.

Had he messed something up?

When Ccino... When he touched that...

He can still rememebr how it felt.

How it hadn't hurt.

He takes a glance at his own hand and rubs his palm. Not a single mark. Not even a bruise.

He had been rushed here the day after that terrible first night. To check him in case of injury for the emergancy first aid to a soul. but there hadn't been any mark left.

No burns from the contact. No drain from his own magic. No shift in his magic hue.

It truly had... had seemed like...

ccino sneaks a look at Killer "I don't get it... Were you... there enough to realise that I was trying to help you? That you knew you could trust me? but then... how did you keep the instinct to protect your soul from harming me."

He just doens't understand.

Ccino lays his hand back down and lays his skull in his crossed arms.

He doens't understand.

But he will wait.

He is good at that. Waiting.

[starlene]

Every time someone comments the state of musical theatre in their country by saying musicals here should be presented in English because the translations are awful, a muse loses its lyre.

I mean, sure, if you think musicals should always be sung in their original language to preserve the exact vocal flow the original artists intended or whatever other purist connoisseur reason, fine. You're entitled to that opinion.

But other than that, the correct statement is this: musicals here should be translated better because the current translations are awful.

Just saying.

[the-sonic-crew]

"SAY NO MORE SIR!"

*grabs my leather bag and pulls out a comically long chain of handkerchiefs tied together and a lamp*

"erm one sec it's here somewhere....."

*my hand inside the bag starts glowing and a kitty of light with the gigachad face is in my arms in the simba™ pose*

"alas. Sonic you must bow before the ultimate kitty because you arent ultimate sry chat..😿😞"

"AHA NOW KITH!"

(YAYAYYAAYYAYAYAYYAYAYAYYSAYATAYYAYAYAYAYYAYAYAYAYAYAYYAYAYAYAYAAYATATATTAATATATTTATATTATATAYAYAYYAYAYAYAYAYY)

[shadow's inner monologue at that moment went something like this:

Ugh... the... kitty- NO, MUST RESIST- but... the kitty...- NO, SHADOW. IT'S NOT WORTH IT, YOU'LL DO SOMETHING YOU'LL REGRET WHEN YOU'RE OLDER. PEOPLE WILL COME UP TO YOU IN THE FUTURE, AND YOU WILL HAVE TO TELL THEM THAT YOU AND SONIC AREN'T IN A RELATIONSHIP, AND THEY WON'T STOP BOTHERING YOU. IT'S NOT WORTH IT- but the kitty... it's... all of it... the ultimate kitty.... -that does sound pretty cool but you CAN'T SHADOW. REPULSED, REMEMBER? YOU'LL DO IT AND THEN YOU'LL FEEL THAT ANXIOUS FEELING IN YOUR STOMACH THAT GROWS AND GROWS AND YOU JUST FEEL SO OVERWHELMED AND UNCOMFORTABLE AND OH GOD-]

I... I- I- I-

[Sonic gets up from where he's been bowing, expression morphing from a playful flirt to a worried, faltering grin. His eyes train, briefly, on Shadow's chest; it's started to rise and fall at a quicker pace, faster than he's ever seen it- even during all of their races and petty fights.]

Hey, are- are you feeling alright?

[He steps closer to Shadow, but Shadow's expression only morphs further into something closely resembling horror before masking itself quickly with anger.]

GET AWAY FROM ME. I JUST- I just want- ARGH!

[He backs into a 'corner' of the space, curling into a ball.]

You're all the same. You'll force me to do such a thing... when I...

... I think maybe that was a boundary we shouldn't have crossed. Sorry guys, no kisses for Shadow in the near future. Or, uh, judging by that reaction, probably ever. Sooooooo if you don't mind, I'll justttttttt... yep that cat's ours now OK BYE

[EXPLANATION IN THE TAGS -💀]

[wordsforrain]

Catharsis and joaks aside, we do all remember that guns are a plague in this country and that one candidate wants to make it harder to murder people with guns, and the other doesn’t fucking give a shit, right? And we’re all going to get off our asses and actually VOTE accordingly in November, right? We’re not going do give in to fucking doomerism, we’re going to vote so hard we win in a landslide, right???

[ducktracy]

think i've posted about this before but i've been doing this thing where i go through a convoluted process of random number generations to decide which Golden Age cartoons i watch for the day. have entire chronologies listed and the end goal is to see them all. yadda yadda. it's been very fun for the year and a half i've been doing it, but it also means that i have to log films such as "Little Black Sambo" into my Letterboxd and have no way of broadcasting "I DID NOT RANDOMLY JUST DECIDE TO KICK UP MY FEET AND PUT THIS ON, THE RNG GODS WRING MY FATE THROUGH THEIR WRETCHED FINGERS". so. just in case anyone is following my Letterboxd and is like "dude wtf". i know.

[suddencolds]

The Worst Timing | [1/?]

hello!! I've been wanting to write a longer h/c fic for awhile. This is the exposition/first installment to that (4.8k words).

this is an OC fic - here is a list of everything I've written for these two!

Summary: Yves invites Vincent to a wedding, in France, where the rest of his family will be in attendance. It's a very important wedding, so he's definitely not going to let anything—much less the flu—ruin it. (ft. fake dating, an international trip, downplaying illness, sharing a hotel room)

—

“A wedding,” Vincent repeats.

“Yes,” Yves says. “A wedding.”

It’s his cousin Aimee’s wedding—she’s four years older than he is. Back when he’d gone with his family back to France over the summers, she’d been one of the people he’d grown quickly to look up to—someone who knew the ins and outs, it seemed, to every stage of life he was in the process of stumbling through.

Yves has always been used to being looked up to—one of the natural consequences, perhaps, of being the eldest in his immediate family—and he likes to think that he’s good at giving off the impression that he has things figured out. But he’d grown close to Aimee at their family reunions precisely because she was everything he tried to be: strong-willed and resilient, self-sufficient even in the face of hardship.

Aimee’s getting married to Genevieve—someone who Yves has only met a couple times, but who manages to be one of the sweetest people he’s ever met. All in all, it’s a wedding he wouldn’t miss under any circumstances.

Leon, his brother, and Victoire, his sister, will be there, along with Aimee’s friends and the rest of his extended family. The problem is that Leon keeps in touch with Mikhail. Mikhail let slip that Yves has been seeing Vincent. Leon told Victoire, who told Aimee. And now Aimee is offering to pay for Vincent’s plane ticket to their wedding in France in the spring—a bit of a last minute arrangement, but she’d sounded so excited at the prospect that Yves was finally seeing someone new (“I’d love to meet him,” she’d said over the phone, “would it be too much to ask him to take a couple days off work? Oh my gosh, please give me his contact details, I’ll send him an invitation,” and she’d sounded so excited about it that he hadn’t had it in him to turn her down).

“It’s very last minute,” he says, “but my cousin’s getting married, and she really wants to meet you. It’ll be some time in early March, in Provence. She says she’ll pay for your flight, if you want to go, but you’d probably have to take a couple days off.”

“Oh,” Vincent says, blinking at him. “And you want me to be there?”

“Of course I do,” Yves says. “I think it’s more a question of whether you want to be there.”

Vincent looks back at him, his expression carefully blank. “Are you sure you want to introduce me to your family? That doesn’t seem like the kind of thing that you’d take lightly.”

“They want to meet you,” Yves says. “And I wouldn’t mind introducing you. I think they would really like you.”

“It would be a waste of your time,” Vincent says, quietly, “to introduce me as someone you’re serious about if we’re just planning to break things off.”

Yves is well aware of the fact. This arrangement with Vincent—the trust he places in Vincent; the practiced familiarity, the feigned intimacy—has an expiration date. The fact that he doesn’t know when the expiration date is doesn’t change the fact that it will, inevitably, end—when Erika gets the point, or fades from Yves’s life entirely; when Vincent finds someone he considers worthy of pursuing in actuality; when either of them become interested in dating again. Whatever it is that ends up ending things, Yves knows: what he has with Vincent right now is strictly temporary. 

Perhaps it would be disingenuous to lie to his family about who exactly Vincent is to him. But then again, Yves thinks it isn’t much worse than any other relationship, with all of its ups and downs, all its hopes and uncertainties. It’s not like he can ever guarantee that a relationship is certain to work out, no matter how serious he feels about it in the moment. So is there really any harm to introducing Vincent as his current partner—as someone he feels certain about now, but maybe not always—and to leave it at that?

“It’s not really going to be my day, in the first place,” Yves says. “My relationship status is more of a conversation starter than anything. And even if you go by the timeline we told Erika, we haven’t even been together for a year. I don’t think my family will think much of it other than, like, a small and noncommittal window into what I’ve been up to. So it’s really up to you.”

“I think it would be fun,” Vincent says, “though only if you’re sure about having me there.”

“Great. I’m sure,” Yves says. “Everyone will love you.” He does think it’s true. Something about Vincent tends to have that effect, he thinks.

—

The fact that he and Vincent are traveling together is not exactly a secret.

Vincent agrees it’s best shared on a need-to-know basis—they won’t be the ones to bring it up, but if someone asks about it, they’ll answer honestly. It would be more work, Yves thinks, to have to coordinate lies about this.

But he runs into trouble not even two weeks later.

“So you and Vincent are taking the week off,” Cara says to him carefully, over lunch.

“Yes,” Yves says.

“Any plans?”

“I’m actually flying to France,” Yves tells her, uncertain about whether or not he should mention Vincent’s involvement—if Vincent has talked to Cara about this already, there’s no point in hiding anything, but he should be careful with the information he discloses otherwise. “One of my cousins is getting married there.”

“Oh,” Cara says, all too knowingly. “What a coincidence. Vincent told me he’s also planning on going to France.”

“I… heard,” Yves says, slowly. “He’s told me as much.”

“I didn’t realize France was such a popular tourist destination for march,” Cara says, smiling at him. “I thought most people went over the summer.”

“You know what they say,” Yves says. “France’s beauty knows no seasons.” 

“You should ask Vincent which part of France he’s visiting,” Cara says, with a smirk. “Maybe you guys can book a hotel together.”

Yves is positive he’s being laughed at. “It’s the third largest country in Europe,” he says. “I’m sure the chance of us ending up in the same region is statistically very low.”

“I think Cara knows we’re fake dating,” he laments to Vincent later, in the break room. “I mean, the dating part, not the fake part.”

Vincent blinks at him. “Did you tell her?”

“No,” Yves says. He doesn’t think they’ve been that obvious about it. “I just told her I was going to France. She made some undue assumptions.”

“Oh,” Vincent says. “I told her I was attending a wedding there.”

An impromptu trip to France, over the same week at the tail end of busy season, to attend a wedding. Separately. Yves is starting to understand where Cara's suspicions might’ve come from.

“That would do it,” he says.

Perhaps they really need to coordinate what a need-to-know basis means. Cara is, thankfully, not the type of person to gossip, from what Yves has gathered, but if their coworkers know, that could complicate things. “I don’t think she’ll say anything,” he says. “But I’m sorry. I didn’t think she’d assume.”

Vincent seems to consider this. “It’s fine,” he says. “Though it might prove troublesome when we decide to end things.”

“We can figure that out when it happens,” Yves says.  

At some point in the foreseeable future, everything will go back to how it’s always been. Yves had been fine on his own for a long time before he’d met Erika. He’s sure he’ll be prepared for it when it happens.

—

The entire drive to the airport feels surreal.

Mikhail drives them. They leave at the crack of dawn—4am, on the dot. Victoire’s in the passenger seat, dozing off, and Leon, Vincent, and Yves are crammed into the backseat. 

Yves sits in the middle—there’s not much leg room to go around in the first place, but he tries to take up as little space as possible, mostly for Vincent’s sake. He and Leon have been crammed into far smaller cars on far longer road trips.

Leon says, “This is the earliest in the morning I’ve ever third wheeled.”

Victoire, who has her eyes shut, says, “It’s very nice to meet you, Vincent.”

“Likewise,” Vincent says. 

“Yves has told us all about you,” Leon says.

“Oh,” Vincent says, blinking. “What has he said about me?”

“Mostly that you’re super hot,” Leon says. Yves, who is in a perfect position to elbow him, elbows him for that.

“You make me sound so shallow,” Yves says.

“But also that you’re really good at your job,” Leon continues, patting Yves on the leg. “Did you know Yves likes people who he’s slightly intimidated by?”

“I never said that,” Yves says.

“It’s pretty obvious,” Mikhail says. 

“You guys are conspiring against me,” Yves says, and Vincent laughs. 

Leon launches into a series of questions—about how they met, about who asked who out first, about what it’s like at work, about what kinds of things Vincent does for fun.

“No wonder Yves is totally whipped,” Leon says, after Vincent finishes telling a story about how he’d given a presentation at a conference in place of his then-boss, who had—due to unforeseen flight delays—found out last minute that she wouldn’t have been able to make it on time. Yves hasn’t heard this story before, but it doesn’t surprise him that Vincent would be able to pull that sort of thing off, even with such paralyzingly short notice. “You’re exactly his type.”

Just great. If anyone could dig a nice, fitting grave for him over the span of one conversation, Yves thinks, it would be younger brother. 

“I can’t believe he hasn’t invited you over for dinner yet,” Victoire says, her eyes still closed. How much of this conversation she’s actually been awake for, Yves can’t say.

She makes Yves promise that, after their trip to France, Vincent will be over for dinner. (“Sure,” Vincent says. “Just tell me the date in advance. I’ll clear my schedule.” Yves will have to apologize to him after this—for some reason, Vincent has an uncanny talent for ending up invited to half the things Yves is personally involved in.)

Yves is awake enough to hold a conversation, but he finds himself yawning mid-sentence on more than a few occasions. Vincent doesn’t so much as yawn at all over the entirety of the car ride. Yves has no idea if he’s always up this early, or if he’s just naturally immune to tiredness—another signature of his good genetics, next to the fact that he looks like he’s just stepped out of a photoshoot, or the fact that he manages to look good in everything he wears. Some people just win the genetic lottery, Yves supposes.

For some reason, he finds he feels a little more tired than usual. Waking up early is never easy, but usually he’d be distinctly more alert by now. There’s a strange, uncharacteristic heaviness to his limbs—it’s the kind of grogginess he only experiences when he hasn’t been getting enough sleep for awhile.

It’s fine. They have an eight hour flight ahead of them—they’ll be flying into Marseille, and then being driven up to Provence, where the wedding will be taking place. He can catch up on sleep over the flight.

As they’re unloading the suitcases from the back trunk, Vincent says, “Your family’s nice.”

Yves laughs. “I’m relieved they haven’t scared you off yet. Sorry for the… well, interrogation, by the way.”

“I can tell you’re close to them,” Vincent says, a little more quietly.

When Yves looks over, something about Vincent’s smile looks almost wistful. Yves wonders, briefly, how well Vincent has kept up with his own family. If he’d ever been packed into the backseat of a small car, back when he’d lived in Korea; if over some long road trip, he’d ever had to come up with increasingly inventive ways to pass the time. If his relatives ever teased him, then, about the crushes he’d had when he was younger, or anything else. If the ocean that was suddenly between them came with another, less tangible kind of distance, the kind that even phone calls and international flights can never quite bridge.

Yves doesn’t know. He doesn’t even know how he’d go about asking if he wanted to know. How is it that sometimes, he feels like he knows so much about Vincent, but other times, he feels like he knows almost nothing at all?

—

Aimee has booked him a seat next to Vincent. 

They’re a few rows away from the others—I wanted to seat everyone together, Aimee had texted him a few weeks back, but when I was booking Vincent’s ticket, the seats up front were all sold out, so I just moved you so you’d be sitting next to him. 

Now, he watches as Vincent pushes his briefcase gingerly into the overhead compartment.

“You must not be new to flying,” he says.

Vincent nods. “I’m not.”

“Eight more hours,” Yves says, taking the middle seat so that Vincent doesn’t have to. “It’ll be over in no time, especially if you take a nap.”

“I have some work to get done,” Vincent says. “Only after the plane takes off, though.”

Right—no electronics larger than a cell phone until they’re 30,000 feet in the air. “I thought this was supposed to be your week off.”

“It is,” Vincent says. “I just want to make sure everything’s still in one piece by the time I get back.”

Yves has never quite been comfortable on planes. It’s not that he’s afraid of flying, or that the turbulence bothers him—it’s more just the cramped space, the noise, the anticipation, the discomfort—all of it compounds. It’s usually difficult to get to sleep, but he’s so tired right now that maybe this flight will be an exception.

There’s just one problem: whoever is in charge of the air conditioning in the airplane cabin really hates him. Compared to Provence, New York’s climate is generally more extreme—colder in the winters, hotter in the summers—so all he has on him right now is a thin jacket. It’d be perfectly reasonable attire in most situations, except for the fact that this airplane in particular is unusually frigid. It’s definitely cold enough to be distinctly uncomfortable, especially considering that he’s just sitting in place. Yves crosses his arms, suppressing a shiver.

“Do you think Aimee will be convinced?” Vincent asks.

“Convinced?”

“That we’re together.”

“I’m sure she has better things to do than play detective over the state of my relationships,” Yves says, with a laugh. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

“It’s why you invited me,” Vincent says, “is it not?”

“Pardon?”

“To show the rest of your family that you’re not still hung up over Erika.”

“I invited you for a lot of reasons,” Yves says. “For one, you’re good company.”

“So are all your friends.”

“I thought we could both use a week off,” Yves adds. “It’s France, in the springtime. What could be better?”

Vincent says, “I need you to tell me what to do.”

“What?”

“Your cousin paid for my flight,” he lists, counting off his fingers. “Your family is paying for the hotel. Your best friend drove me to the airport.” He says these things as if he’s listing off all the ways in which he’s indebted to them. “It’d be easiest for both of us if you told me how to make a good impression. That’s what I’m here for, right?”

Yves blinks. “I don’t think you’d need my help to make a good impression.”

“You could’ve taken anyone with you, but you’re taking me,” Vincent presses. “There has to be something you need me for.”

If there was nothing, you wouldn’t have invited me. The sentiment hangs between them, unspoken. But Yves can see it in Vincent’s expression. 

“My favorite cousin is getting married,” Yves says, fervently. “To her fiancee—who is also super cool, by the way. My whole family is going to be there. Do you think I’d choose to endure an eight hour plane ride sitting next to someone I didn’t like?”

“Maybe,” Vincent says.

Yves shakes his head. “It’s true that my family wants to meet you. But if I didn’t want you to come to France with me, I could’ve come up with an excuse.”

He twists around in his seat so that he’s facing Vincent directly. Narrowly resists the urge to reach out and grab Vincent’s hand. “I like spending time with you. I wouldn’t have invited you if I didn’t. You don’t have to do anything out of the ordinary—if you have fun on this trip, that’s more than enough.”

Vincent stares back at him, his eyes wide. 

Yves has a feeling he’s said too much. It isn’t Vincent’s fault for assuming this is all just for show, considering everything that’s come before. Part of it is, but another part of him just really wants Vincent to have fun—to take in the sights at the gorgeous venue Aimee’s sent him pictures of, to have a week off in one of the most picturesque countrysides in the world (Yves may be slightly biased, but still) and not have to think too hard about impressing everyone. 

“Is that… okay with you?” Yves asks.

“Yes,” Vincent says. “It’s just unexpected.”

“Which part?”

“All of it.”

“Oh. Well. I’m sorry if I misled you, or anything.”

“You didn’t.” This time, Vincent really does smile—a sly, quicksilver thing. “For the record, I am very excited to go to your cousin’s wedding.”

“Thank god,” Yves says. “That’s good. I was beginning to think I was holding you hostage.”

He leans back into his seat, suppressing another shiver. Something about the changing pressure in the airplane cabin is making his head start to ache. It’s probably the elevation. Perhaps he should try to sleep just so that he doesn’t have to sit for eight hours with a headache brewing.

He shuts his eyes and tries. It’s no use. He’s tired, and the cabin is quiet enough, but it’s too cold to get to sleep—it feels impossible to get comfortable like this.

So he picks up a novel he’d been meaning to get to—something suspenseful, to offset the monotony of the flight.

When the seatbelt sign flickers off, Vincent unclips his seatbelt so that he can retrieve his briefcase from one of the overhead compartments, and spends the next half hour paging through multiple documents and leaving notes in the margins at a dizzying pace. Yves slinks down lower into his seat, trying hard not to shiver. 

“Is it just me, or is it kind of cold in here?” 

Vincent frowns at him in a concerned way that seems to suggest that it really is just him. Then again, Vincent is unfazed by New York’s cold winters, so Yves isn’t sure he’s the best point of reference.

“Do you need my jacket?” he asks.

“No,” Yves says quickly. “It’s not that bad.”

“Okay,” Vincent says. “If you’re certain.”

He turns his attention back to the screen, and Yves resigns himself to reading—or, more accurately, trying and failing to read. It’s mercilessly cold, and his head hurts enough to make focusing on any one thing an uncomfortable task. He gets through another couple chapters, finds himself rereading the same passage over and over again, and—finally, defeated—dog-ears the page and slides the book into the pocket attached to the seat in front of him.

The next time the flight attendants come around, Vincent says something to one of them Yves can’t quite make out. Yves asks for orange juice—it’s not supposed to be symbolic, or anything, but on the off-chance that this headache ends up being a precursor to something more unpleasant, he thinks it might be wise.

The flight attendant pours him the orange juice he’s asked for—no ice (right now, something ice cold is the last thing he needs)—and sets it down on the tray table in front of him. Yves stares down at it, blinking. He hasn’t eaten all day, but strangely, he doesn’t have much of an appetite.

He doesn’t register the flight attendant from before—the one Vincent talked to—is back until he hears Vincent’s quiet “thanks” to his left.

Something brushes against his arm.

He looks up. It’s one of those travel blankets they sometimes carry, neatly folded, though this flight hadn’t given them out to everyone at the start. They must be reserved—given only upon request, maybe. 

“You said you were cold,” Vincent—who’s holding out the blanket for him—says, by way of explanation.

Yves blinks at him. He’s about to reassure Vincent, instinctively, that it’s not that cold—that he would’ve been fine without the blanket, that Vincent didn’t have to go out of his way to ask for one.

But his head hurts. He hasn’t been warm all flight. To say that the blanket is a relief would be a massive understatement.

“Thanks,” he says, taking it. “This is perfect. I won’t be cold with this.”

He ends up wrapping the blanket around his shoulders, pulling it tightly around him—like a cloak, or like the jacket that he might have brought with him if he’d had the foresight to anticipate feeling this cold on a commercial flight.

It’s nice. He’s still a little cold, with the blanket, but it’s enough to keep him from openly shivering.

He should really try to get some sleep, he thinks. It’s going to be evening in France when they land. A seat away from him, the window shutters are pulled up, but he can see, from the crevices around the window, that it’s light out.

“I’m going to try to nap,” he tells Vincent. “But wake me up if I need anything—elbow me if you have to. I’m not usually a heavy sleeper.”

“Okay,” Vincent says. “I’ll try not to wake you.”

“You can wake me whenever,” Yves says, muffling a yawn into his hand. “Don’t work too hard.”

Vincent smiles at him, the kind of smile that implies he thinks he’s working exactly as hard as he should be. “No promises.”

It’s not easy to get to sleep, despite his exhaustion. He lays there for a while, his eyes shut—it’s certainly warmer with the blanket, but for some reason, he feels strangely restless. Maybe it’s the adrenaline of being here, with his family, with Vincent—on the way to see one of the most important people in his life get married. Maybe it’s the cup of black coffee he’d downed this morning to be awake enough to help Mikhail navigate and, subsequently, awake enough to actually be useful at the airport.

In the end, he falls asleep to the static hum of the aircraft, to the sound of Vincent hammering away at his keyboard next to him, incessant and comforting.

—

Yves wakes to someone tapping him on the shoulder. 

“Sorry,” he says. “I’m up.”

“A ‘light sleeper,’ you said,” Vincent says. “We just landed.”

Yves says, “I’m wide awake.” The yawn that he hides behind one hand is apparently not subtle enough, because when Vincent looks away from him in favor of staring straight ahead, it looks like he’s trying not to laugh.

Vincent’s stowed away his laptop already—Yves hopes that’s a sign that he’s done with work for the duration of this trip, but more likely he just had to put it away for landing.

“How was the flight for you?” Yves says.

Vincent looks at him. “Uneventful,” he says, at last.

“Not enthralled by all the financial records you had to go through?”

“They were very enthralling. How was your nap?”

“Good,” Yves says, even though he doesn’t feel particularly rested. He’s just groggy, probably, and the headache is just as bad as it was, if not worse. He’s sure once he gets off the plane and gets some fresh air, he’ll feel much better. “I probably needed it.” His breath hitches, unexpectedly, he turns to the side, raising his arm to his face to shield the oncoming—

“hH-’IZscHH’iew!” 

The sneeze is loud, embarrassingly, and it scrapes unpleasantly against his throat, which feels… off.

“Bless you,” Vincent says, frowning. He looks more concerned than he has any right to be.

Yves flashes Vincent a distracted smile. “Thanks.”

Everything—from the moment they step off the plane—is exhaustingly hectic. 

The hotel in Provence is more than an hour away from the airport they’ve landed at. They have a bus to catch, which means that after they regroup with the others, it’s international customs, baggage claim, and then they’re headed, maneuvering multiple suitcases each, onto the bus. He sits next to Vincent, though on the aisle side, so that he can lean over and interject whenever Leon and Victoire say something that’s worth commenting on.

Other than that, he talks with Vincent, mostly—about Aimee, about how she’s been in his life for longer than he’s known how to write his name, back when his parents would take him back to France once or twice a year. (“She was practically an older sister to me,” he says, “except we never fought,” to which Vincent says, “You make it sound like not getting along is a requirement to be siblings,” to which Yves says, “It definitely is.”)

His parents flew into France yesterday, so they should be settled in already—they’ll catch up with them at the hotel tonight, if it’s not too late. He probably won’t see Aimee and Genevieve until tomorrow morning, at breakfast—and even then, that depends on how busy they are with the various wedding preparations Aimee’s been telling him about.

The roads nearing the hotel are uneven and winding. Halfway through the drive, Yves registers, faintly, that he isn’t really feeling any better from before. His head is still hurting from the flight, and when he swallows, he finds his throat feels perhaps the slightest bit sore.

He’s cold, too, in the sort of uncomfortable, persistent way that’s difficult to alleviate, even with extra layers or with a warm drink. He’s starting to suspect that maybe the airplane cabin hadn’t been the problem after all.

None of that is particularly visible to any of the others—that is, until he finds himself tensing up halfway through a sentence, burying his head into the crook of his elbow as his eyes squeeze shut—

“God, sorry, I— hh-! hHehh’iiZZSCHh’iiEW!”

“Bless you,” Vincent, Victoire, and Leon say to him, all at once.

“You’d better not be getting sick,” Leon says, turning to him, with the sort of tone that implies that he’s joking. “That would really be the worst timing.”

“I’m not,” Yves says, swallowing against the soreness in his throat. “I promise.” Or, perhaps more accurately—he can’t be.

It will be the perfect wedding, he thinks. Aimee has planned it out meticulously, and she’s one of the most thorough people he knows. The weather forecast says this week will be sunny and temperate. He’s here, in France. Tomorrow, he’ll be surrounded by his extended family, and in the afternoon he and Vincent will head off to the welcome party, and he’ll get to give Aimee the gifts he’s gotten for her and introduce Vincent to everyone formally. Everything will go as planned—the welcome party, the wedding rehearsal, the rehearsal dinner, and on Saturday, the wedding and the vows.

It will be perfect, because it has to be. Yves will be present, and attentive, and he’ll give the speech he has prepared at Aimee’s wedding, and they’ll all remember this week fondly. Even considering the small, almost negligible chance that he’s coming down with something, there are more important things he has to worry about right now, which is to say: Yves is going to do this right.

He’s going to make sure of it. 

[ Part 2 ]

[derseprinceoftbd]

Imagine the unbearable pain of Alfred Quinque. Only person in the commune with a Real Job. I'd have killed myself way earlier.

[sunsetzer]

That Hub Network Ask Megatron clip where he says the only reality TV star he wouldn't kill is Donald Trump really aged so fucking poorly lmao he is exactly the kind of person Megatron hated